He goes for chinos, a t-shirt for a band he hasn't listened to since before his father had been murdered, and one of the 'casual' button-downs which had been tailored for him last month.

Alfred is waiting for him in the garage when he gets down there.

The trip is a silent one, as the questions Tim has about just where Alfred draws the line between acceptable extracurricular activity and unwarranted dalliance are ones he never actually plans to voice aloud. Alfred keeps his own counsel.

The door opens as soon as he reaches it. Tim pauses in the hall in front of one of the more obvious cameras and raises an eyebrow, but Barbara is silent. Tim nods and moves to the elevator.

When he gets upstairs, he resists the urge to move through her bedroom even though that is, actually, something he's always given himself leave to do as inquisitive Robin-of-the-moment.

Barbara's working at her secondary station, so Tim settles at one of the work-tables and waits --

He'd gotten up *on* the work-table without thinking about it, perching just as if he's here to play as opposed to being here to grovel and accept whatever punishment Barbara plans to --

"Toy-Boy Wonder or Boy Whore? Preferences?"

-- dish out. "I was thinking 'Throbbin,'" he says before his brain actually kicks in -- he's blushing.

And Barbara is... cackling. As she types.

"Barbara, I wanted to --"

"Hush, mama's raiding."

Which means that she's found the offshore accounts of one supervillain or another and is about to make their lives deeply unhappy. It's not that they need the money -- it's that supervillains need it *less*. Tim smiles through the blush and relaxes where he is. It wouldn't do to distract Barbara while she's working, and...

He gets the distinct sense that this might not be too very -- movement.

Movement that resolves into Jason walking out of the avatar training area wearing the full wired bodysuit which allows Barbara to take their measure. Jason. The smile on Tim's face doesn't feel like the right one, feels like it's getting wider in the most *awkward* way possible --

Jason smiles back and strips down without saying a word. He's naked under the bodysuit save for a pair of boxer briefs, and -- Jason. Here. Tim looks at Barbara -- she's still working.

And Jason walks over to Tim's table and cups Tim's jaw --

"Play nice," Barbara says. "By which I mean, no semen on the computer equipment."

Jason snorts, and Tim blushes again -- and Jason kisses him like they're back at his base, slow and hard and thoroughly. It's difficult not to moan, but Tim manages it --

And continues to manage it when Jason pushes his hand into Tim's hair and grips. And keeps kissing. It's rapidly becoming difficult to remember why he isn't at least shifting enough to sit on the edge of the table and wrap his legs around Jason's hips --

Jason pulls off with one last suck for Tim's lower lip. And then moves to the chair half-under one of the other tables with, now that Tim looks, a pile of clothes. Jeans, t-shirt, the same leather jacket he wears on the street, perfectly average socks. Boots that had been entirely shadowed -- he still should've seen them.

Amateur, says the Jason in his mind. The one walking around seems focused on getting dressed, though there's a small smile on his face which suggests... other thoughts -- and Tim's staring just as if he hadn't spent a good portion of the morning having sex with the man.

Or possibly like he had. And Tim has his own small smile. He turns away from Jason --

And Barbara's smile isn't small at all. It's wide and vicious and a lot like having *Bruce* in the room... which leads to thoughts of Bruce and Jason that he doesn't need to be having right this moment. Tim clears his throat. "Barbara --"

"Were you planning on apologizing for something, Tim?"

The expression, the tone, the way she's not *quite* flexing her hands -- all of the above may very well be the loudest *possible* warning. "Ah. Well, I --"

"He was kind of a lying *sack*, Babs," Jason says, and spins the chair next to Tim's table around to straddle it. "You gotta admit that."

Barbara purses her lips. "Ruining my play, Jason...?"

Jason holds up his hands. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Hmm," and Barbara turns back to Tim. "Well?"

'Himbo Wonder' would also be appropriate -- no. "I think I..." How to phrase it without stepping on Barbara in any way, shape, or form? Barbara has her own issues and her own *needs* -- and is more independent than any of them. Tim nods internally. "I regret coming to you under... false pretenses."

"Really."

Tim takes a moment to look down at the table -- Jason punches his thigh. Lightly. Tim looks up again. "I think our visit last week might have been more... ah, more, if I hadn't been quite so... drugged out of my skull."

Jason snorts. "Assuming you like blushes, Babs, he *is* pretty good when he's just himself."

Barbara leans back in her chair and brings her hand to her face, resting chin on thumb and index finger along her cheek. "Mm. Perhaps I'll take your word for it, Jason."

The relief makes Tim happy that he'd chosen to stay in such a sturdy position. The disappointment --

Clearly shows, as Barbara is laughing, again. And he can feel Jason looking --

"God, such a *whore*. How are you not dehydrated and laid up on the gurney?"

"I don't want to give Bruce any new kinks," Tim says, and it's possible that this blush will just keep gaining in intensity until he falls over. "Which is to say... um. It's nice to see you, Barbara."

Barbara raises an eyebrow.

"Have you and Jason had a good visit?"

Jason snorts again, and Tim dodges the next punch, blocks the strike -- leaps off the table to the other side to avoid a grab and strikes down for Jason's reaching forearm --

Barbara catches Tim's fingers between her escrima sticks. "In case you *boys* have forgotten," she says, using the sticks to drag Tim's hand up and away, "this is *not* the Cave."

Jason's attention seems to all be on the sticks. Tim's attention is, too -- mainly because while he's *mostly* sure Barbara won't break his fingers, the possibility is still rather compelling.

"Ah -- my apologies."

"And mine, too, Babs. I'll be good if loverboy here will."

Loverboy. Really... "You know, that makes it sound as if I spend every waking moment composing distinctly slushy poetry and showing off my ability to produce three chords on an acoustic guitar, Jason --"

"Of course you're far more *direct* than that," and Barbara releases his hand and puts her escrima sticks away. "Kneeling at the feet of your potential conquests, looking deep into their eyes --"

"Pledging *devotion* and the availability of second chances," and Jason's eyes are dancing, just a bit --

"Stripping on command..."

Jason clears his throat in another laugh. "Yeah, *about* that, Babs..."

"Yes, Jason...?"

"In between bouts of fighting crime with his ass, he mentioned putting on a little show for you...?"

And Barbara... Tim doesn't want to call it a blush. That would imply some degree of embarrassment which is absolutely belied by the light in her eyes behind the glasses. It's more that she... colors. Attractively.

Jason blows out a breath in something that's not quite a whistle. "Still the hottest thing in Gotham. You gotta tell me -- why *Tim*?"

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"And don't think I don't see you lookin' at me, birdboy. Don't get all offended on my ass, *you* know she's out of your league."

Well... true. Tim sits on the table and watches Barbara lean back in her chair. The smile on her face looks a great deal like the one in the one blurry shot he'd gotten of Batgirl years ago, something which could be described as *both* 'prim' and 'voracious.' She taps the fingers of her right hand on her knee.

Beneath those fingers and Barbara's jeans is a sizeable, healing bruise... Tim clears his own throat --

And Barbara looks at him from under her lashes. "Honestly...?"

"I'm *all* ears," Jason says, and --

"So am I," and Tim's voice sounds a little... ah. To his own ears.

Barbara's eyes widen -- "I didn't think he'd do it. Try to seduce *me*, that is. But he showed up in a *lovely* suit -- he wears them better than you *ever* did, Jay --"

Jason rolls his eyes. "To the manor born, yeah, I hear you --"

"And he... followed my lead. No hesitation, no pause even as I said some highly disturbing things about my paralysis, and where it was and wasn't a problem."

"Mmph. You told him where to touch you and he just *did* it?"

Barbara smiles and nods, attention still *focused* on Tim...

Tim thinks about clearing his throat again, looking away -- he *knows* he's blushing to the roots of his hair, but. But. "It was an opportunity of which I couldn't help... taking advantage."

Barbara shows her teeth. "Because you were drugged."

Tim catches himself rubbing slow circles on his own knee, pressing with his fingers -- he stops and lays his hand on the table between them, palm up. "I had no fear to get in the way of my attraction. And curiosity."

He can feel Jason's attention on him --

Barbara narrows her eyes. "And so I was an experiment, Tim...?" Her voice is still reasonably light, but... that had a lot of seriousness behind it.

Tim smiles. "There's no one else like you in my life... Oracle. Well. No one *female*."

Barbara's mouth falls open just *slightly* --

Jason coughs and laughs, loud and openly.

Tim lets his smile get wider and watches Barbara color just a little bit more before she shakes her head and rolls a little closer to the table. She cups Tim's hand in both of her own --

Hard hands, powerful as Cassandra's and far more scarred --

"Tim. Do you have *any* regrets?"

"The lies of omission across the board come to mind. I'll have a lot of explaining to do in San Francisco --"

"And Star *City*, assuming Dick hasn't already told Roy everything..."

"Because Roy's relationship to secrets is a casual one, yes, I'm aware," Tim says, and catches himself stroking one of Barbara's palms with his knuckles.

Barbara is very clearly -- and loudly -- laughing behind her eyes. Tim takes his hand back and moves back up into a crouch --

"So *strange* to see you in that position when I can't simply reach down and pet your hair," Barbara says, and leans back again.

At which point Jason gets up... and crouches at Barbara's feet.

Barbara laugh glances past giggling and lands squarely on 'snicker.' "Oh... Jay."

"I just want you to know that I'm *willing* to go with whatever works, Babsy."

"Mm. I seem to recall... overhearing --"

"Funny how *that* works --"

"Tim offering to bring you over for a *visit*," Barbara says. "You hardly jumped at the chance."

"Would jumping help? Maybe a little more shadow-boxing? Tim seems to think I grew up pretty nicely."

"He does have a certain... charm," Tim says, mainly to have something to do other than stare at Barbara's body language. Her shoulders aren't still, and neither are her hands, but it doesn't quite seem to be *restlessness*, per se.

There's a purpose to all of that motion, to the way she touches her cheek with one hand before bringing it back down to her thigh -- close to Jason's own cheek -- and to the way she's simultaneously leaning away with her body and letting her hair fall over the shoulder closest to Jason...

Flirtation.

And Jason is absolutely focused, and perhaps just as happy as the smile on his face would suggest. It's a *bright* smile, sharp and clear...

"*Have* you two gotten to work together?"

For a moment, Tim thinks his interruption had gone unnoticed, but -- they both hold up one of their hands and raise one finger.

Tim blushes -- possibly *for* them -- "I think I'll... Jason, I need to talk to you about tonight, but maybe I'll just spend a little time in the avatar room -- um."

They're both looking at him now, Jason kind of narrowly and Barbara with -- honest, open surprise.

"Er -- seriously, I don't need to be here --"

"Oh, don't pull *that*, birdboy --"

"Tim," and Barbara's voice is *pointedly*... disappointed. Her *expression* is closer to confused. "You can't possibly still..." She frowns. "What *is* the word I'm looking for?"

"I don't know, but he was *about* to be an ass," Jason says, standing up and moving close again precisely as if Tim had said or done something worthy of a beating --

"Pithy. I like it," Barbara says, sitting back once more and steepling her fingers.

Tim... it's possible that it's more of a *flush*, this time. "You can't possibly be upset with me for... look, it's been a *long time* since the two of you were able to spend time with each other, and the fact that you'd only gotten to work together once --"

"*Right* before the Joker shot me," and she looks at neither of them -- presumably allowing them time to get the winces off their faces. After that moment has passed -- "We were never close, Tim."

"Except for in my fantasies," Jason says, and he's still glaring at Tim, but the smile almost seems to crowd itself behind the glare.

"Except for those, yes. Tim, if I didn't want you to be here, I would've gassed you in the elevator and dumped you down the chute."

Where *does* that thing lead? Perhaps a question for another time --

"And if *I* didn't want you to be here... I would've let Babs gas you in the elevator and dump you -- do you seriously have a *chute*? Where does it *go*?"

Barbara smiles and says nothing at all.

"Heh -- noted," and Jason turns back to Tim. "Look, Tim, do *you* chase people away just because you're flirting a little with someone else?"

Bart comes to mind... vividly. As do Bruce's intriguing methods of socialization with regards to Cassandra. "I don't really... ah. I have... limited experience with that sort of thing."

"Tim likes to manipulate things so he can be alone with his conquest of choice, Jay," and the confusion on Barbara's face has shifted to something more like invitation, if only an invitation to protest --

"He didn't bat an eyelash when I was making out with him while Cassandra was there."

"Hmm. And one could, if one were feeling completist, mention all of the surveillance devices Tim regularly carries on his person. Certainly, I've found the ubiquity of those devices... illuminating," Barbara says.

Which... all right. All *right*, but. "I only wanted the two of you to be *comfortable*."

"So *relax*, Tim," and Jason reaches out -- and hesitates before cupping his shoulder.

Hmm. "Were you about to ruffle my hair?"

Barbara laughs softly -- she had *listened* to that conversation.

Jason -- blushes. Direct hit.

Tim smiles. "I promise I won't tell Dick..."

"Oh, *fuck* you --"

"... immediately," Tim says, and rests one palm against the tabletop, just for the slight stretch. "Which reminds me -- I do need to call Dick at some point. While I'm here."

"Really, Tim, it's customary to *inform* the host when you're planning on throwing a party at her place," Barbara says, and turns to look at a light that's started flashing green. "A moment," and she rolls over to check it out.

Tim turns back to Jason --

And Jason presses both of his palms flat to the table and leans in. "You *don't* run from me, kid."

"Certainly I'd never even consider it when you're being so welcoming and sweet --"

"I'm *serious*, Tim. This doesn't work if I freak you out --"

"You weren't freaking me out, Jason. I *really* did just want you and Barbara to have as much time together as possible."

"Without you."

"I'm not a little black dress. I *don't* go everywhere."

Jason cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows. "Which means you would've pulled the same thing if it were Dick instead of me?"

"Ah -- possibly *faster*. I... respect the bonds of history, as it were."

"And also you're the *third*. Heh. And what did I tell you about the Robin who'll come after you?"

True, but -- "That was about *Bruce*, Jason, and I'm not -- if you're trying to threaten me into having higher self-esteem --"

Jason makes a fist and raises it between them, and Tim...

Tim gives up and snorts. "I think that will have to wait until I get some of Clark's special lubricant."

"Oh my fucking God. And you *weren't* really kidding there, so I'm just going to stick with fucking hell, you pervert."

"I've had a lot of time to develop my kinks, Jason. Hone them, you might say --"

"Yeah, I *might*," Jason says and brings his hand back down to his side, looks to Barbara --

She's still working.

And when Jason looks back, he's smiling at Tim again, just a little, and -- Tim reaches out and touches it. Just -- the shape of it.

The feel. Tim pulls back. "Jason. About tonight..."

"Yeah, what's up? You planning on slipping the leash and meeting up with me for a little proactive vigilantism?"

"The leash is off. Bruce has ordered me -- and Cassandra -- to work with you. As much as you'll allow."

Jason backs up a half-step, eyebrows up -- "*Really*."

"He overheard our talk with Dick. He... agrees. Provisionally."

"Meaning I play it your way."

Tim jabs the table twice. "*Our* way. Cassandra has been teaching me some *very* mean-spirited new things. I'm more than willing to share."

Jason's smile is slow and deeply, deeply predatory. "Well, all right, birdboy. Sounds like a date to *me*. Any choices on where you want to start implementing the master plan?"

"There isn't much gang activity in Cassandra's territory. Let's make it even less."

Jason makes a fist again. Tim punches it --

"Well, *that* looked friendly," Barbara says, rolling back up and looking them both over. "You're working together again."

"*With* Cassandra. On Daddy's orders, this time," and Jason sits on the table, close enough that his shoulder bumps against Tim.

"Fascinating. Where?"

"Cassandra's territory tonight," Tim says. "After that... I'm thinking we'll hit the gangs."

"Hard," Jason says. "What do *you* think of that?"

"I think... that you won't need me to find you appropriate targets for some time," Barbara says, and rolls close enough to touch -- to cover his and Jason's hands where they're touching. "When you do, I presume you'll be in touch."

"Oh, I missed *you*, Babs."

Barbara pats their hands and backs away again. "Noted. Now *why* did you need to call Dick from here, Tim?"

"Ah -- misdirection," Tim says. "Distraction, as well. Bruce is, as we speak, setting things in motion to formally adopt Cassandra."

"Holy... I'm gonna have a *sister*," Jason says. "A sister who might try to beat me stupid if I step out of line." He laughs and bumps Tim with his shoulder. "When the hell did that happen?"

"*Do* tell."

"Well... I'm reasonably sure it's something Bruce has been considering for quite some time. It came up in conversation this morning --"

"Sometime *after* you left the Cave," Barbara says and shakes her head. "I'm going to have to get some cameras in the manor. It never used to be this *interesting*."

Tim smiles. "I'm perfectly willing to plant them for you."

Barbara blinks at him and then smiles, wide and slow. "And sometimes he's just the sweetest boy in the world, isn't he, Jay?"

"Hearts and flowers *all* the way. Probably can't pry that little girlfriend of his off with a -- heh -- crowbar."

Barbara winces so Tim doesn't really have to -- he does, anyway --

"Uh oh -- what did I say?"

"Ah... Steph... Steph dumped me a few days ago."

"Shit, *why*?"

Barbara... Barbara is looking down at her own lap. Tim has to do this himself. "Because I'm a whore, Jason --"

"You *told* her about the others? She's a *civilian*, now, kid. The rules are all *different* --"

"She wasn't always a civilian," Tim says, and closes his eyes for a moment -- opens them. "And even though... I couldn't lie to her."

"Except, of course, for how you neglected to mention that you were drugged -- no, I know why you didn't tell her," Barbara says, and rests her cheek on one fist. "I respect your thinking there --"

"Thank you --"

"But it was still asinine. *You* needed to never lie to her -- *she* needed you not to hurt her. You could've broken up with her without letting her know that you were screwing around. You could've given her that, Tim."

Oh... oh. "I. I didn't think of it. That way."

Barbara rolls her eyes. "Fifteen years and you're all still a bunch of Lost Boys -- and no, Jason, you may *not* call me Wendy, unless you're not that attached to your testicles."

Jason laughs quietly and raises his hands. "I was thinking of the crappy old vampire movie, I swear." And then he bumps Tim rather *hard*. "You could've *told* me you lost her, asshole."

Lost her, yes. She won't be... she won't be there. Tim shakes his head. "I didn't really feel like whining about my problems, especially since I'm still... um. Pretty lucky in this respect."

"You *could* say that," Barbara says. "You boys can work that out later. Tell me more about Cassandra. She *agreed* to be adopted?"

"She likes living in the manor, and she wants to be closer to all of us. I -- got the impression that she's *always* wanted that, and just hadn't mentioned that particular fact," Tim says, and thinks about that other Cave, the emptiness of it. No trophies, no problematically inaccurate memorial. Alfred only coming every few days to make sure she has food and clean up after her a little... Tim shudders. "I don't know, Barbara. Did she ever mention being... lonely?"

"Not once," and Barbara's expression is hard. "She really does fit in with the rest of you far too well. But... none of that says anything about her wanting to be Bruce's *daughter*."

"Or my -- our... wow. This is me, being a little blown by the fact that I'm fucking my little brother."

Tim blushes *again*. "Jason --"

"And I *know* that's not what you meant all those times you *called* me your brother, and I know it's not like we were ever supposed to be the kind of family that gets shown on TV, but... Jesus. How many kids does Bruce *want*?"

"All of them...?" And Barbara looks back and forth between them. "Hmm, probably not. It does make me wonder, a bit, what it might have been like if my father *hadn't* been Jim Gordon."

"Hunh. Well, a *lot* of things would've been different then, Babs, but I get that that isn't your point," Jason says, and twines his fingers with Tim's almost absently. "I could see him trying to poach."

"'Poach,' hmm. Now there's a word for it," she says, and nods at Tim. "What else?"

"Well... there isn't much more that *I* know. She likes the idea of being our sister, she's not too thrilled about the idea of Bruce actively trying to be a father to her. I'm hoping that Dick... takes it well. I mean, I *think* he will --"

"What, did he get pissy about Bruce adopting you or something?"

Barbara narrows her eyes. "*Did* he?"

It occurs to Tim, somewhat belatedly, that she doesn't know everything -- or possibly *anything* -- substantive about the conversation Tim had with Dick in the manor a few days ago, and that if she did... she might very well want to *hurt* Dick for it. *Carefully* is the way to go. "Ah -- I think it would be more accurate to say that he was somewhat shocked. I've never been entirely sure that *Dick* was sure how he felt about Bruce adopting *him*."

Barbara snorts. "Well, that would be a *no*, Boy Wonder. My attempt to talk with Dick about it didn't precisely go anywhere... fruitful. So. You want to make sure Dick knows you're *here* when you tell him, thus... what? Forcing him to think about the possibility that the two of us were planning to have sex again? How *did* he react to that? He seemed rather non-plussed about your little liaison with Roy."

Tim squeezes Jason's hand before he can think about it --

"Oh, what the fuck? Did he seriously give you shit?"

"Oh. Oh, I think you *have* to tell me this, Tim," and Barbara rolls close again, reaching up to grab Tim's jaw and turn his face to hers.

Hell. "He... took it better after he'd had some time to think about it. The conversation ended on a high note, really --"

"*Ended* on a high note, which means it hit some serious fucking lows along the way," Jason says, shaking his head. "He can be pretty damned *possessive* --"

"Yes. Yes, he can," Barbara says, squeezing Tim's jaw before letting him go. "So you're hoping to distract Dick from one bad reaction by hitting him in the face with something else he has no right whatsoever to have an *opinion* about --" Barbara rolls to her primary workstation and just sits there for a moment. "You are a very, very manipulative little Robin, Tim."

"Well... yes. I... to be fair, Barbara, he wouldn't have reacted quite so badly if he didn't love you so much --"

Barbara reaches back and puts her hand up.

"And I can definitely shut up," Tim says, and starts to pull his hand away from Jason -- Jason squeezes it hard. Tim looks, and Jason is searching him thoroughly. He looks... concerned. Tim squeezes back --

"Tell me, Tim," and Barbara doesn't turn around. "Did he react that badly for Bruce, *too*, or...?"

"I... offered your name and Bruce's own at the same time. It would be fair to say that the reactions were... ah. Equal."

"Of course they were," and Barbara's laugh isn't an especially happy one. "God, *Dick*... I really need to have a *long* talk with him."

"Heh, well, sometimes that even works with Big Bird, Babs," and Jason shifts a little beside Tim. "We can *both* bail if you'd prefer it that way...?"

"I... I think I would, actually. I'm sorry -- I actually do have a few new programs I want you to check out, Tim, but we'll have to reschedule."

"That's fine, Barbara. I like having reasons to come see you."

Barbara looks back over her shoulder. "*Don't* be like Cassandra, Tim. You never need a reason. Just *call* me."

"I --" Tim blushes again. "Noted."

"And the same goes for you, Jaybird. I trust I won't have to beat that into you?"

"Aww, but I *like* it when you hurt me, Babsy," and Jason actually waggles his eyebrows a little.

This time, Barbara's laugh sounds a little better. "Go, both of you. *I'll* tell Dick about Cassandra."

Tim nods and follows Jason off the table. Jason immediately heads for the elevator, but... Tim goes to Babs and rests his hand on her shoulder. "May I...?"

"Oh... you," Babs says, and shakes her head. "You may."

Tim kisses her forehead and lets it linger, breathing in the scent of her hair until she pulls back -- and reaches up to cup Tim's face, and stroke her thumb over Tim's mouth. The expression on her face speaks expansively about calculation of the reasonably cheerful sort, and generally makes Tim want to stay awhile --

"I leave you two alone for one *minute*," Jason says, covering the hand Tim has on Barbara's shoulder with his own. "Not that I can blame *him* -- did I mention that you smell incredible?"

He'd moved perfectly silently, but there's no surprise on Barbara's face -- perhaps she'd seen him in her peripheral vision. Instead, she looks down at Jason's hand, then up at him. "Jealousy is so unattractive, Jason," she says, and moves her hand from Tim's face to Jason's own.

Jason cups her hand and kisses her fingertips. "You could always give me a reason not to be jealous, anymore..."

"Not," she says, and takes her hand back, "today. Go. This time I mean it."

Tim follows Jason to the elevator, and then down the hall and through the door. Gotham in sunlight is always a little surreal, especially in this part of the city. The buildings here are mostly older -- well-built enough to have survived the 'quake, but with a dark and heavy style better suited to darkness -- and perhaps heavy fog.

Jason raises his arms and stretches. Tim scouts for the car, and sees it at the corner, waiting for a stoplight.

"Jason..."

"I saw the car. Why don't you spend a little time walking the city with me? I'll buy you a chili dog."

Tim makes a face --

Jason laughs and punches Tim's shoulder lightly. "C'mon, live a little. The nitrites'll put some hair on your sac."

"I'm not *pre-pubescent*, Jason --" And Tim cuts himself off for the look the young woman gives them as she passes by with her stroller.

"No, but... heh." Jason rolls his head on his neck and shoves his hands in his pockets. "You *are* pretty cute. I've decided to just accept that and move on."

Tim crosses his arms under the cape he's *not* wearing -- Tim rests his arms at his sides. "You could consider coming back with me. It's not like there isn't room in the car."

Jason sighs and looks up at the clear blue sky. The quality of light makes it seem like it should be much warmer than it actually is, but it's not like he'll have to be out here for very long.

And the light has changed. "Jason..."

"I... I kinda need to keep going a little right now, Tim," Jason says, and rests his hand on Tim's shoulder. "It's..." He squeezes and lets go again, starting to back away. R-point C-14. I'll be waiting for you."

Tim nods, and watches Jason disappear into the crowd until he's just another bobbing head, somewhat higher than most. And Alfred is waiting for him at the curb.

Tim slips into the backseat and closes his eyes, thinks... 'right now' is what he'd said. Meaning -- or certainly implying -- that some other time might be better. An argument could be made that, at this point, he could and should stop pushing, but...

Pushing has worked so *well* --

"I presume that was, indeed, Master Jason, young sir...?"

Tim nods for the rearview. "He was already in with Barbara when I arrived."

"An intriguing development," Alfred says, and drives them back out into traffic.

"I certainly thought so. It's... I can't help but see it as a good sign, Alfred."

"Mm. A reconciliation would, of course, be the most desirable outcome," and it sounds like a very specific sort of question. That is to say -- a question which *could* be ignored, but perhaps only at Tim's peril.

"I've been... ah. Urging Jason in that direction. As much as I can. And I have reason to believe that he'll at least be visiting Barbara again soon."

"They have much in common which does not bear consideration without pain."

And that -- that was another question, Tim would swear to that. It's just that Tim's not sure which *one*. "Alfred...?"

"I hold myself apart from those activities which result in so many fascinating new wounds, scars, and stains, young sir, but I am not unaware that you plan to shift your... interpretation of what constitutes 'appropriate' behavior."

Ah. Well. "If I could even say that we were holding *steady* against crime, then I would --"

"If I may, Master Timothy...?"

Tim sits forward and clasps his hands between his knees. Alfred interrupting... "Of course, Alfred."

"You have thus far managed -- to an admirable degree -- to restrain yourself from making your battle a personal one. This has allowed you to retain something of a rapport with both the more official agents of law enforcement and certain of your adversaries."

Hm. "And you think it would be precipitous to let that go."

"It would surely be so to *throw it away*."

"Alfred, Bruce knows that we won't --"

"We are talking, young sir, about what you and *I* know."

It... really isn't at *all* unlike Alfred to pull Tim into benign conspiracies when it comes to Bruce. And Tim knows that this is *costing* Alfred, probably quite deeply. It wouldn't do to treat it lightly. Tim squeezes his hands together -- stops and releases himself, rubbing his palms against his jeans. "To be clear -- you're worried that I'll allow Jason's -- and Barbara's heretofore latent -- desires for vengeance to color how I perform on the street."

Alfred inclines his head.

"I care about them both deeply, Alfred, and it's true that I would happily take their battles for my own... I. Alfred, you protect the manor and Cave with a *shotgun* --"

"And I remain ever ready, willing, and capable of living with the consequences of that choice, should consequences ever occur."

"I -- don't plan to kill," Tim says, and catches himself digging his fingernails in against his thighs. "Nor do Jason or Cassandra."

"What you *plan* is the systematic torture and maiming of your fellow citizens, Timothy, and you would do well to *remember* that."

Anger. Open, *honest* anger... but. "I haven't forgotten, nor do I foresee a future where that particular loss of memory would be possible. Alfred."

"I do not believe you understand fully the path on which you plan to embark, and it pains me to know that you *will*, with time."

Alfred... he wants to *protect* Tim from this choice. More than anything else. Tim swallows. "I believe, with all of myself, that we are letting Gotham down, Alfred," Tim says, slowly and clearly.

"Timothy," and Alfred is speaking *just* as slowly. "Do not do either of us the discourtesy of pretending that your feelings for Master Jason -- and Miss Barbara -- have not colored this decision."

Barbara's hand on his and Jason's. A *pact* for Gotham -- and for themselves. Just to be a part of that --

Just to *have* that, and be wanted for it --

Tim clenches his hands into fists. "It's still the right decision for Gotham."

"What you *must* consider is whether or not it's the right decision for *you*. You... Timothy, you have so very much to lose."

Yes, but -- "And even more to gain," Tim says, and thinks about his dreams. Darkness and Robins, the Bat and Robins, always *Robins*, as if to show him what he could never *be*.

But.

He can have. He can *take*, and he can change things, *help* change things. Even if he'll never truly be the right kind of Robin, he can still make things *better*, and have so much --

So *much* -- Tim closes his eyes, just for a moment. It doesn't matter that Alfred is focused on the road -- Tim knows that *Alfred* knows he's doing it.

And that...

Well, that's another kind of being home. "This is going to sound... weak, Alfred, but I want you to know that I appreciate your trying to protect me."

Alfred makes a non-committal noise, which is... only to be expected.

"I don't plan... I *won't* forget this. Any of it. I know how much I have to lose, and I won't forget *that*, either. And I... I just hope you'll continue to have such a good opinion of me when this *doesn't* break me."

Alfred inhales sharply. "Tim -- Master Timothy --"

Tim smiles. "Sometimes I think it would be pleasant if you *just* called me 'Tim,' Alfred --"

"*Master* Timothy, think of what you're saying --"

"I've gotten to know things about myself. To be honest, I've *always* known them, known that I could never really be like Dick, or even Bruce..." Tim shakes his head. "I'm going to be all right, Alfred. And I'm sorry. I'll be doing my best not to let anyone down."

Alfred is silent, and, after a while, Tim leans back against the seat and just watches Gotham go by.

He *will* have to take Jason up on his offer sometime. He's never really had anyone to just *be* in Gotham with. His father had always treated the city like an unfortunate setting for his family's -- and his business' -- gem. His mother...

He doesn't remember how she'd felt about Gotham. It seems like something he *should* know, something he should've at least asked his father at some point, but... he hadn't, and now there's no one to ask, at all.

Dana had liked the city's *life*. She'd used the word 'vibrant,' more than once, and Tim knows that it was her pleading more than his own which had convinced his father not to move them again.

Try to move them -- Tim would've petitioned for independence before he let his father take him away from this life. From his duty, from all of Robin he could *touch*...

Had his father known that? It had never gone that far between them -- his father had never gotten that *close* to the truth. And Tim wouldn't have given up the secret just to make his father understand. It's too important for that, and has always been so. He'd always understood why Bruce had been so *careful* with Tim's relationship to his parents when he'd been anything *but* with Tim's other relationships.

Bruce wanted Tim to have as much with them as possible, and Tim would never dream of blaming him for all the ways it just *wasn't* possible to have that much. Not with all of the lies. And that...

Is that why Bruce had agreed so easily to the new protocol? Had Bruce always seen that potential in him? All of those years of *systematic* deception, from the broad strokes of claiming to pick up bruises and scrapes in pick-up basketball to the more subtle things, like claiming to be bored by the business world, and thus carefully seeming to tune out whenever his father brought it up...

A part of him wants to ask how much Bruce could *really* have known about the way Tim had handled that part of his life, but the only answer to that is the same as it's always been: He's *Batman*.

But -- yes. All the lies and the facility therewith could speak to a certain degree of sociopathy, if he was looking at himself from the outside. Is that what Bruce had meant by "low degree of connection to world apart from vigilantism?" *Would* Bruce have... softened himself that way?

For him?

He's not... he won't turn into Zzasz, or anyone like that. He *isn't* entirely comfortable with the statement 'some people deserve to be murdered,' even if he does have to admit that the statement 'some people deserve to die' rings... entirely true. Tim knows he has to hold on to that discomfort, and he knows that he will.

But there are other paths, and others have walked those paths safely.

("It's better when you're not alone.")

He won't be.

Alfred doesn't say another word until after Tim is out of the car, at which point all he says is,

"Master Bruce instructed me to inform you that you're welcome to join him at Wayne Enterprises today, but that he would rather you prepare a map of your projected activities tonight."

WE? Again? "Ah... will the subject of Drake Industries be raised in another meeting today?"

Alfred isn't -- quite -- meeting his eyes, but -- "Tomorrow, I believe, young sir." His voice is gentle.

Bruce had given him a day's warning, this time. Tim takes Alfred's -- gloved -- hand in his own. "I'll remember, Alfred. Everything."

"As you say, Master Timothy. If you'll excuse me, I'll prepare a light meal for you to take in the Cave."

Because there's no real question of where he'll be. Not now.

Cassandra is doing routines on the uneven bars, doing things which make Dick seem inhumanly beautiful and make her seem inhumanly *perfect*. Things that will always be at least a little bit beyond him. Tim watches, anyway, noting the ways she does and doesn't use her strength, as opposed to her *energy*.

He thinks about Jason learning the streets in daylight -- it's possible that he hasn't spent much time at all in the territory they'll be working tonight. Possibly not even when he was *Robin*, as much of the area had been comfortably commercial, not quite wealthy enough to attract criminal attention...

Cassandra dismounts with a singular lack of flair, and... hmm.

She cocks her head at him and raises her eyebrows.

"Do you enjoy that? That particular routine, or working the bars in general, I mean."

"Training," she says, and grabs a towel to wipe off some of the sweat.

"Yes, but... I know you enjoy sparring."

She smiles. "Play. *Good*, *useful* play."

Tim smiles back -- his thoughts precisely, especially since he's gotten good enough to stay upright for more than a few seconds with Bruce. But... "The gymnastics equipment can *also* be good, useful play."

"No," she says, and reties her ponytail. "No one else. Too -- alone. Solitary," she says, and raises her eyebrows in another question.

"Yes," Tim says. "But... sometimes I have a lot of fun on, say, the pommel horse."

She wrinkles her nose. "You *would*."

Tim snorts. "I -- okay, that's -- fair?"

"Power. Violence. *Control*," she says, and jabs his chest lightly. "Too much."

"Noted." And... he could just go to the console and do the map for Bruce. It won't take long, and it'll give him the opportunity to look it over for himself.

It's just that Cassandra is still standing there, patient and -- open.

"I... did anything else happen today? That you want to talk about?"

She frowns. "Training," and she doesn't quite sound like she wonders if Tim's brain had been replaced with, say, a shoebox, but... there's a little of it there. And confusion.

"I... I was thinking we could try to spend more time... talking. With each other," Tim says, and thinks about putting his hands in his pockets, crossing his arms under the cape he's *still* not actually wearing --

She watches his hands flex at his sides, frowning seriously, *studying* them -- and then his face.

"I -- um."

"Brother?"

He's blinking rapidly -- and his hands are up between them, but he doesn't want her to think that he doesn't want that. He doesn't know *what* he wants, not really, but --

"Too soon," she says, and nods to herself. "We can... Steph likes to play music for me. Teach me."

Tim wonders what his expression looks like *now*, but... it can't be too bad. Cassandra is only watching, not *watchful*. "Do you like that? Music?"

She waves a hand between them. "Watching is better. The videos. Listening... too many words, not enough *sound*."

And that makes perfect sense. *How* long has it been since he'd watched videos? Does the manor even get those *channels*? And if it does... had Dick liked them? Jason? "We could watch, sometime. Ah -- unless you want to just share it with Steph."

"We can," she says, and smiles almost shyly. "Different with you."

Tim smiles ruefully. "Almost certainly. And... I have some music with no words, at all."

The expression on her face is so clearly 'I've heard of such things, but I'm dubious' that Tim has to laugh.

"You *must* have heard some... sometime?" Because there's a lot of Mozart playing in the neighborhoods they work in, right. But -- *still*.

"I think... Jean-Paul? Music box," she says, and her smile is distant but -- soft. "I tried -- I danced for him."

"Dancing? I can't dance even a little bit, unless it's very measured and --"

"Controlled, yes," she says, and waves him off, a little. "I... I'll show you, sometime. If you want."

Sister? "I'd like that," Tim says. "And there are other things... movies. I could... help you with your reading? I know you already have the basics down, but --"

She makes a face. "Bruce wants that. *I* don't."

*That* -- he can work with. Tim mimes opening a book with his hands. "There are worlds in there. Different worlds."

"Different *words*."

"*Worlds*," he says again. "Pirates and princesses and astronauts and aliens --"

"The League," she says, and walks away.

Point to the We Hate Literacy club founder and president. Tim closes the imaginary book and watches Cassandra stretch for a few minutes before heading over to the console.

It does only take a few minutes, so he takes a little while to refamiliarize himself with the city's most accurate street-map, not really fine-tuning the route so much as building images within his mind, and remembering, idly, being quizzed on street names and having to offer both cross-streets and landmarks.

The feel of knowing nothing about the city, the sense of it as something vast and more incomprehensible *because* Batman proved it was knowable with enough effort. He'd been humbled, and spiked through with fear the first time he'd gone out in the suit.

It's all familiar now, and the fears have shifted to far less nebulous things, but it wouldn't be a bad idea to *remember* what it had been like to be that boy, even if he's too small to live in, now.

Does Bruce miss him?

Would Jason have liked him if, through some bizarre and improbable set of circumstances Jason had decided to give him a chance?

*This* had been his first territory, where he'd fought and won his first battles -- always with the Case looking on, ready to provide Tim with the drive and fire he needed to keep going, keep *fighting* for just this.

Would Jason understand if Tim ever tried to explain that sometimes he misses *him*? No, that doesn't really make sense even in his *own* mind. He'll just keep it to himself until it fades away on its own.

He marks the file for Bruce and changes into workout clothes -- and he barely has his shorts up before Cassandra is tugging on his hand.

Heh. Spar.

It doesn't need to be said.

And it is, of course, a teaching spar as much as it's anything else: Cassandra correcting the strikes she doesn't let land, demanding more *give* from his punches and kicks until it almost seems like he's throwing himself into the fight --

And it occurs to him, almost certainly *horrendously* belatedly, that what Cassandra is *really* demanding from him is a lighter touch on himself, a greater degree of trust for his own body as he *lets* it do the things it already knows how to do, as opposed to forcing it to do those things --

"Yes, *more* --"

He attacks, treating himself like a weapon with a light trigger, or maybe like an animal on a leash made of air --

The metaphor escapes him, the *moves* do not, and Cassandra is smiling as she dodges and blocks, moving faster in response. He *can't* hurt her. He can do anything, absolutely --

He spins into the last kick she'd taught him -- *contact* --

"Don't stop, *more* --"

It's like working a kata. It's like sparring with *Dick* -- when too much caution just leads to noogies and Dick looking disappointed, which is worse --

It's like flying, with his mind as the jumpline, or --

No, that's not it, either. It's speed and power and precision, all at once -- *contact* --

"Good!"

The lighter touch -- could he use this on the street? Does he dare? Or -- would he have the option of choosing if his back was to the wall? Control has saved him again and again. *Ruthless* control has saved dozens. *Hundreds*.

This -- is a different way of being ruthless, he thinks, and goes at Cassandra faster, using *every* nasty trick he can think of and getting blocked, getting his hands caught and released --

His kick *just* brushes her shin, but she stumbles and Tim kicks again, again --

Contact, and Tim leaps --

Cassandra stumble-runs out of his path, and her strike takes Tim in the kidney. Possibly the most direct possible way of calling time, assuming you didn't want to use your mouth, Tim thinks, and lets the momentum of the hit *inform* a tumble. When he's up and in a ready-stance --

"Show me," she says. "Again, starting with contact *here*," and she touches her shin.

For a moment, he doesn't think he *can*. He was moving on *instinct* -- except that he doesn't really *have* instincts like that, as opposed to thoroughly-learned behaviors.

He goes through the kick series slowly, striking out with his hands to simulate what he'd been doing to distract her from how he'd gotten close enough *to* try some of those downward heel-kicks --

"Should've jumped back," she says, and nods to herself. "More?"

Well... they really should save themselves up for patrol. "Planning on going for my kidneys, again?"

Cassandra smiles. "You don't twist enough, except when --" She gestures: a bird in flight.

Tim nods, and thinks about it... "Come for me this time, let me practice dodging."

She nods, and --

Motion, faster than he can *possibly* block, except for the fact that he's doing it. All right, a light touch on himself. He knows this territory, he knows how to move, how to leap and, yes, *twist*.

Cassandra is relentless, of course, and Tim's forearms are going to be very grateful for the armoring in the gauntlets, not to mention his feet and shins. He tries dodging more, running more --

He *has* the space, at least for this. The mats are huge, and he's *not* tired. He bobs and weaves, drops and tumbles, springs *up* --

Flips back, lands and keeps moving, twists enough to keep giving her his side --

Dances on his feet with all the foot-blocks he's honing into things which can actually be *used* on the street. If they're good enough to protect him from Cassandra -- even a Cassandra who's pulling her punches -- they're good enough for Gotham.

Tim smiles and turns, runs off the mats and leaps up onto a table, jumping and twisting, kicking away from strikes aimed at his feet and shins --

He leaps off again, tumbling and *twisting*, landing on his feet with momentum taking him toward the console --

Cassandra pauses for *just* long enough to give Bruce's chair a good push, and Tim leaps for *that*, nearly losing his balance and getting it back by striking for Cassandra's arms --

She laughs at the cheat and spins the chair faster, forcing Tim to focus a little on his own balance even as he keeps *moving*.

He leaps up and onto the nice, steady console itself, but doesn't pause before he's leaping over her head and running backwards toward the showers, blocking high, blocking low, blocking *everywhere*, because he needs his feet for escape.

Once in the showers, the sound of their breathing echoes off the tile, as does the slap of their trainers' soles.

Cassandra turns on the cold water, Tim turns on the hot, and they're in a lukewarm and very *specific* sort of rainstorm, slipping and dancing between the drops. Tim leans back away from a powerful punch, and lets himself fall, roll in the water and gasp at the feel of it on the back of his neck --

Cassandra drops *down* and Tim has just enough time to get back to his feet before she pounces on where he would've been.

She laughs, and Tim does, too, *breathlessly* --

"Ah, *there* you are. I feared the two of you had perhaps gotten yourselves involved in something foolish," Alfred says from the entrance to the showers. He's holding a covered tray and a very large amount of thinly-veiled desire to scold them bloody.

Which... all right. They are fully-clothed in a running shower while also sparring.

Tim steps out of his ready stance. Cassandra turns off the water.

"Ah... food. Food seems like a good idea. To me. Alfred," Tim says, and scrubs a hand back through his wet hair.

Cassandra is standing next to him with her head down, but there's a smile on her face just visible past the wet fall of her hair.

Tim rubs his own smile off his mouth.

Alfred sniffs, turns around, and walks back into the Cave proper.

Tim looks at Cassandra -- Cassandra giggles, quietly, and follows Alfred. Tim follows *her*, grabbing a towel on the way and stripping out of his wet clothes.

Cassandra's are already in the hamper -- she really is *just* that fast -- and Cassandra is waiting naked for Alfred to uncover the tray. Living with her is really going to be *incredibly* interesting, every single day.

Tim dresses in another set of workout clothes and joins Cassandra at the table. Today there's a salad, as well as ceviche which must have been prepared yesterday. Tim lets himself eat slowly, savoring it. Cassandra is *also* eating slowly, but...

"Do you not like it?"

"Don't know. It... stings my mouth," she says, and drinks more of her juice.

Tim explains the process of cooking seafood in citrus juices and seasoning it with hot peppers, and Cassandra nods and keeps working on it. She's clearly *trying* to enjoy it, and she's just as clearly distinctly unsure about the whole thing. "Maybe you can tell Alfred what foods you like, or..." Tim thinks about it. "What kinds of flavors you like."

"Sweet. Meaty -- not together."

Tim nods. "I'd call this spicy-tart," he says, and eats another shrimp. "Is it the stinging you don't like or the burn?"

Cassandra cocks her head and eats another one of her scallops. "Maybe... both. But mostly the stinging. I like other burning things. Spicy things."

Tim nods again. "Alfred would probably fix you something else, if you asked --"

"No," she says, and keeps eating. "Alfred *looks* when I don't eat enough."

He almost certainly does, though he's never begrudged Tim his tendency to take small portions. Maybe Cassandra is supposed to grow more than he is. Or maybe... "Have you ever told him when you liked something?"

"Told him... good smells. He always knows his food is good. Like I know my fighting is good."

"True, but... I think he'd be happy if you told him. It would also help him figure out how to cook more things you like, which would *really* make him happy."

Cassandra looks thoughtful for a moment, and absently drinks more juice -- "He likes cooking for *you*. You know all the... details. Little things about food."

Tim smiles ruefully. "Sometimes he makes special dishes just for me. I love it, and I make sure he knows it," Tim says, and taps the table between them twice.

She looks at his hand, frowns, and nods. "Okay, I'll tell. *Only* when I like."

Tim nods back and focuses on the food again. There's a ginger carrot dressing for the salad which is an interesting choice against the ceviche, but of course it's wonderful.

The question of whether or not Alfred has prepared something for Bruce -- and, if so, *what* -- isn't worth considering. Tim honestly doesn't know how Alfred had managed to avoid bludgeoning the man to death with a tray *years* ago.

And Cassandra is smiling *very* widely --

Tim senses *something* and has just enough time to get out of his chair before Dick's grab would've caught him --

"Aww, don't make me *chase* you, little brother! You know it's always worse when I have to catch you."

Which 'it,' exactly? Dick's standing with his arms out, gesturing little come-ons with his fingers --

And Tim doesn't actually need to be in a ready-stance. He stands down --

Dick pounces and gets him in a head-lock, and apparently it was time for noogies. Dick is much too good at avoiding Tim's shin-kicks and stomps for comfort -- much less satisfaction -- but he does let go eventually.

And grins at Tim.

Tim raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, letting his hair fall back as it will. "Did you have a good conversation with Barbara, Dick?"

Dick winces. "Ooh, okay, so you definitely *didn't* want that rough and tumble brotherly affection I'm so good at, today," he says, snagging a chair and sitting down. "I was technically supposed to lead with an abject apology."

Tim feels himself blushing and shakes his head. "We already had that out, Dick --"

"Babs seems to feel like we didn't have it out *enough*, and I've kinda learned to trust her instincts on that kind of thing. Heh. I *am* sorry, Tim. I -- didn't have the right."

Cassandra is looking at both of them curiously, a little narrowly --

Dick reaches out and covers her hand without turning away from Tim. "I was an ass about little brother's sex life... little sister," Dick says, and *then* turns, smiling at her. "Can I tell you how happy I am that you're going to be even more a part of the family? Because I'm pretty thrilled."

Cassandra smiles. "*Brother*. You come visit? A lot?"

Dick's smile becomes absolutely dazzling. "Absolutely. And *you* have to come visit me. There are some friends of mine I think you'll like a lot, and, well, it's *past* time."

And Cassandra turns her smile on Tim -- and uses her free hand to pat the table next to Tim's plate.

"Yeah, Tim, c'mere. *I* already ate, but you haven't finished your veggies. That's a *no-no*."

"Dick..."

Dick sighs and his smile becomes a little rueful. "Go easy on me here, kiddo, I just got my ass handed to me on a *plate*. And the plate had some really sharp edges, and..." Dick shakes his head. "Tell me again that we're okay?"

"We're okay," Tim says. "I mean that. I don't... I never thought you weren't entitled to your opinions, and you're certainly entitled to your *feelings*."

"Am I? I'm not always so sure about that... no, I'm not going to sit here and whine. Come *here*, Tim."

Tim sits down again, and Dick pushes Tim's salad at him. Tim eats --

"So... Cass. Why naked, exactly?"

"Clothes got wet," Cassandra says, and lets go of Dick to pour herself more juice. "Sparring with Tim. Playing," and she smiles at Tim.

Tim smiles back from behind his eyes. That was definitely *an* answer --

"So... do you not have more clothes here? And playing how? Were you guys in the shower or something?"

Cassandra nods and drinks her juice.

Tim laughs a little and pours more juice for himself --

"I'm just -- I think I'm still a little confused, here..."

"Patrol soon," Cassandra says, and gives Dick a very, very patient look.

Honestly, it makes perfect sense. A certain *kind* of perfect sense, but perfect sense just the same.

"So... you just don't want to get more workout clothes dirty before it's time to suit up?" Dick sounds a little helpless.

Tim nods *with* Cassandra. Efficiency, concern for the amount of work Alfred already has to do...

Dick points at Tim. "He got dressed."

"Doesn't like being naked around me," Cassandra says, and eyes the rest of her ceviche with raw determination.

"I... hunh," and Dick turns to Tim with his eyebrows up and a small frown on his face. He *looks* a little helpless.

"When you think about it, Dick, we're all some degree of naked around each other pretty often."

"Yes, but... I have this *image* of you crawling out of bed with one of your many, *many* lovers to put clothes back on before coming back. How are you -- you're coping? With naked, naked Cass?"

Cassandra giggles and *grins* at Tim.

Tim dabs his mouth with a napkin. "As to the first point, Dick, I've never actually done that --"

"You can't tell me you haven't thought of it, though. I won't *believe* you."

Tim raises his hands. "I haven't. Yet. To be fair, I've yet to -- ah -- get to know, biblically, very many people since regaining my sobriety --"

Dick snorts and kicks Tim's chair --

Tim steadies it. "Anyway, yes. The alternative is her wearing more of my clothes, and that's just disturbing."

"Liar," she says, and *also* kicks Tim's chair.

Tim steadies it out of the spin it was taking to the *floor*, this time, and clears his throat. "All right, fine. She's comfortable. *Me* being uncomfortable would make me feel rather stupid, considering... ah." And if he'd just start blushing *before* he was tempted to say something imbecilic --

"Considering what, little brother?"

-- then he wouldn't be in situations like this one, right now. Cassandra has gone back to eating -- just a little grimly -- and Dick is looking at him more sharply with each passing moment. Tim sighs and raises his hands. "Considering how much of my sex life she's been exposed to since she's been here."

Dick -- flushes. Just a little, but still...

"Dick --"

"I've -- ah. Been ordered to suck it up and cope, Tim. I *had* been planning on going with a nice, solid course of abject denial, but I've been -- it's not good enough." Dick claps his hands on his thighs and leans in, a little. "You're happy?"

"I... honestly can't imagine not being with him. Not anymore."

Dick's smile is a little distant, but it's there, and -- "And that makes nothing *but* sense to me," he says, and steals a shrimp from Cassandra.

She pushes her plate toward Dick --

"Nuh-uh. All that protein is *good* for you, Cass. I gotta look out for my family."

At which point Cassandra stabs the remaining pieces of seafood with her fork until they're all shoved together on the tines -- and drags them off with her teeth. She swallows so fast that it's entirely possible she hadn't *chewed* --

Tim winces. Dick rubs his throat in sympathy.

"Possibly we'll tell Alfred to skip this dish next time around," Dick says, leaning back and throwing his feet up on the table. "Babs tells me you're working Cassandra's territory tonight? The two of you *and* Jason --"

"The three of us, yes," Tim says, and watches Dick's face -- more tension, held only briefly. "I've got a rough map of our projected route tonight, but of course that'll only stand up until the punches start being thrown. Why? Are you planning to work Gotham tonight?"

"The 'haven's been pretty quiet, lately. I was thinking of taking whichever territory you were leaving open tonight even before I heard about your... new plans."

There's a lot there -- really very much a *lot* -- but, most of all, there's the need for both of them to stay on the surface of the conversation. They don't need another argument, and everything has been said. Tim nods. "My territory could use a Nightwing-style pounding. Just to change things up a bit."

Dick nods back and searches Tim's face, his eyes -- and his smile is a little too old for everyone present.

It's possible that he means 'too bleak.' "It's all right, Dick. We're not going to be stepping all that far outside the protocols."

"You're writing a *new* protocol --"

"Yes," Cassandra says, and waits until they're both looking at her before she pats her chest with her palm. "For the Bat."

And that... was unexpected. Hmm. "Did Bruce talk to you about it, Cassandra?"

"Yes. Before he asked me to be his daughter. 'The Bat cannot be static,'" and she pitches her voice low. "'The Bat must *move*.'"

That -- yes. *Yes*.

Dick frowns and searches *her* while she waits patiently -- "Are you gonna be okay with this, Cass? I know how important it is to you to be... well."

"Yes," she says again. "I'll show Tim and Jason. They'll show me," and she gestures, moving the fingers of both hands together until they're twined. *Locked*. "Compromise."

Dick nods slowly. "And that just leaves Jay, and I'm just going to go with the fact that you know him at least as well -- if not better -- than I do, Tim."

"*Good* call, Big Bird. After all, you don't even know what I *taste* like," Jason says.

*Jason* says, and Tim's on his feet before he can think, moving before he *wants* to think --

Jason steps out of the shadows and smiles at Tim ruefully. He's holding a folder full of papers in one hand, slapping it against his other palm. He's masked and dressed, and that awful hood is nowhere to be seen and he's *here*.

"Jason..."

"Well, holy *hell*," Dick says, and Tim can hear his chair scraping against the stone as he turns it, and presumably Cassandra is doing something.

Definitely something. Tim reaches for the folder, and Jason hands it to him with his eyebrows up --

Yes, Tim is absolutely thinking about his belt. Tim nods as he takes the folder, and forces himself to give Jason his back as he walks to the table. There are more than enough chairs, and Jason has already come this far --

And Jason sits down next to Tim only a moment after Tim's down in his own chair. He moves like Bruce, when he wants to. Which is... often.

Tim's *not* blushing, but he's pretty sure he's flushed, and -- right, coping.

Dick is eyeing Jason openly, eyebrows up and curious.

Cassandra... is drinking more juice. Hunh.

"Cassandra, are you dehydrated?"

"I really like this juice," she says. "Will stop to pee on patrol."

Jason smiles broadly. "I always kinda hated having to take a bathroom break in some convenience store while the civilians looked like they were about to shit themselves."

Dick laughs. "Sometimes they'd try to save me from Batman."

"Probably 'cause you looked about *ten*," Jason says, and turns to Tim. "What about you, kid? No, wait -- you have never in your life taken a pee break while on patrol, have you? You probably have a bladder like *iron* at this point."

"I -- No Man's Land. Sometimes those patrols --"

"Took for-fucking-*ever*, Dick says, and turns back to the table.

He doesn't put his feet back up, so there's plenty of room to open the folder and start going through it. Yellows for several prostitutes and at least two pimps, all arrested at one point or another not far from the R-point where they were *supposed* to meet tonight.

The prostitutes showed signs of long-term abuse. Ukrainian last names, green cards which may or may not have been forged -- "No word back from the Feds?"

"Not that I could find," Jason says. "So, Cassandra, is the naked thing a statement or just kind of the way you roll?"

"*Tim* doesn't question," she says, and sounds annoyed --

"*Far* be it from me to get on the case of a hot chick who wants to be naked. I'll strip, too, if you want."

Tim looks up from under his lashes -- Cassandra is deciding whether or not Jason is kidding --

Dick laughs. "I annoyed her first. She and Tim got *wet* today, little wing. While they were *playing*."

Jason punches Tim in the shoulder. "Shoulda seen that wet hair. Playing in the shower? Alfred *hates* that, you know."

"Yes," Cassandra says. "And you were lying."

"Only a little bit. I hate changing before I've even gotten a little dirty, Cassandra," Jason says, and reaches across the table to offer Cassandra his hand. "We're gonna be partners tonight. And relatives. Let's pretend we didn't start off itching to beat on each other."

Cassandra searches him again -- and nods, after a moment, gripping Jason's forearm and squeezing.

And Tim realizes he wasn't quite breathing --

And realizes that that was obvious when Dick cups his shoulder and rocks him back and forth a little. "Looks like your plan is working, little brother. *Smile*."

Tim does, and turns back to the folder. Photos -- presumably taken by Jason -- of the prostitutes moving in and out of one particular building -- the address is on the back of one of the photos. Hm. "Are they mules?"

"No question," Jason says. "From the chatter, a lot of them wind up coming here via Afghanistan, other not-so-friendly places with nice, big poppy crops."

Tim nods. "Just heroin, or...?"

"*Mostly* heroin. I'm not finding where they're getting their crack from, but the quantities look pretty small."

Makes sense. More photos of older men... one woman.

Jason taps her photo. "She runs a high-end brothel for the girls who've gotten 'promoted.' She may or may *not* also be one of the bosses."

Tall, slim, late thirties to early forties, a nasty knife scar on her cheek -- Tim looks closer and she's missing part of her left ear. She's distinctive enough that Tim doesn't think he would've missed her, but...

He takes the photo to the console and scans it in, setting the facial recognition software to run.

When he looks back, Dick is going through the other photos -- "This guy, I know him," he says, and lays the photo down on the center of the table. "He had a few meet-ups with Blockbuster last year. These other two *might* have been with him, but I can't say for sure."

Jason nods while Cassandra studies the photos. "Anything else?"

Dick spreads his hands. "It *looked* like a gun deal, but it *smelled* like a hit. I saw money changing hands, but I never saw a body."

"Mm. Probably one of our John DOAs," Tim says, and goes to retrieve the photo of the man Dick had recognized -- Bruce, wearing most of one of Bruce Wayne's business-formal suits and staring at Jason. Tim smiles and resists the urge to cup Jason's shoulder --

"Maybe, *just* maybe," Jason says, and smiles, "Daddy can tell us who's who."

Bruce moves closer and -- keeps staring at Jason. His expression would only seem blank to someone who could somehow miss his *eyes*, which are full and almost wild.

"Ah -- Bruce," Tim says --

Bruce blinks, once, and turns to the photos, shuffling through them until he gets to the one Dick had partially identified -- "Bogdan Shvets. Formerly muscle, currently striking out on his own -- perhaps." Bruce reaches for the photo of the woman and studies it for a moment. "She may be in the files, but I highly doubt it," he says, and lays the photo down on the table, turning back to Jason.

Jason is still smiling at the table, but it looks a little frozen on his face, uncomfortable and something like jagged.

Tim looks away -- Dick and Cassandra are focused on Bruce and Jason, too, Cassandra frowning and Dick possibly holding his breath as much as --

Tim breathes, a little too loudly --

Jason turns to look at him, searching him quickly and thoroughly.

Tim raises his hand --

And Bruce rests one hand on Jason's shoulder so lightly that it feels like Tim's own shoulder is going to break, fly away from his body, *something* --

Jason laughs, soft and low, and reaches up to -- cover Bruce's hand with his own.

Bruce sighs. "Jason."

"Right here, heh. I... decided it was time for a visit? Wanted to pick up Robin and Batgirl before it got too late? Missed Alfred's cook--"

"Jay. I..." Bruce shakes his head roughly and sits between Cassandra and Jason. "This is your main target for the night."

"Unless Tim and Cassandra have anything sweeter. I've been spending some time with a few of the pros. They need a hero or two."

Bruce nods once and gathers the photos and papers together, straightening them almost restlessly --

Dick clears his throat. "I was thinking of taking Tim's territory tonight, Bruce. Unless... well."

"Please do," Bruce says, and he's not looking at any of them, right now. It almost feels like he's staring -- glaring -- at the Case.

Cassandra covers one of Bruce's hands with her own and squeezes.

Bruce nods and looks up -- looks at Tim. "Detective First Grade Maria Espinoza in Narcotics received a batarang with a note attached giving the location and time for a meet, tonight. Her record is clean and admirable, and she spent several years working undercover. You'll meet with her -- on the docks. You'll explain that you're going after the drug gangs, and that you need her as a contact. You *will* convince her to work with you."

"Noted," Tim says, and wonders what happens now. Do they talk? About what, precisely? There are a large number of limits imposed by the fact that Bruce is giving them the *Bat*, but...

It would be a good idea for one of them to call Oracle, just to make sure they have *all* possible information, *but*.

They're waiting. They're *all* waiting for something, and Tim doesn't think any of them are sure of what it is --

"Patrol," Cassandra says, standing up and moving for her uniform without another word or a backward glance.

Tim smiles because he can't really stop himself --

Dick laughs. "Still keep my spare uniforms in the same place, Bruce?"

Bruce nods, and Dick stands and starts stripping down as he walks toward the uniforms.

Jason snags Cassandra's half-finished glass of juice and finishes it off, leaning back in the chair and generally looking anything but casual, and -- oh. Tim needs to go. Tim needs to *change*, but mainly he needs to go, even though it would be --

Just to hear them *talking* to each other -- no. He can always review the footage later, and -- Tim stands and pulls off his own shirt, moving --

Right up until Jason wraps his hand around Tim's wrist and *pulls*. Tim stumble-steps back to the table and braces himself with his other hand. "Jason --"

"Your handiwork, kid. Don't you wanna see it through?"

"Jason --"

"Jay," Bruce says, and wraps his hand -- *slowly* -- around Jason's other wrist --

"God, I remember *that* feeling," Jason says, laughing again -- "Wow, this is even more fucked up than I thought it would be."

"It. Ah. Doesn't have to be," Tim says, and tugs against the grip on *his* wrist.

"No? Bruce telegraphing to everyone how much he wants to jump on me, *Dick* getting away quick, *you* about to do a runner --"

"Just to *change*, Jason. And -- the two of you need to talk."

"Is that..." Jason closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he looks a little *bleak*, and --

Tim sits down on the table and stops tugging. "It's really -- it's *awkward*, yes, but it doesn't have to be... fucked-up."

"You still sound like you're begging when you curse, birdboy --"

"I --"

"He is," Bruce says -- *Bruce* says, and looks up at Tim. "He wants us all to be together, and reasonably comfortable with each other. He wants us to be family, and more than that, greater than that. Everything he'd always believed was possible when he watched us from outside."

Jason shakes his head. "That sounds more like things *you* want, B. I mean --"

"Sometimes Tim's desires are so close to my own I find them frightening. Perhaps, with time, they will become more like yours," Bruce says, and strokes over Jason's hand, pushing his fingers between --

Jason sighs. "Bruce --"

-- twining their hands together. "That frightens me, as well. I have never been able to know your desires as well as I might have wished --"

"*No*, Bruce. You always knew what I wanted, and -- tried so fucking hard to give it to me, even when we both knew that what I wanted didn't *work* --"

"I love you," Bruce says --

And Tim can't stop himself from trying to tug away again, get past Jason's *strength*. He can strike --

"Jesus fucking *Christ*, Bruce, you're gonna make Tim run to *Tibet* --"

"I love Tim, as well. I would keep him with me, hide him away from all other... influences, convince him that I'm the only one he needs... tell me, Jason, do you ever feel that way about him? Has he shown you *enough* of himself, yet?"

Jason frowns and stares at -- his own hand, wrapped tight around Tim's wrist.

Tim blushes hard. "Look, I could... we could all have this discussion some other time. And possibly over the comms --"

"Hmm."

Jason snorts and squeezes Tim's wrist *hard*. "I don't even know which conversation we're *having*. Bruce's monologue of *obsession* is really fucking distracting, here --"

"He's ah -- rather good at that," Tim says, and looks at Bruce -- he's watching Jason, again, eyes so *full*.

It's just that Tim knows that Bruce is watching *him*, too. Lover. It's too small a word for this, it's *laughable* --

"Look, I..." Jason shakes his head. "Let's skip the love part of the conversation, because it doesn't change anything, doesn't make anything less fucked-up or more easy to *deal* with. I'm not the same kid you dragged home from that alley, Bruce, and Tim's not ever going to stop belonging to everyone, and *you* won't ever stop... heh. Being you," Jason says, and lets Tim's wrist go.

Tim rubs a little life back into it --

"Sorry, k-- baby brother make you sound about six. 'Bro' makes *me* sound like Roy --"

"I believe he prefers 'little 'mano,'" Bruce says, and releases Jason's hand.

Jason snorts again. "Okay, so that's kind of *horrible*, but yeah, sounds exactly like Roy. And exactly like you were *listening*, you big fucking *freak*."

"I missed you, as well."

Jason tenses hard --

Bruce smiles, small and sharp and undeniably *present*, and Tim has to just --

Tim squeezes his *own* wrist and tries to make himself stay still, just --

("He's waiting for you to sit *still*, kid.")

And the Jason outside his brain is laughing again, shaking his head and standing -- and cupping Tim's side. He tugs until Tim is standing again and takes that last half-step closer until they're pressed to each other.

"Jason --"

Jason kisses him hard, cupping his sides and stroking up to Tim's obliques, squeezing there and stroking back down again, licking his way into Tim's mouth and holding *on* --

Tim wraps one arm around Jason's neck, and --

He can't. Not with both arms. Not with Bruce right *there*. Tim reaches out --

Jason breaks the kiss and looks at him, eyes blanked out from the mask but everything else so -- open. "You can't help it, can you?"

"No, Jason. I..." Blushing, flushing -- the words don't matter. *Nothing* matters, right now, but the feel of Bruce taking his hand, the motion in his peripheral vision even as Tim can't look away from Jason --

"You -- you never could. It's too much, too important... don't you know it doesn't fix anything? That it can make things *worse*?"

"It's better when you're not alone," Tim says, and watches Bruce rest a hand on Jason's shoulder again, watches and wants and fears and --

"Fuck, Bruce, I oughta shoot you for doing this to another --" Jason cuts himself off and stares up into the shadows -- looks down and looks at Bruce finally --

It feels so *much* like a finally --

Bruce squeezes Jason's shoulder. "Jason. If there's anything I can do, anything I can say --"

"I needed you to be someone else, Bruce. I needed that so badly I couldn't think about anything --" Jason cuts himself off again and shakes his head. "You can't. It's not in you to be who I need --"

"Please."

"It doesn't stop -- it never fucking *stops*, Bruce, you -- you don't stop being who I want," Jason says, and pulls Tim hard against himself.

Bruce's lips are parted and he's so *close* -- just not as close as Tim is. They're all --

This should be ridiculous, or at least uncomfortable. It should be -- what are Dick and Cassandra *doing*? Would he even be able to feel it right now if they were there watching? Would he be able to make himself let go?

Bruce leans in closer and -- he doesn't close his eyes, and Tim doesn't think he can blame him. It has to be...

He has to *resent* the years when Jason was with Talia, not being able to see him grow or...

Bruce had adopted Jason *first*, and while Tim doesn't think he'll ever understand Bruce well enough to know everything that had gone into that decision... Jason is still Bruce's family, maybe the first family he'd ever dared to take for himself, or maybe he couldn't stop himself, and maybe Tim's brain is just going to short out, entirely.

Bruce and Jason are breathing each other's *breaths* now, and --

Jason shudders against him --

Bruce makes a soft sound --

"Fuck, I --" Jason kisses Bruce. It's soft and it's slow, and Tim can't tell if Jason's eyes are closed behind the mask, but he thinks they must be for a kiss like that, for something so *naked*. This belongs to *them*, and watching them have it, take it --

A part of Tim only wants a camera, and a chance to take the picture and develop it himself, hold it apart from all the others and just *savor* it, trace the lines of their features and imagine --

Being right where he is now. Tim breathes as quietly and shallowly as he can -- he can smell both of them. Gun oil on Jason and the terrifyingly expensive and vaguely effeminate cologne Bruce Wayne wears.

He can *feel* them both, because Bruce is stroking Tim's back, pressing hard between his shoulder blades and making Tim think of being on his elbows and knees, being somewhere --

Oh, with both of them, *please* with both of them, and he'd known he'd wanted just that, but it feels like he's learning it all over again, like he's growing into a new self, or --

He doesn't know. It's just that one blurry photograph of a gauntleted hand cupping a wind-burned thigh, one glimpse of a cape shifted to hide moving shapes, bodies --

It's nothing compared to this, and the way Bruce hums into the kiss and pushes closer, the way Jason is stroking Tim's sides restlessly now, the flash of Jason's tongue in the moment before he slips it into Bruce's mouth --

And there's a hand in Tim's hair, now, cupping the back of his head -- Bruce.

Bruce pulling away from the kiss and turning to Tim, leaning in --

"Ah. Patrol. Really -- I have that meet, and I can't. I don't --"

"Tim...?" Jason's voice is low and rough, obviously *concerned*, and Tim's blush is heating him all over.

"Um. Sorry. I just didn't expect to feel this... this..." Tim shakes his head -- tries to. Bruce has a *grip* --

"Tim. Tell me this is all right --"

"Bruce, don't *pressure* him, it's gotta be a little insane --"

"You're right. I'm sorry. I --" Bruce lets go and steps *back*.

Tim takes a breath and -- reaches for Bruce again -- *stops*. Hell. "I think I just need... to adjust. A bit. If we're talking about what I think we are."

Bruce nods.

"Time to adjust we can *do*, birdboy. But if you need to talk or something, you have to speak up --"

"I love you both," Tim blurts before he can talk himself out of it. "That's -- ah. The gist of what I have to say," and Tim pulls back from Jason and reminds himself to actually look up at the mask, if not his eyes --

Jason cups Tim's face. "Tim. I won't let you go. I can't, and I don't *want* to."

"I -- good to. Good to know," Tim says, and forces himself to look at Bruce, to just -- thinking that he'd heard *everything* is going to make him go insane, because of course he had, Tim had wanted him to, but --

But Bruce covers the hand Jason has on his face, fingertips brushing against Tim's temple. And Bruce looks... happy.

Tim blinks and keeps blinking and -- breathes. Breathes until he can think again, a little... and then he pushes himself back from Jason and heads for his uniforms.

Cassandra and Dick are nowhere to be seen, at first, but -- there. Shadows moving near the lockers. Tim finishes stripping off and steps around the corner -- and stops.

Dick is hugging Cassandra, face buried in her hair --

Cassandra waves him away.

Tim goes.

By the time he's suited up and on his bike -- Jason had parked his outside the Cave and is waiting for them with one of their comms -- Cassandra and Dick are moving toward him. Bruce is talking to Barbara about his own plans for the night, and... Tim's not sure he's in the right headspace for this. He feels like doing this, going out there *tonight*, should feel more momentous, deeper than the usual thrill and reflexive fear-twinge of another night on patrol --

And a deeply sarcastic part of himself suggests that he's probably saving all of his *true* wonder for something *else*, but it doesn't do it especially unkindly --

Dick pauses and Cassandra looks back at him.

"You guys go ahead. I'm just going to stay here for another few minutes and talk to Bruce."

Tim keeps as much of his wince internal as he can. Cassandra nods and squeezes Dick's hand.

There's nothing Tim can do to make this easier for either of them -- he puts on his helmet, and heads out on Cassandra's signal.

They're going to be working on practically the other side of the city, and really, it hadn't been *entirely* stupid and insane to give Cassandra her own satellite Cave close to her territory. In any event, some of what he thought he should be feeling starts rising with him as he drives past and through his own territory, past all the usual places where he stashes his bike.

He's doing something fundamentally different for the first time since Bruce had *given* him this territory, he's leaving things *behind* -- no.

He's moving forward, following Jason in ways which have nothing to do with the beautiful bike in his sights -- no, that's not it, either. It's *closer*, but Jason deserves neither the responsibility nor the blame -- should it become necessary to serve any of that around.

This is his chance to touch the Gotham which has always lived inside him with his bare hand, and he plans to feel everything.

They get to the docks twenty minutes before the rendezvous, and, unless Espinoza has a doppelganger, she's already there waiting. Pacing. She's a smoker, and she carries a back-up gun in an ankle holster under her well-tailored suit. She's willing to spend money on her appearance. Her hair is also expertly styled, but it's possible that she'd done that herself.

Her features are more striking than pretty, angular and sharp with a strong jaw. She looks somewhat older than her thirty-two years, and she stiffens and turns the moment Tim deliberately scuffs his foot. Her hand is on her primary gun, but she doesn't remove it from the holster.

"Detective Espinoza, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Tim says, and offers his hand.

"I -- you're not who I was expecting," she says, and looks around in the shadows.

Jason, he knows, is holding back, but Cassandra -- there.

Espinoza doesn't jump when she sees her, but she does stiffen, slightly. "There's a pool about whether or not *you're* real," she says to Cassandra and nods.

Cassandra inclines her head.

"And... I guess if you're the ones here, you're the ones who wanted to talk. You could've sent one of your... birdarangs?"

Tim smiles and brushes the shuriken on his chest. "Batman set up the meet. If I had done so, I would've chosen to meet you somewhere a bit less... well. And more convenient to you," Tim says, and spreads his hands.

She raises her eyebrows and looks Tim over thoroughly. It's very much a *cop* look, designed not only to search for details which may have been missed initially, but also to make the individual being studied absolutely aware that they're *being* studied.

Tim waits for her to be finished. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Cassandra settling into a crouch --

Espinoza frowns at her and turns back to him. "Does she talk?"

"When the mood strikes her."

She crosses her arms over her chest and nods to Tim. "Fine. *You* talk."

"My associates and I were the ones who called in the information about the stash houses raided in the past several days. We're looking for a more efficient way to get the information to your department."

"And you picked me. Why?"

Tim folds his arms under the cape. "Your record is impeccable, as well as illustrative of a desire to break the stranglehold these gangs have on our city."

"Meaning you've been checking me out and I look clean," she says, and her smile is very, very sharp. "I *don't* believe in letting vigilantes run all over *my* city, kid -- especially when they ought to be in school."

"I do understand your point of view, Detective, but there are things we can bring to the table that you can't. It's not a point worth arguing -- it's simply a fact."

"So what happens when I arrest your jailbait ass for disturbing the peace?"

"Won't happen," Cassandra says, and she doesn't stand up or even shift very much, but if Espinoza is remotely intelligent she'll be able to recognize the aggression currently radiating off Cassandra in waves.

And Espinoza's nostrils flare, once. Her fingers twitch -- "And how old are *you*, honey?"

"Nineteen."

Espinoza nods and turns back to Tim. "And you're... sixteen?"

Normally, Tim doesn't volunteer that sort of information... but he's supposed to be making a contact. "Seventeen, Detective. I've been doing this for a little over three years."

"And what happened to your predecessors, kid?"

"They're... around. I'm sure you can understand why I can't share that sort of thing blithely."

"*Justice* wears a blindfold, not a domino. There's a reason I turned down a move to the MCU, and you're walking around *being* it."

Turned down the MCU. Interesting. Depending on what kind of man Akins turns out to be, she may have willingly shot down her own career. Tim tilts his head to the side. "We can help each other, Detective. That's all I want." And if you weren't a little interested, you wouldn't have shown up early and you'd already be gone.

Her eyes narrow just as if she'd heard everything Tim hadn't said aloud, but...

She *is* supposed to be a very good officer. Tim takes a step closer and spreads his arms, pushing back the cape and exposing the length of his body, willing her to see the weapon as opposed to the teenager, the *agent* rather than the age --

"Batman isn't here because *you're* the one who's going to be going after the gangs. *Just* you. Christ, are all you people insane? I can't let this happen --"

"*Not* just me," Tim says, and gestures back toward Cassandra.

"The two of you. *Kids* --"

"Detective, do you have any idea how many arrests I've personally helped the department make? I don't, either. I stopped counting when I was *four*teen. This is my life, and there's nothing you can do to change it. But -- we can help each other," Tim says, again, and -- her eyes change --

Tim pulls his staff, strikes lightly -- her gun is on the ground, and she's cupping her own fingers and glaring. Cassandra, of course, hasn't moved.

"That wasn't the best idea you've ever had," Tim says, and crouches to pick up the gun. He offers it to Espinoza butt-first. "But I can understand why you had to try it... or are you about to say something about assaulting an officer?"

She takes the gun without a word, and the look on her face is enough to make Tim wonder if he's failed his first mission under the new protocol, but... he has to let this spool itself out. He raises his eyebrows behind the mask, folds the staff with a little flourish --

And she starts shaking as she holsters the gun again, shoulders moving --

She's laughing, admirably silently.

Tim tucks the staff away and waits, letting a small smile onto his face as she shakes out her fingers -- they are *decidedly* not broken --

How would he have handled this if he were still drugged? Chances are that Bruce wouldn't have allowed things to go this far if he was still feeling suspicious of Tim, but... the thought is more than a little frightening. He knows he would never hurt Montoya or Allen, but neither of *them* would ever pull a gun on him -- or try to, as the case may be. Tim gives up on the smile entirely and *just* waits --

"All right, so you know how to get the kind of information people have been *killed* for out of the dealers -- and don't ever tell me how you do it -- you're willing to share it, and you've got the training to keep yourself alive... even if the asshole threatening you has a badge."

Tim nods once.

"What do you want from me?"

"A number where you can be reached at any time, the names of those detectives you trust to handle these things when you *can't* be reached, and... understanding."

Espinoza pulls out a cigarette out from a pack of Dunhills -- more expense -- and lights up. "What kind of understanding are we talking about?"

"People are going to get hurt, Detective," Tim says, and idly tries to figure out which shadow Jason is occupying --

"Heh. Now that's kinda amusing, given some of the rumors on the street about dealers and *you*, Robin."

She must still have at least one valuable CI she's taking care of. Excellent. "Rumors are dangerous things."

"Oh, I've always thought so," she says, and blows her smoke up and away from Tim. "The trick is to make them dangerous to the right people."

"I agree wholeheartedly. It's my intention to make sure the lion's share of risk is apportioned to the people currently making life difficult for Gotham's civilians."

"Mm. It can't always be pretty out there."

"Or even often," Tim says, and tries to imagine what it would be like to spend *years* undercover, surrounded by the worst people the city has to offer, lying for your *life*. The things she must have said and done, the things she must have *seen*... yes, Espinoza was the best possible choice Bruce could've made.

And, after a moment -- and another drag -- she nods, once.

"Thank you, Detective --"

"Don't fuck up. Don't get ugly on the actual citizens and don't *ever* fuck up, kid. Because the moment you do, I'll go after every last one of you if I have to do it by myself."

Tim raises his eyebrows behind the mask. "Noted, Detective. And your contact number?"

"Five five five, oh two five three. I'll get back to you on the other detectives. Do us both a favor and find us a regular snitch. Someone who can be on the court papers."

Because, of course, she won't endanger her own unless she has to. Tim nods and steps back. "I'll speak to you soon."

"You do that," she says, and walks away.

Tim watches her go for a moment, and then turns back to Cassandra. She's still in her crouch and she's still watching Espinoza walk away. Hmm. "Something off about her, BG?"

"She has killed. More than once."

Interesting. Bruce hadn't mentioned it... how much would and wouldn't show up in the police records? "Is she dangerous, do you think?"

"Yes. In a good way," Cassandra says, and stands -- pauses and leans in. "What do we call Jason?"

And that -- excellent, excellent question. "'Red' or 'Hood' would probably do it," Tim says, and looks around as they move back toward their bikes.

"You don't like that."

"I hate it, actually. I --" He taps his comm. "R to J --"

"Just watching our new cop-friend go," Jason says. "She parked pretty far away."

Hmm. "Probably force of habit to keep her status as secret as possible."

Jason grunts. "How sure are we that she's clean?"

How much time had Bruce put in to studying her? How much *could* he have put in? "I was thinking we'd drop by her apartment and look around some time when we know she won't be there."

"Sounds good to me," Jason says, and -- there. Silhouetted for a moment on the rooftop with an excellent sight-line to where they had been talking, and then in motion.

Tim nods to himself -- "What are we calling you?"

"Heh. I like 'J' just fine," and Tim hears his bike growl to life. He looks to Cassandra and she nods. She'd heard Jason perfectly.

"Noted. The prostitutes?"

"Yeah, let's go talk to the girls."

It's about a five minute ride to where Jason has them stash their bikes, and then another three and half blocks of flight to the rooftop perfect enough to be an R-point.

Jason settles on the balustrade and gestures at the street. At first glance, it seems like any other stroll in the city -- a lot of underdressed young women and a lot of cars moving too slowly. However, it doesn't take long for the differences to stand out.

All of the women are Caucasian, for one thing, and several of them are carrying small backpacks, as opposed to cheap handbags. The ones with the backpacks don't wait to be summoned, either -- when the right cars pull up, they run for them almost fearfully -- no, they don't just hand over the bags. They get in, are driven away -- and are returned to the street after only a few minutes, after which they hand the backpacks off to other women, and *those* women wait for other cars...

Right. Tim looks at Cassandra -- she's frowning hard. "BG?"

"Wasn't like this last *week*," she says, and she sounds angry --

"Didn't think it was," Jason says, but Lyud there..." He points to the woman wearing a teal corset and matching shorts -- no backpack. "She told me that the bosses were moving them in force. I was hoping some of those assholes would be *visible* tonight, but it looks like we're doing this the hard way."

"Find the girls who *belong* here," and Cassandra jabs the balustrade.

"That, too," Tim says and scans for a likely prospect -- there. One of the women -- she looks more like a teenaged girl -- is standing mostly apart from the others. She isn't quite huddled in on herself, but she's built an effective cone of silence around herself. It should be possible to separate her from the rest for at least a little while without attracting undue attention -- assuming she knows anything they can use. Tim points at her.

"Sofija -- I *think*. She's new, and nursing some injuries, according to Lyud. They told her she was coming to America to be a model and beat the shit out of her when she told them she didn't want to be a pro." Jason shakes his head. "I don't know how much she can give us."

Hm. "Lyud knows more?"

Jason nods. "She's training the runners there, with the backpacks. Kind of the unofficial 'mom,' even though she's not more than twenty-three. She said they might let her work in the brothel, soon."

"Maybe we should take the brothel...?"

"I thought of that, but most of the heavies don't show up there until much later at night," Jason says and blows out a breath. "Lyud's our best bet. I'm gonna go 'kidnap' her. Meet me by the bikes."

Jason's flight is perfect, Lyud's scream good enough to get her a role in a horror movie or two -- and Cassandra is already moving. Tim follows.

When they reach the alley, Lyud is beating at Jason's chest with her fists and giggling. "I get in trouble for this!"

"Not on my watch, honey," Jason says, and pulls a wad of cash from his pocket. "You tell them -- everyone wants a quickie sometime, hunh?"

"Ooh." The money disappears instantly. "You did not say you were *rich*! Why you not tell Lyud you big? *Important*. That's enough for you *and* your friends. We go hotel?"

Jason laughs and gently pushes Lyud back. "Not tonight, honey. I need more information."

She pouts attractively, shaking her head. "You always so *boring* with Lyud. What now?"

"Bogdan Shvets," Tim says, and watches her carefully -- it doesn't take much effort to see the terror on her face. She's tensed up and looking all around, as if she expects someone to appear in the alley at any moment --

"Hey, it's okay, Lyud," Jason says, and cups her shoulders --

She twists away. "No! *Not* okay. He'll kill me. He makes call and someone kill my *family* back home --"

"Shh, Lyud, relax," Jason says, and catches her shoulders again. "I won't let that happen. All I need to know is where he *might* be. I don't need to know about his crimes, I don't even need to know what he might be *doing* right now. Just a location."

She shivers and stares at all of them, recoiling from Cassandra -- Tim looks and Cassandra had been reaching out.

"*Trust* me, honey. You don't have to tell me *anything* dangerous."

"N-no? No talk? No testify?"

"You never even have to go to court," Tim says, and feels something rip free inside himself, something small and hungry and *free*. "We're *not* the police."

She stares at Tim hard, and then looks back to Jason. "I don't... he has club, on Eighty-First. Lots of tough men, bad men. Sometimes they bring one or two of us there..." She shudders. "All day, all night. Casino in back."

Jason nods. "And who are the worst ones? Who hurt Sofija?"

"Kolja and Pavlo. They hurt *all* the girls. Pavlo is bodyguard, Kolja gives us drugs to sell."

Jason's smile is surprisingly gentle, considering the smile that wants to be on *Tim's* face... but Jason is also working hard to reassure Lyud --

"You're doing great. We just need one more thing," he says, and gestures to Tim.

Tim pulls his palm-top and calls up the image of the madam. "Who is she?"

Lyud spits on the ground. "Vasylna Kochur. She runs brothel. Very cruel. Bogdan's girlfriend at home."

Jason nods. "Any involvement with the drugs?"

Lyud shakes her head -- pauses. "I don't know this," she says and turns back to Jason. "You keep me safe? You don't tell Lyud told you?"

"*You* are gonna call in as soon as we let you go. You'll tell them we were asking about the club, that we knew everything and are coming for them. Heh. You'll tell them I told you to say I wanted sex."

Her eyes get very wide. "Oh -- no! They'll *kill* you!"

This time, Jason's smile is absolutely perfect. "They'll try," he says, and pats her shoulders. "Go on, hurry up and make that call."

She frowns and stares hard at Jason, then at Tim and Cassandra. She looks profoundly positive that nothing *they* could do could protect Jason from the horror she clearly knows a lot about, but...

Tim nods, and tucks his palm-top away.

And Jason opens his jacket to show the holsters. "Go on, honey. Trust me."

Lyud frowns more and reaches out to squeeze Jason's hand -- and then she goes, running easily in her heels. And pulling out her cheap cell phone.

Tim raises his eyebrow at Jason. "These are people who don't shy from killing actual police officers."

"Scared, birdboy?"

"Call it reasonable caution," Tim says, and starts rolling his bike to the street.

"Heh. *That's* why we're taking the brothel, first. They'll send some of their heavies to protect Kochur, the rest will be sitting up nice and paranoid in the club, jumping at shadows..."

"An hour like that and they'll be shooting at each other." Oh, that's... lovely. Tim smiles. "Do lead the way."

The brothel turns out to be a genteelly run-down brownstone about ten minutes from the stroll. All three entrances have a steady run of traffic, but the only visible muscle is at the front and back. The basement steps are both nicely shadowed and populated only by the obviously inebriated --

They're inside within seconds.

Jason goes after the front-door muscle, Cassandra takes the back, and Tim looks for Kochur, moving as swiftly and silently as he can. He passes a room with a television and several mostly nude young women -- none of them take notice of him. Where would she be?

He passes two more drunk men in the hall and drops them for the sake of safety before moving upstairs.

The place smells like cheap vodka, cheaper cigarettes, and several different varieties of sex. He's never been fond of brothels, but at least this one is mostly clean -- there. The faint hum of computer equipment and the sound of typing.

*His* sort of brothel would include women playing computer games, but Tim's willing to bet that this isn't that sort of place. He moves up to the open door -- Kochur is at her desk, working on what looks like a spreadsheet.

There's a man Tim doesn't recognize from any of the photos, but he's very large, well-muscled, and armed. Probably not one of the big-ticket items on their shopping list. Tim drops him with a blow to the back of the neck --

And leaps away from Kochur's line of fire. The gun is an expensive looking semi-auto, and it only takes one batarang to send it out of her hand and to the floor. Kochur moves to escape --

Batgirl catches her at the door with a brutal sweep that sends her to the floor hard. Tim grabs her by the hair and holds the cordless phone up in front of her face. "Call," he says, "for help."

"The money is in my safe," she says. "I will give you the code."

"Yes, you will. In a few minutes. First, you're going to call for help."

"I -- I don't know what you're talking about. I run this place by myself, there is no one to call."

"Intriguingly loyal, Miss Kochur. But you have the wrong friends," Tim says, and bangs her face against the floor before standing up and kicking her onto her back. Her nose is bleeding, but it's not broken. Good.

Tim gestures, and Cassandra zip-strips Kochur's ankles. She'll need her hands. When Cassandra's done, she drops into a crouch and gestures at Kochur's left thigh.

One of the new things she'd taught Tim. Very nasty. Possibly too nasty...

Cassandra shrugs and points to Kochur's chest, instead. Tim nods and crouches, too. "You should know that our associate is evacuating the building. The prostitutes, even assuming any of them like you, will not be here to hear you scream."

"The money is in the safe," she says. "I will give you the code --"

"Did Shvets help you move here from the Ukraine? Set you up in business? Pay, perhaps, for the surgery that kept that knife wound from paralyzing your face? I'm just curious as to what he could've done to make you willing to be tortured."

She rears back --

And Tim dodges the spittle aimed at his face. And punches her in the nipple.

She squeezes her eyes shut and bites her lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Let's try another tack. How deeply involved are you in the heroin side of the business? Do you arrange for the young women who come into this country to carry it in? Do they swallow it? Shove it up inside themselves for the chance to be 'models?'"

"The -- the money. Is in the safe. I will give you the code --"

"How attached are you to having one side of your face still attractive? I note that you wear your hair in a style which mostly covers the scar."

"The money --" Her shriek is loud and piercing when he strikes her in those two places Cassandra had shown him before, and she drums her feet on the floor.

When she starts to merely pant, he does it again.

And again.

And --

"*Please*! I don't -- I know nothing about the drugs, I only run the girls here --"

"I have to be honest with you, Miss Kochur -- I don't really believe you," Tim says, and takes the shuriken off his chest --

And then has to work rather hard to avoid slicing up Kochur's hands because she's fighting so hard to keep the shuriken away from her face --

And the fight's over when Cassandra straddles the woman and grabs her wrists. Though, to be honest, the fight was over the moment Jason learned this address.

"Please, *don't*, I'll tell you, I'll call! He'll listen, he loves me still --"

"Where," Tim says, and lays the flat of the blade against her unscarred cheek, "is the money you don't keep in the safe?"

"Ah -- I..."

Tim turns the blade slightly --

"Under my desk -- loose. There is a loose floorboard --"

"Tell me about yourself, Miss Kochur. And about Bogdan."

She offers a nice, detailed picture of the organization, including the information that it had started out as a loose consortium of assassins who'd come together to avoid having their former bosses order them to kill each other. The inevitable had occurred to those bosses, and they'd come to America as soon as they could.

The power structure is intriguingly Republican, with Shvets as first among not-quite-equals, and they're growing quickly, moving the drugs in via young women, artwork, and antiquities, then enslaving the women and selling the art out of a shop that pays its taxes quietly and unassumingly. The casino is a part of things, too, and there are plans to open another in Atlantic City. None of the bosses or lieutenants have families, all of them are very, very dangerous men.

A new kind of parasite for the American corpus. Barbara could probably write a very interesting paper on it -- certainly, Tim is glad he'd taken the time to listen.

He puts the shuriken back on his chest and gestures to Cassandra to let go of Kochur's wrists. She starts to curl in on herself and then forcibly, visibly stops herself and sits up. "I -- I will call now. And you will *die*."

"Anything's possible," Tim says. "Oh, and be sure to tell him that there are only three of us, and that we plan to wait for their arrival." He hands her the phone, and then it's really only a matter of waiting.

They station themselves near to the building's entrances -- Jason had been waiting in the hall all along, for reasons Tim thinks he may be able to guess at, but not now -- and Tim, at least, focuses on having patience.

Within fifteen minutes there's the sound of car doors slamming and at least four men on foot -- *not* moving close to the cellar entrance he's manning. Tim waits another three beats to be sure of where they *are* moving -- the back, and Cassandra, and then slips out to move up behind them.

Six men, all with guns out.

Tim drops two hard and fast with the staff before they see him --

And Jason whistles the signal that there are more men coming for him in the front than he can *easily* handle. Tim takes out two of the remaining guns, gets a glancing blow in to one of the other men, and is moving before Cassandra gestures.

Shots fired before he gets there, and Tim has three batarangs between his fingers, the staff out --

Seven men standing -- six, and Jason's grinning like a shark in the moments before he's obscured from view -- leaping up, moving --

More shots --

Tim throws and takes out two of the guns -- and there are knives out. Tim goes in with the staff, not bothering to gentle his strikes. It becomes a matter of sound and motion more than anything else. A swing and the unmistakable crack of bone, a kick and a grunt, a strike and a crunch --

More gunshots, and Jason is leaping, twisting in midair -- he's got his knives out, and the sounds change as soon as he's down. There's a more liquid feel to the cries, and Tim increases his speed accordingly. There are bodies on the ground now, groaning and writhing -- obstacles.

Easy enough to use them against the targets still standing, forcing trips and falls that leave them vulnerable to everything he can do -- there.

Teeth on the ground, now, and blood in the air. They're being cursed in Ukrainian --

And Cassandra leaps in and takes two of the last three down with a split-kick. More teeth, more blood --

Jason has the last one. Arm pulled up high behind his back, knife at his throat. Jason's grinning and panting a little -- "Someone," he says, "called *this* one Pavlo."

Ooh.

"Granted, it's a fairly common *name* in that part of the world, but somehow I just *feel* like he's our guy," and Jason yanks the man's arm out of the socket --

The streetlight shines on scarred and *freshly* wounded knuckles, as the man chokes and heaves.

"Take him inside, J. We'll take care of the rest of them."

"*Anything* you say, birdboy," and Jason frog marches Pavlo up the stairs and into the building.

The street is almost eerily quiet, the lack of sirens in response to the gunshots -- or the screams -- saying *much* about what the neighbors know about this particular address. Complicity built on fear is always ugly -- often nauseatingly so -- but it's working for them, tonight.

Cassandra is zip-stripping the targets still on the ground. Tim helps her finish the job, noting the lack of fatal knife wounds. There could be gun charges for these people -- and certainly a few of them will get gobbled up by immigration, maybe a bench warrant or two for assault, possibly -- just possibly -- a body or two which can be matched to one of the guns... but.

In the end... none of them were on *their* radar, which means none of them will get *enough* attention from the authorities.

"Attention, everyone."

All of the ones who are still mostly conscious make a point of *not* looking at him, which is as good as saying that they'll hear every word. Cassandra is watching him calmly from her crouch, and thus almost certainly knows the gist of what he's about to say.

"You've been committing crimes in the wrong city. I know it must seem strange to hear that, considering how easy a time you've been having thus far, but it's true. I would like to believe that just explaining this to all of you now that you're injured and helpless is enough to get you to understand, but I'm afraid I'm just not that much of an optimist," Tim says, and strikes down with the staff.

The cracking crunch of several small bones being broken in the nearest man's hand isn't loud, but the scream was. Tim does the same to the other hand, and then moves to the next man, and the next.

"Some of you will never be able to hold a gun again. Some of you will have difficulty using a knife and fork. Some of you will heal perfectly -- this sort of thing is hardly exact, but..." Tim keeps working, and now some of the men are trying to scoot away, and one of them is crying for help --

Cassandra punches him hard in the jaw just as Tim's breaking another hand. Difficult to be sure whether or not she'd broken it -- no, she absolutely had. The target's mouth is hanging open obviously without his permission.

"As you can see," Tim says, taking a moment to crack one of their would-be escapees shin, "we've changed our policies somewhat --"

"You will *die*! Your families will d -- urk --"

"-- I wouldn't call it zero tolerance. We -- probably -- won't kill *all* of you..." Crack, crunch, groan, shriek. "But we believe in discouraging recidivism."

Tim pauses, and considers the young man scowling up at him. He stinks of fear-sweat, he's trying to hold his hands between his thighs, and he's scowling. He's still almost devastatingly attractive... Sofija. Tim cracks his cheekbones and his nose -- and his hands when he reaches up to belatedly protect his face.

"As I was saying, we'd like to convince you all that you need to look for other lines of work. Construction is nice. Bookkeeping, as well. Most of you will still be able to type, albeit slowly. But you must understand -- if we ever see any of you again, you'll *wish* we'd just killed you --"

And that shriek is coming from inside the house. Well. He'd hardly expected Jason to wait for them.

"I can only hope you're beginning to comprehend what I'm trying to say," Tim says, and moves to the last man, who has several shallow knife-slashes on his face and arms. Just enough to make him back up enough for... yes, that's a boot-mark over his ribcage.

Satisfying to be able to see what Jason had done, to piece it together *this* way... Tim breaks the man's hands, steps back, and stands down.

"We won't be calling the police for you. Nor will we be calling EMS. You'll have to find a way to do that on your own. If you're intelligent about it, you'll be in another city when you begin looking for long-term medical care. Perhaps another state," Tim says, and gestures to Cassandra to keep an eye on their new friends while he goes inside.

He finds Jason crouched over Pavlo's still body. There's blood on the floor, on the walls, all over Pavlo's face, and spattered on Jason's gloves. Tim swallows hard --

And then Pavlo twitches once, all over, and lets out a whimpering sob.

Tim manages not to exhale very loudly --

"You totally thought I'd offed him."

"Well, I --"

"Where's the *trust*, baby bro?" And Jason snorts and stands. "No, I'm not gonna jump on your ass. I would've thought I'd killed him, too."

Another shudder, a louder sob. Pavlo seems to be tensed all over his body, but not the same way as he would be if Jason had used that neck pinch which... no, he doesn't know that one, Tim thinks -- "What *did* you do?"

"A little thing Talia called 'fire fingers.' Never used it before... Jason lifts his hand and sort of drags and pinches it across his right pectoral. "A little difficult to describe..." He shakes his head. "What are we doing with Kochur?"

"Taking her money and breaking her hands."

Jason nods and moves to push a hand through his hair -- stops. "The sheer *number* of times I used to make *that* mistake..."

Tim smiles. "I have photos."

"I'll just *bet*."

And there's a moment... a moment. He knows, in his bones, that Jason wants no part of the Kochur woman's torture, however brief and bloodless it will be. She's already tied to her chair, hands available... and Jason isn't looking at him.

"We have to talk about --"

Jason raises a hand. "We will."

Tim nods and heads upstairs. Kochur looks terrified and angry. More of the latter when Tim retrieves the cash --about ten thousand dollars, she must have been due for a payment -- more of the former when Tim moves close, once more.

"He didn't come for you himself, you know. Think about that," he says, and uses the staff on her hands... and considers it. She's going to take some of the blame for this, and they don't actually know how much involvement she has in the cruelty to the women...

He knocks her out and breaks her nose... carefully. Perhaps she won't be murdered for this.

He takes the back door to look over the targets Cassandra had handled -- all unconscious, all with broken ankles. It's a fair bet that when they wake up whimpering they'll receive the message from that, if not from their fellows.

When he gets back to the bikes, Jason and Cassandra are waiting for him. "The club?"

"Fuck, yeah," Jason says, and Cassandra nods.

They set up on a rooftop overlooking the address, and the club turns out to be a somewhat battered looking storefront with apartments above it. Tim uses his infrared lenses, and... yes. A cluster of bodies near the front entrance, another cluster near what would be the back entrance, and a few enterprising souls on the roof -- flare. One of the men on the roof is actually *smoking*. Tim smiles and shares the information --

"Quick and clean, in from the roof," and Jason pulls his grapple.

"Do we want to send one of them in ahead of us in case of traps?"

Jason looks like he's considering it -- "No. We haven't given them that long to prepare for us, and we'd just be moving him into a crossfire."

Tim nods, pulls his own grapple, and then they're all moving. Both Cassandra and Jason angle their flights to take down men on their way in, Tim hits the roof running. The smoker goes down via Tim's staff, the last man from a kick. Tim makes sure they're both unconscious and restrained, and when he's done they all head for the access door -- which is both locked shut and alarmed.

Tim pulls out his tool kit and disables the alarm while Cassandra picks the lock. It adds another two minutes to their time -- still within acceptable parameters.

Once inside, they move past the empty rooms until they find the stairs. Tim takes another quick glance with his infrared -- no significant movement. The stairs are dark and distinctly creaky-looking, and using the grapples indoors would create larger vulnerabilities. "I'm leaving my infrared on," Tim whispers, and takes point down the stairs, walking on the edges.

He's halfway down before one of the men from the back gets up and starts moving toward them. Tim holds up a finger and moves a little bit faster, reaching the third-to-last step just in time to use his folded staff to knock him out and then catch the man so he hits the floor quietly.

Jason and Cassandra follow him down, and Jason squeezes his shoulder and gestures to Tim to keep look-out for the men in the front while he and Cassandra take the men in the back.

The quiet becomes a living thing, wounded here and there by grunts and the occasionally scuffling sound. There's no safe way to do this *without* knocking out most of the targets, and Tim nurses a small worry that one of them will accidentally drop Shvets before they can use him hard enough to break the back of his organization -- movement from the front, a red-orange blotch separating from the pack and moving toward his position.

Again, just one, and Tim waits until the target is closer before switching to night-vision -- not Shvets. Tim strikes the man in the throat, just hard enough to make it hard for him to call out, then strikes for the gun-hand when he raises it -- and catches the gun.

Then it's just a matter of spinning around behind the man and dropping him quickly, keeping his senses open for more movement, more danger -- Tim lowers the man to the ground and sets the gun on the steps, then switches back to infrared --

Four men still in the front, spread out now and starting to move -- motion from behind --

Cassandra touches the hand Tim has on the staff, Jason gestures for all-out attack.

Speed now, not silence, though it's still easier to hear the cautious -- frightened? perhaps -- movements of their remaining four targets than it is to hear Jason and Cassandra --

A strangled curse and a grunt from his left --

A scream and two gunshots from his right, lighting up the infrared. Tim switches back to normal vision just before he strikes for his man, noting idly the moment's surprise that something so bright could disappear into folded shadows.

The gun hits the floor with a clatter, and Tim spins the staff to take the man in the jaw. Something warm and wet --

Blood spatters Tim's cheek as the man staggers --

Light, and Shvets leveling a gun from beside the switch --

Tim's batarang clashes with Cassandra's and another gun hits the floor --

Shvets moves for the door and Cassandra's bolo trips him hard. The other men are all down, two cursing and one having the good sense to look afraid. He looks more like an accountant than a gangster, but you never really know.

Tim and Cassandra move to tie everyone but Shvets, while Jason bangs Shvets face against the floor a few times.

The living quiet has returned, for all that their targets aren't being at all silent. It is, perhaps, something he and his partners have brought with them, a sense of *business* to be taken care of, or... should Robin be louder about this? Should there be some degree of fun in this place, or an acknowledgment that fun could be had?

Tim doesn't think so, even if he *wasn't* making an active effort to live in the skin of a new sort of Robin, entirely.

This is a grim sort of thing, and it has to be. It would be a terrible mistake to allow himself to do more than acknowledge the humor in watching the accountant-looking man flinch so visibly from Cassandra when all she's doing is zip-stripping him, just as it would be a terrible mistake to lose his sense of humor, entirely.

There will be other opportunities to have that, tonight, and he will -- Robin will -- take them.

For now, Jason is hauling a decidedly dazed-looking Shvets upright and frisking him for interesting items. A wad of bills he tosses to Tim to put in his storage pouch, a switchblade -- nicer than most -- which he keeps, another two guns which Cassandra puts with the others on the table.

They'll all be able to see them, and how useless they are tonight.

When Jason has emptied Shvets' pockets he kicks him in the ribs, cracking at least two, and probably more like four. He then picks up the man's right hand and breaks all the fingers, one at a time.

Tim keeps his eyes on the other men, noting that the accountant cringes with every snap and that he's looking around at the others as if, perhaps, he thinks that one of them will be able to stop it.

The other three are decidedly stone-faced, even when Jason moves to the other hand. All of these people undoubtedly have experience with prisons which would make the most reactionary American cringe, and that's going to be difficult to work with without crossing the line.

Shvets is panting hard, though, and that's a good sign --

He yells, briefly, when Jason dislocates one of his kneecaps. He *shouts* when Jason shatters the other -- urine smell, and the accountant is clearly beginning to wonder about his line of work.

Tim moves close to him, ignoring Shvets' now steady cries -- Jason is breaking the bones in his arms. "He's only the beginning, you know. You've been reacting so nicely that J will probably want to turn his attention to you, next."

"No, please, I just handle the money, I haven't done anything else!"

American accent, with faint hints of New England. Interesting. Tim cocks his head --

"You don't have to do anything, I'll *talk* --"

Movement and a thumping sound... yes, one of the others is moving and trying to catch Mr. Accountant's attention.

To the credit of his intellect, the only thing the man looks at is Jason working on Shvets. Tim considers it, then frisks the man for his wallet, an expensive thing with a lot of photos of a nice, normal-looking family, complete with Golden Retriever.

Tim wonders if the man's neighbors know how close they're living to scum. He pulls out the man's ID -- Jeremy W. Stone -- and holds it up in front of Stone's eyes before tucking the card away in his belt.

"I -- I -- please, you're Robin, you're not supposed to be like this --"

"Shh," Tim says, and brings his finger to his lips. "You're about to get a once in a lifetime opportunity, Mr. Stone. You see, some of the men in this room aren't going to get the message that crime doesn't pay, which means that it's necessary to send them to prison --"

"Oh, God, I don't -- I can't *testify* --"

Tim breaks the man's nose in a way which can be corrected fairly easily -- and Stone makes a sound like a dying pig. "I think you'll find that you can. In fact, you're going to start doing it not long after we let you walk out this door."

"I -- I -- please, I'll do anything, just don't hit me, anymore --"

Shvets screams, long and loud.

Stone squeezes his eyes shut.

Tim nods to himself, pulls a business card out of Stone's wallet and writes Detective Espinoza's contact line on the back. "Call this number, Mr. Stone. Tell the individual who answers who you are and what you've been doing with your career. Then, perhaps, you'll be able to get your family out of the city in time to avoid these gentlemen's retribution for what you've already said to me."

"But I -- I haven't *told* you anything, yet, and I --"

"Think about it, Mr. Stone. You're college-educated -- you ought to be able to figure it out."

Stone pales impressively --

And Tim stands up and skips back just in time to avoid getting more than a few spatters of vomit on his boots.

When Stone's done -- and stinking -- Tim carefully frees the man and points him to the door. "Remember -- we know where you live, too. And we're not friendly enough to just kill you." At which point Jason does *something* that makes Shvets shriek again. Tim smiles.

Stone runs.

"Well," Jason says. "It looks like we're going to have to help out the little money-man, guys."

Cassandra cocks her head at Jason, then stands and lifts her foot -- points to her ankle.

"Oh, I think that would do it. First, though..." He turns back to Shvets and nudges his shattered knee with his foot --

Shvets groans and shakes his head hard, sweat and blood flying.

"Boggie, buddy, where's Kolja?"

Another groan -- cut off when Jason lifts his foot once more.

"Went -- went to Vasylna's."

Jason blows out a breath. "That's a shame. I was really kinda hopin' to spend a little special time with him," and Jason puts his foot back down. "Guess I'm just gonna have to work out my frustrations with *you* guys. Hope you're up for it."

Cassandra is already removing the boots of the men wearing them instead of shoes.

Tim raises an eyebrow and gestures toward the roof --

"Nah," Jason says. "BG and I'll take care of that. You get Boggie's story."

Shvets' story is a long, rambling thing, punctuated by cracks and cries, shouts and curses which sound so impassioned that Tim adds another language to his list of things to learn. The codes for offshore bank accounts he sends to Oracle immediately for her particular definition of 'sanitation.' The American bank accounts -- and money laundering fronts -- he e-mails to Espinoza in a rough outline.

The information about 'family' members lucky enough to have avoided the night's attention he sets aside for himself. They'll all be receiving visits soon, if perhaps not tonight.

It turns out that Shvets knows nothing about the women forced out of their territory to make room for his own prostitutes/drug runners, but that wasn't entirely unexpected. The women themselves probably know more --

"Doctor. I. Please..."

"And how many doctors did you provide for your victims, Mr. Shvets? How many of them were left able to beg for one?"

There's no answer to that, and this isn't even remotely shocking. Still, Jason had broken the man pretty badly, and while the others are going to have broken ankles and hands, it's almost certain that one of them will be enterprising enough to try to commit murder. Hmm.

"Where are the drugs, Mr. Shvets?"

Surprisingly, there are several kilos stashed in the casino. Far more is on the docks, but -- with the guns -- it's enough of a haul to justify calling in the Narcotics squad, even though he isn't quite ready for the world to look on the full extent of their handiwork.

A thorny problem, despite the fact that they've done not one thing which Batman hasn't done before. The systematic nature, though...

The fact that they dished it all out *equally*, and obviously while the men were helpless...

Tim stands and looks over the men left in the room. They're all trying very hard to be silent and still, either to show disdain for their injuries or to avoid attracting more attention. It's difficult to be sure, and... if they call the police in to *this* address, they'll have to call the EMTs. These men will be hospitalized, their injuries documented...

*Someone* will talk to the press, and they're just not ready for that.

Better, by far, to let the underworld swallow its own, and the rumors to spread as they will.

Rumors, of this sort, will be theirs to feed on.

Still...

Tim pulls his burner and dials.

"Espinoza here, make it fast."

"Detective, I trust you're in receipt of our... product?"

Silence, save for the sound of Espinoza's breathing. There's no immediate sign that her smoking habit has affected her in that way, as of yet. Finally, "All right, I'm here. Yeah, I got what you sent me. Do his business associates look like he does?"

"Somewhat, but that's not the reason for my call."

"Then get to it," she says.

"I've e-mailed you an address, along with some other information about Shvets' organization. At the address you'll find a fairly large amount of heroin, as well as a smaller amount of cocaine. Most of it will undoubtedly still be packed in various pieces of furniture and antiques."

Espinoza grunts. "Busy little bird."

"For now. It is our supreme hope that eventually things will be significantly more dull."

"You don't say. And speaking of -- why don't you tell me what you're not saying."

And there's the rub. Of course she'd be able to *feel* it, if not hear it in his voice... "There's more heroin at an address I'm not giving to you -- publicly."

"Because there's something at this address you don't want the press -- or the department -- to see. Did you fuck up on me already, birdboy?"

Somehow he just doesn't feel as warm inside when *she* uses that nickname, *but*. "Hardly. But there are things the public isn't ready for. Yet."

This time, the grunt is decidedly non-committal.

Tim nods internally. "However, just as a thought, you might consider asking the product I've sent to you just where he was coming from tonight. Because it wasn't his home."

"And when I take a look at this mystery location with a few of my closest cop buddies, tonight?"

"That's entirely at your discretion, Detective. I trust you to make the right decision."

"That's mighty fucking big of you --"

"I do try. Good hunting and good night."

Tim hangs up and goes to check on Cassandra's and Jason's progress. There's one conscious man in the back, and he's currently crying. On the roof, Cassandra has just taken hold of the last man's ankle -- crack.

Jason gives one of the two conscious targets up here a vicious -- if leisurely -- kick and closes the distance between them. "All set?"

A whisper. Tim follows Jason's cue. "There's heroin inside. I gave Espinoza this address."

"You're seriously ready to trust her that far?"

"No," Tim says, and takes a moment to just feel the wind in his hair, cold on his cheeks. "But we really don't have a choice, and there's very little she can do to us."

"Other than set the force on our asses."

Tim spreads his hands. "Either she gets her hands a little dirty tonight in the interest of justice, or our job gets more challenging, J. Better to know what we have to work with sooner rather than later."

Jason nods and rolls his head on his neck. "I was thinking we'd call in some of the girls, let them decide whether they want to take care of these fucks or not."

Tim nods. "Let them go to the brothel and do a little street-cleaning."

"Right." Jason pulls his own burner and dials --

"I take it I shouldn't be shocked that you already have Lyud's number."

"Ladies love me, bro. Get used to it," Jason says, and then holds up a finger. "Lyud, honey, we left a mess over at the brothel. You should send a few girls to pick up around the place."

Tim waits.

"Yeah, we're all fine. You might consider finding yourself some new friends -- or a new line of work -- yes, okay, I hear you, I wouldn't dream of trying to -- okay, *okay* -- no, *don't* come to the club. Cops are gonna be all over it soon -- Yes, I told you, I'm fine -- *hell*, no, I'm not a damned cop, take that back -- you *better* be sorry or I'll spank your little ass --"

Tim raises an eyebrow and waits -- louder.

"Uh-huh, yeah, do me a favor? -- yes another one -- I know, I know, but I need to know where the other girls are -- down by Williams Street? You sure? -- okay, yeah, but do go see Mama sometime -- you promise? Good girl -- yep," Jason hangs up and flips Tim off.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Yeah, and you weren't saying it *very* eloquently," Jason says and tucks the burner away.

"Is 'Mama' Mama Cecilia?"

"The one and only *good* madam Gotham has, yep. Where are the guys we didn't meet tonight?"

Tim calls the information up on his palm-top and hands it to Jason --

"Nice, all of them nearby. Let's make some house calls."

In a way, it feels like the strangest thing he's done all night. While he has gone to the homes of known criminals, it has mostly been Batman's purview, and he's certainly never done it like this:

Go in, impress upon the individual in question that it would be a good idea for him to move, break a few bones, leave.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

They have no questions for these men -- there's nothing more to *learn*, and... maybe that's it. They're here to *teach*, to explain that the rules have changed and that Gotham has, too. As Tim breaks his seventeenth hand of the night, he wonders if Bruce had felt something like this, this blend of exhilaration and terror with just the occasional hint of embarrassment.

Did he wonder what the *hell* he was doing?

Did the laughter he heard feel anything like the screams and curses?

Did seeing the growing, spreading fear make him feel like he was coming home?

It feels like breathing again to fly, but Tim can't tell if the feeling is more analogous to having been drowning or to having been thoroughly choked by a loved one. Perhaps all that matters is the release, and the relief. The rest of their night will be a normal patrol, unless situations warrant something meaner.

Tim lands on the roof of the R-point, crouches, and reflexively pulls out an energy bar. Cassandra and then Jason land near them and also crouch, Jason on the balustrade to keep an eye out.

Cassandra puts her hand on Tim's shoulder.

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"Okay?"

Good, good question. "I've never been part of the systematic destruction of a gang before. Not..." 'Like this' would be too obvious to be borne, but what else is there to say? Tim shakes his head.

"We took it to their homes, kid. That's *going* to fuck with you," Jason says -- and Cassandra nods, after a moment.

Tim thinks about it, and the details run past in a blur. One of their targets had had a collection of beer steins. Another had been in bed with his girlfriend -- they'd encouraged her to run, and she had. Another had lived in the kind of impeccable neatness that suggested a military history, though he hadn't been able to put up much of a fight between his and Cassandra's attentions.

Three of the five apartments they'd visited had curtains on the windows. One had had cheap Venetian blinds, the last had nothing.

Two of the apartments had sinks full of dishes.

Two of the apartments showed signs of a cat being in residence, but they'd seen no sign of the pets in question.

None of the men had denied their involvement in organized crime, and none of them had hidden their guns especially well. They'd dumped the guns in the sewers, Cassandra is carrying the bullets in her storage pocket for safer disposal. The guns...

It's not about the guns, and it would be a mistake to let himself get caught in that. It's not about the guns, or the drugs, or even about -- most -- of the information they'd gotten out of Shvets and the police are getting out of Stone.

It's about what they'd done, and how they'd done it, and the fact that somewhere, deep within him, is a Tim who is honestly surprised that the rest of him isn't losing it, at least a little.

Shvets is going to have a very, very difficult time of it, assuming he survives his associates long enough to go into hiding and get medical attention. Kochur will likely spend the rest of her life -- assuming, again, that she gets to have one -- convinced that what was left of her beauty will be spoiled forever.... no, that's not really... enough. Not with the kind of life Tim has led -- and the sort of kinks he can't really see *as* kinks, considering how ubiquitous all the scars really are.

Stone. His family is going to be uprooted, their lives changed forever. His children will lose their friends, as will his wife. Perhaps she has a career that will be forcibly ended... no, not enough. Stone had ruined the lives of his family the second he got into bed with Shvets.

There has to be something. The screams, maybe, or all the cracks and crunches, all of the *brutality*. He's never thought of himself as a brutal person, and yet he has proof -- more proof -- that he really is, that he can't sicken himself with this, that he's --

Cassandra squeezes his wrist.

"Is he freaking out back there? 'cause I've got a *cure* for that," Jason says, and the laughter which should be in his voice really isn't. Well.

"Where's the *trust*, Jaybird?"

Jason snorts, but it's mostly humorless.

"Seriously, J --"

"*Seriously*, spill it," Jason says, and -- Cassandra nods and squeezes him again.

Tim sighs internally and tries and fails to think something nasty about family. And that... "I'm freaking out about the fact that I'm not freaking out."

"Still not gonna wake up with some dealer's brains on your face --"

"I know that," Tim says, and twists his wrist in Cassandra's grip -- she doesn't let go. This time, he lets the sigh out --

"Have to talk," Cassandra says. "Have to *say*. To *us*."

"What she said," and Jason shifts on the balustrade, turning enough that Tim can see his profile. "Partner."

Tim shivers internally --

Cassandra squeezes his wrist again. There's no such thing as 'internally' with Cassandra, not really.

"It's just... I want to be more upset than I am, even though I know it would just make things more difficult than they need to be. I *have* all of my fear, it's just not flaring up the way it... should."

"Ever think you may have burned it out of you?"

"I --"

"No," Cassandra says. "Still there."

"Yeah? Okay, for the sake of argument," Jason says, and turns back to the street. "What if the part of him which was freaked out about hurting people too much just got hit with a big wall of emotion and logic? He *believes* in what we're doing, and he *knows* we're not going too far. Fear can't really stand against that. Not in someone like *him*."

And what's that supposed to mean? No, it's useless as a question, and he *isn't* angry with Jason. Tim takes a breath and tries again. "Emotion and logic... I've spent my whole life knowing, deep down, that they have nothing against fear. I know full well that I'm not going to wake up one day smothering in Batman's cape, not literally anyway --"

Jason snorts again. "Oh my fucking God. He really *would* make you the heir, wouldn't he? No, keep going, *I'm* fine..."

Tim bites the inside of his cheek. He hadn't really meant to *say* that, not like that, but --

"Keep *going*, kid."

Right. Onward and... onward. "Knowing that I'm not going to die that way hasn't stopped me from having the nightmares for most of the last three years."

"Not the same," Cassandra says. "You know that."

"What she said, and *furthermore*... heh. You can't tell me you don't get off on those nightmares at least a little bit. I *know* what you're gonna be doing when you get home tonight."

And what about you, Jason...? But -- fine. "All right, so it's possible that, in this instance, emotion and logic are shoring me up. That just makes it a little worse, though, because --"

"It shouldn't be that easy to do," Jason says. "Yeah, I hear you. And the truth is? It wasn't, for me. And it probably isn't for BG here --"

Cassandra shakes her head.

"But it *is*, for you, and that doesn't make you some kind of fucking monster. It makes you a little more of the creepy little freak you always have been, and always will be. And we like you fine."

"I --"

"Do *not* try to tell either of us that that isn't what's fucking you up more than anything else. *You* don't give a damn what you look like in the mirror, as opposed to how you look in other people's eyes."

Tim -- blushes. "You make it sound like --"

"I make it sound *exactly* how it is. I know what the hole inside you looks like, remember? You showed it to me. You *gave* it to me -- and I'm never giving it back," Jason says, and holds his hands up with his fingers spread.

And Tim realizes, with what feels like a small, important internal temblor, that he's doing it to make the blood dry on his gloves faster...

And to make Tim see it, and deal with it, and *own* it. It's his blood, too. It's his plan and his protocol. And he never would've been able to make it up if he hadn't already dealt with it -- *all* of it -- sometime long ago, when he was paying attention to other things.

He's not who he thinks he is, or who he'd like to be. He is who he is, and that's all there is to it. Especially since part of being who he is... is not being alone.

Cassandra lets go of his wrist and turns her attention to an energy bar. Tim does the same, and, after a moment, Jason nods, once.

When he's done eating, he takes Jason's place on the balustrade, and Jason pulls out his own energy bar -- decidedly not Bat-standard, judging by the glimpse Tim gets of the wrapper. They'll have to do something about that.

They spend the rest of the night going over a fair portion of Cassandra's territory, moving somewhat quickly in order to get to as much of it as possible, since it's been a few days --

And a few days is all it takes for some of the gangs to move and move *hard*. Tim pauses to take photos of the dealers they drop along one block to compare to the mug-shots back home. Some of them may very well be on the menu, tomorrow.

They pause again on Williams for long enough that Cassandra can confirm that all the prostitutes she knows are still there. After a few years of Cassandra's brand of care, these women are all independents... which had made it entirely too easy for Shvets' people to move them. The women don't know anything that they don't, the descriptions they offer are of men currently in varying degrees of pain.

Tim details what was done to each of the men in question, and the women smile and cheer -- especially when it comes to the especially attractive man whose face Tim had taken the time to work on specially. Apparently, he was the one who'd pistol-whipped the woman named Reggie and broken two of her teeth.

Cassandra presses one of Leslie's cards into Reggie's hand, and Tim introduces himself and Jason all around. Jason receives eight different phone numbers and seven offers of... offers. Tim decides to count it as eight, as Reggie really seems to *want* to offer.

They leave them to their business and their lives on Gotham's fraying edge, and continue their patrol.

There doesn't seem to be much more in the way of gang activity, but they interrupt two robberies, make a mugger's night exceedingly unfortunate, and generally manage a solid sweep of most of Cassandra's territory before they pause to give Oracle time to run down Espinoza's address.

It turns out to be well within Bruce's territory, which... no, Tim isn't ready to leave Cassandra's territory completely free of vigilante presence for the night --

Jason squeezes Tim's shoulder -- he'd been looking over it -- and stands up straight. "One of us stays."

"Me," Cassandra says. "I want to go over again. Just me."

Tim thinks about Dick in *his* territory, and... yes. It really doesn't matter that it's *Dick*, and that they change territories every several months. One can't help becoming *attached*, and he's only been away from his own ground for several hours. He's already a little... itchy about it.

Jason claps Cassandra on the shoulder. Tim nods.

She flies. Tim watches her for a moment -- a moment is all it takes for her to blend into the shadows and darkness, really -- and then turns to Jason, who is smiling an *interesting* smile.

It's small, and it is and *isn't* sexual, judging by his experience, and it may, in fact, be somewhat brotherly. Tim raises an eyebrow.

"Alone at last," Jason says, and cups Tim's cheek. The blood dried on his gloves is scratchy and a little enervating. A sensation he will, perhaps, just have to get used to.

"Was there something in particular you wanted to do with our alone-time, J?"

"Oh, I don't know, *Robin*. We could always leave DNA samples on a rooftop somewhere."

"Tempting," Tim says, and smiles. "But we really --"

"*Or* we could open things up a little bit. *Really* make the streets safer. How flexible *is* that new protocol rattling around your pointy little head?"

And Tim knows, abruptly and fully, exactly what's different about that smile. Jason has decided to fuck with him. "Well, I *was* thinking of taking it easy for the rest of the night, but, you know, I just don't think we spent quite enough time with Ms. Kochur. She really was *awfully* mean to the other women, wasn't she? Doesn't she deserve a little more of our attention?"

The smile curdles on Jason's face impressively, confirming something that Tim really did already know. When he crossed the line as Robin, it was for a man who abused *women*. "What's that, J? Nothing else to say?"

"Tou-fucking-ché, birdboy. Jesus, you need a functioning sense of humor."

Tim smiles a little wider. "Shall we shove our dirty paws through the good detective's things?"

Jason steps back and sweeps his arm in an extravagant 'after you' gesture. Tim flies, heading for their bikes.

The address turns out to be a six-floor walk-up in a neighborhood trying to decide between well-meaning -- and profitable -- gentrification and urban hell. They wind up interrupting a beating in the alley three doors down, but they aren't fast enough to keep the victim from losing consciousness.

Tim calls in the police and EMS while Jason works two of the targets over -- a little, they're teenagers and very obviously not gang-affiliated -- in an attempt to get some answers as to *why* the beating had had to happen, as it obviously wasn't either racial or a mugging.

The only answer is 'wrong turf,' and Tim looks the victim over for more than just life-threatening injuries. The torn, filthy clothing is of high-quality, the shoes are worth at least one hundred dollars, and the broken wire-rimmed frames are equally pricey. Gentrification meets urban hell, indeed.

The unconscious boy's wallet says he lives a block away. He'd probably been heading home. Tim narrows his eyes. "Get their wallets, J."

Jason gives him a questioning look, but does it. Tim takes all of their ID cards and looks them over before pocketing them.

Jason lets himself fall back against a wall. "You fuckers did something real damned stupid tonight. You pissed off the *preppie* over there, and now he's going to remember your names, where you live, and exactly what you look like."

The one bleeding from a superficial cut to his forehead -- Raymond Kwon -- spits on the ground. "That ain't nothin'. You can't do *nothin'* to us --"

Tim doesn't break his nose. Quite.

"Shit, what the *fuck* --"

"I don't like people who make more work for me, Mr. Kwon. Remember that."

When Kwon looks up, his eyes are tearing freely. It's still easy to read the fear there -- and in the eyes of the others'. Definitely not gang-affiliated.

"See what I mean?" Jason is grinning. "No one *ever* told him to 'just ignore' bullies. He's kinda got a thing. Now you boys just sit tight and hope like hell the kid on the ground isn't hurt too badly."

The boys don't resist the zip-strips, and Jason and Tim shoot their grapples when they hear sirens.

By now, Espinoza has taken her trusted few to Shvets' club. She's looking over the mess they'd made, realizing that it hadn't been anything like the normal sort of encounter between vigilantes and gangsters. Is she thinking about her career? About the drugs recovered? About the guns?

Is she wondering what *else* Tim hadn't told her?

In the end, it's not worth questioning. She'll do what she will, and it will be all over the news tomorrow or it won't. In the meantime...

In the meantime, she has very expensive locks on her windows, and at least one pricey security camera. Tim waves to it on his way in, Jason ignores it and heads toward the front of the apartment. Tim stays in the bedroom. The bed is made, but not especially anally. The sheets are neither cheap nor especially expensive -- the sort of thing which can be found in any decent linens department. The pillows *are* expensive.

The closet has a decent but not excessive collection of attractive, well-cut business wear, all on the somewhat masculine side. There's one black dress which looks like it's for funerals -- and there are simple black pumps to match. There are no other skirts or dresses. The other shoes are all practical, including a well-worn pair of trainers.

He finds the sweat-suits in the bureau, along with a collection of attractive but not especially exciting underwear. There's a gun locker under the bed with three more handguns -- all automatic -- and one shotgun which looks like a very deadly -- and well-loved -- antique.

There are no hunting clothes or other paraphernalia to be seen.

Her toiletries are all high-quality, but, again, nothing very exciting. There are no signs that anyone uses this bathroom other than Espinoza herself. One toothbrush, one -- teal -- razor, one can of lavender-scented shave foam. The bathroom itself is quite clean, but there's some dust on top of the medicine chest.

Inside the hall closet... again, relatively well-organized, again some dust on the higher shelves. She prefers tampons to pads, she seems to prefer earth tones to other colors in terms of her linens. Hmm --

Jason joins him. "Uh -- how sure are we that she lives here?"

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Reasonably so. Why?"

"No TV, exactly eleven books -- none of which show anything like a theme, or even signs that they've been read. No collectibles, no couch, one chair in the kitchen..."

Interesting. "Food?"

Jason waves a hand. "Fairly well-stocked, decent selection of shelf-stable stuff. Nothing in her fridge but aging Chinese food... honestly, this place reads more like a safe house than anything else."

That's how he'd put it, too, but... "The bedroom and bathroom are lived-in. Dull, but not like a hotel room."

Jason nods and looks thoughtful. "*How* long was she undercover?"

Tim checks the file Oracle sent -- "Just under four years. She got out about a year and a half ago. Does and doesn't answer the question."

"She's still rebuilding herself," Jason says, and turns to head for the window they'd opened. "Bet her *cover* apartment looked like a home."

"Almost certainly, if she's really that good."

"I think she might be. And I think I know... let's hit it. No telling how many more cameras and mics are in this place."

Tim nods and follows Jason out, taking the time to rebuild the lock he'd dismantled to get in. Jason's waiting for him on the roof --

"B picked her *because* she's such a cipher. B *had* her picked in plans he probably made the second she came in from the *cold*."

"I..." He can see it. *Clearly*. Tim nods and goes over it in his mind... "For whatever reason, he wanted a connection to someone on the force who was both morally flexible and *generally* clean."

"Exactly, and also not *too* far up the chain of command," Jason says, and pulls his grapple. "He wanted to give you your own Gordon, birdboy. A relationship you could both grow into. Of course..."

"It says quite a lot that he'd pick someone like *her*, as opposed to Montoya or Allen. Yes, I am... aware of that."

"He always knew you'd do *it* differently, kid," and Jason flies.

They spend the rest of the night moving through Bruce's territory, looking for things he'd missed and keeping an ear on the scanner. So far, there's nothing for the club's address, or even anything nearby it. The brothel is also off the radar. It's possible that an order has gone out to maintain radio silence about those places, but the police are rarely very skilled at that sort of military discipline outside of the MCU.

Espinoza *could've* bumped the case up the ladder, but he doesn't think so. She *isn't* a cipher, even though she'd left virtually nothing for them to read. She likes comfort, nice things, and not being perceived as feminine. She's hard enough to work undercover and stay there, and the two shootings in her jacket were clean, professional things.

There's a person in there, somewhere, and Bruce had chosen that person for *him* against a very rainy day, indeed. *Bruce* had chosen her, knowing him, and that doesn't say *everything* that needs to be said, but it says a lot of it.

She's *his*, already, whether she knows it or not, and one day soon she's going to own a piece of him, too. Just the way Gotham owns them both.

He and Jason take a leisurely -- if questionably scenic -- route back to their bikes and see nothing else. The streets are getting that variety of quiet that means Gotham is dozing a little, if not quite asleep, and the cold in biting through the uniform, a little. Just enough to make Tim uncomfortably aware of the sweat on the back of his neck.

And Jason is just looking at his bike. Staring at it, really, and -- Tim knows what's wrong. He knows what's wrong and he knows what he *wants*.

The only question is how to express it. Tim puts his hand on Jason's shoulder and squeezes hard --

"I know," Jason says. "I -- know what you want."

He could make a joke about how someone should, but... no. He knows. "I know what you want and what you'd *prefer* to want."

"Heh. Actions speak louder than words. If I want to be something, I've gotta live it, bro."

"If you do, yes," Tim says, and pushes between Jason and the bike. This close, he has to crane a little, but he gets to be this close. He --

He *gets to be this close*, and that's --

Tim can't do anything about the smile on his face --

"Tell me, Tim."

A whisper for the street, but... it's more than that. It's always more now. "I was just getting off on the fact that I can touch you."

Jason raises his eyebrows. "Touch *me* or that guy in the case you fell so hard for?"

"The Case only touched me back in my dreams. I -- I liked those dreams, Jason, and I miss them a little, and I probably always will. This is still better," Tim says, and lifts one of Jason's hands to eye-level. The streetlight turns the bloodstains black. "All of it."

Jason closes his eyes behind the mask. Tim doesn't have to see it -- he can *feel* it.

"Jason..."

"You weren't so sure about what you wanted, earlier. The reality... it got a little heavy for you."

Tim nods. "I'm sure, now. I... just thinking about it makes me... you know what it makes me."

"I know. And I..." Jason laughs, softly. "What happens if *Bruce* decides he doesn't want to play with us after tonight?"

Tim can't really... he can't even think of it, but... "I have my own bedroom. I... I'd like it to feel more like home."

Jason wraps his arms around Tim and squeezes. "I'll take you anywhere, give you... you're never gonna be alone."

"Neither are you," Tim says into the leather of Jason's jacket. "Please, Jason. Try with me."

"Like I'd leave you alone to deal with B alone after all this. I -- shit, I don't even know what I was thinking, bro. Let's just pretend you didn't have to convince me --"

"Done," Tim says, and nuzzles against the jacket.

Jason strokes his hair, once, and backs off. "Let's get out of here."

Let's go home together, Tim doesn't say. He doesn't have to.

The drive back is silent and fast -- fast enough that Tim wonders what it would feel like to get back before Bruce on *this* night. He sees himself sitting by the scanner and just listening, straining for any hint of how things will go at the club while Jason gets more and more restless and inclined to *go*. --

But the first thing he sees when he pulls in is the car Bruce had planned to take that night, and he realizes that tonight, of all nights, he should've known that Bruce would be waiting for him -- them. Would *need* to be waiting for them, if only to look them over before they had a chance to pull on the skin of people who *hadn't* spent the night doing what they had done.

Tim parks and deliberately takes his helmet off before doing anything else, moving off the bike and toward the working areas of the Cave without trying to regulate himself in any way.

Jason's just behind him and a little to his right -- and Bruce steps out of the shadows from behind the console -- hmm.

"Problem with the computers?"

"One of the monitors needs to be replaced," Bruce says, and pulls the cowl back and off. "Report."

Tim crosses his arms under his cape --

"Shvets' organization is swirling 'round the bowl," Jason says, and moves up beside Tim, crossing his arms over his chest. "Their money-man spent the night spilling his guts to Espinoza, and shows every sign of being ready, willing, and able to repeat that performance until such time as the Feds tuck him away in South Dakota, somewhere. Meanwhile, Espinoza also has a nice big shipment of heroin -- and a little coke -- to present to her bosses, as well as another few kilos from Shvets' club as icing. Not to mention the shutdown of an illegal casino."

Bruce stares at Jason hard, searching him for... no, Tim honestly couldn't say. He has no idea how Bruce is taking this, not the facts and not the *fact* that Jason is reporting to him for the first time in over four grief-raddled years --

"And how did you achieve this?"

"C'mon, Bruce, you *know* how we --"

Tim clears his throat. "We used Jason's contacts among Shvets' prostitutes to confirm the addresses of the two main locations where business was conducted. We then went to the lesser of those locations -- Vasylna Kochur is Shvets' ex-girlfriend and runs his brothel -- and raided the place, knocking the customers and guards unconscious and using a mix of nerve-strikes and threatened maiming to convince Kochur to share information about the organization. We then had her call Shvets for help, so that he would split his forces --"

"Why."

Jason rolls his eyes.

Bruce's hands -- twitch. Once. He either wants to reach out or ball his hands into fists or some complicated version of both.

Tim shifts on his feet. "Shvets' organization was a rather Republican collection of intelligent muscle and successful assassins. Very little dead weight. We didn't want to go after all of them at once."

Bruce nods once. "What did you do to the men he sent?"

"Disabled them as quickly and cleanly as possible, leaving as many of them *conscious* as possible for the dissemination of our message, which was to get out of Gotham and, preferably, find a new line of work. We then emphasized our message by breaking all of their hands, and a few other bones, as well -- Cassandra focused on the ankles of her targets. Additionally, we had information that one of the men present had a history of torturing young women --"

"I broke his face a little bit, then used one of the strikes Talia taught me to disable him for the next couple of weeks -- as painfully as possible."

Jason really is going to have to teach him that one. Tim turns back to Bruce. "I then returned to Kochur, collected her money, and broke her nose and hands in order to give her a chance to talk her way out of being murdered for speaking to us."

"That was your only reason?"

"We knew she had a history of cruelty to the woman under her control, but no solid facts to work with," Tim says, and raises his eyebrow.

"The casino," Bruce says, and... his eyes are full of the Bat, but his voice is not. He is, almost certainly, confirming for himself things he already knows, and *firming* what that knowledge says about Jason and Tim, himself.

"It was as well-guarded as Shvets could manage, but the act of splitting his forces... well," Tim says, and spreads his hands. "We entered through the roof after first knocking out the guards placed there. Once inside, I took lookout position while Jason and Cassandra took out the men in the back, then we all took the remaining men in the front. Both Shvets and Stone -- the money-man -- were there. Jason broke several of Shvets' bones in front of the others. This is what encouraged Stone to talk.

"Once Shvets himself began talking, I shunted the information to Espinoza, save for the addresses of the few men who, for whatever reason, didn't answer Shvets' call. When we were done, we broke all of their ankles and hands and left, focusing on an almost-normal patrol after first paying a visit to all of Shvets' men who hadn't been at either club or brothel."

"Almost?"

Jason sighs. "We interrupted a beating over by Espinoza's *fascinating* apartment. We were a little rougher than usual with the perps, but didn't break any bones because they were non-gang-affiliated kids."

Bruce is searching both of them now, focusing hard enough to make Tim distinctly aware of all the blood and other effluvia currently on his uniform. Perhaps Jason is feeling the same thing --

"Are you satisfied with what you did tonight?"

"Yes --"

"Yes and no," Jason says, and the smile on his face is honestly, openly challenging. "I didn't get to give the other torturer we learned about special treatment. I'm not comfortable with the way Kochur was handled. I think Tim should've waited to give Espinoza the casino. Other than that, I think it's -- heh -- well within the new parameters."

Tim raises an eyebrow -- and lowers it again. Jason hadn't said anything surprising... and they can talk about it. Compromise. "Cassandra and I can handle things when women need to be forcibly -- when women need to be tortured in order to get the maximum amount of useful information. I wasn't comfortable with either just leaving the drugs there or trying to transport them back here to be destroyed. I also think Espinoza needed to know, as soon as possible, exactly who she's working with."

"Assuming she decides to retain the connection," Bruce says, and -- everything is in his voice. Absolutely everything -- including a small but present rebuke about possibly burning a connection that Bruce had undoubtedly worked hard to find.

"Yes," Tim says, and wonders what Cassandra is doing. One of the monitors is showing her tracer signal... she's holding steady over on Beekman for one reason or another, and there's no sign of danger --

"Cassandra informed me that she wanted to watch over some of the prostitutes you introduced her to, tonight," Bruce says, taking a step closer and -- resting his hand on Tim's shoulder.

"Ah -- that was Jason," Tim says, and does his level best to edge closer to Jason without actually *moving*.

Jason is searching *Bruce*, that small smile on his face which seems to mean he's about to say something carefully designed to cause a very specific sort of discomfort -- "Ask him, Bruce. Go on."

"I..."

Ask him *what*, exactly? Tim looks at Bruce -- and all the everything that was in his voice is behind his eyes now, stark and naked. "Bruce...?"

"You're not gonna ask him, Bruce? You really, really want to know. You *need* to know --"

"Jason, don't. Please."

Tim frowns. "*I* need to know --"

"He wants to know if you're all *right*, bro. If you're feeling all that pain we dished out tonight in any way *he'd* find familiar. If you're still the same boy he's in love with," Jason says, and now his hand is on Tim's other shoulder.

They're not really *pulling* him in opposite directions, or even trying to, but -- that's not really the point, because... because.

Of course Jason would know this about Bruce. It's something Tim *should've* known, should've guessed and studied within himself some time before now, because it's *Bruce*.

Tim licks his lips and turns back to Bruce, meets those eyes as well as he can. "I can't -- it felt like work, Bruce. Like... it was repetitive and banal, and if there's some part of me which is sickened more than its bored and regretful, I don't know how to touch it. I -- I'm sorry I'm not more like you --"

"No," Bruce says. "Never -- never say that. That's not what I want and it's nothing *you* should want. Either of you."

And Jason raises his eyebrows. "Sure about that, big guy? Because --"

"I was -- I have been wrong about many things, and high on that list is the fact that I ever let any of you believe that I wanted you to be clones of myself, as opposed to who you are."

"Is *that* what you talked to Dick about tonight, Bruce? Because he could've used that talk a *while* ago --"

"Yes," Bruce says. "Among other things. I... Jason, I know you have never been satisfied with the level of violence I trained you to offer, I know that, to you, it never seemed like enough --"

"That's just the thing --"

"It can never be enough," Tim says, and looks at Jason. "There's no such *thing* as enough, because even if these people die, even if they die *horribly*, they'll still have done these terrible things --"

"But they'd never be able to do them *again*," Jason says, and squeezes Tim's shoulder.

"It's better to let them live, in pain. It's better to see them punished, and leave them with the fear of more. Make them constantly feel as though they have to look over their shoulders, teach them about *nightmares* --"

"Tim," Bruce says, and it's a request to stop. Almost a *plea* --

"Bruce -- I know you never want anyone to hurt the way you have, and I know you want me to feel the same way, but I *can't*. I... I was thinking about you, tonight. I was wondering if you felt the way I did when you were first starting out. If you ever found yourself feeling both ridiculous and horribly dangerous at once --"

"Yes," Bruce says. "I do not -- I don't know if it was a good thing to lose the visceral *pull* of that feeling, as opposed to merely the memory of it..." Bruce shakes his head and looks at Jason. "I never gave you *enough* --"

"No, you gave me too *much*, Bruce, more than I could handle, more every single *day*..." Jason laughs, softly, and squeezes Tim's shoulder again. "I always knew you didn't want me to be you. I just couldn't figure out who you *did* want me to be -- beyond knowing that it would be beyond me."

"Jay, no. I... I don't approve of this. I *can't* approve of this, but I'm not the whole of the Mission, and I never was. I never could've been --"

"You did it for three *years*, B --"

"I.... I would tell myself I was only looking in on him, making sure he was safe. He worked so hard to clean up the department, and there were times when Barbara would bring in death threats with the rest of the mail. I don't believe he ever told her about that," Bruce says, and he's staring somewhere between them, into the distance. Into the *past*.

Tim swallows. "You wanted Jim to be your partner."

"It would've been impossible, of course, and I never -- quite -- admitted it to myself until years later, until after I'd pushed Dick away..." Bruce closes his eyes for a moment and steps back, releasing Tim's shoulder. When he opens them again, they're bleak and moving between both of them. "We need the department, Tim. We need them not just for what they do for the city, or for all the tangible ways they can help us in our Mission, but for the *intangible* things."

"We don't need fucking *babysitters*, Bruce --"

"We need a fallback position," Tim says, and covers Jason's hand with his own. "Individuals to firm the line we draw. Not oversight, not -- not *babysitters*. Friends. So we don't get lost in ourselves."

Bruce doesn't nod so much as he inclines his head. He still looks so... there's winter in his eyes, but not the kind that's always meant he was seeing Tim, *knowing* him --

"All right," Jason says. "I can see that. I still think we can control ourselves just fine, but *mostly* what I think, Bruce, is that you gave Tim Espinoza so *you* could feel okay about pulling *away*."

That -- oh. Tim can *see* it, and it's -- it's fucking -- "*Bruce*," Tim says, shrugging away from Jason and moving for him --

Bruce cups Tim's shoulders and holds them *apart* --

"Don't fucking -- don't *do* that, Bruce. *We're* partners, and we have *always* played to our own strengths --"

"Tim --"

"*No*," Tim says, "Just -- no. We can make this work, but it needs to be all of us, finally *all* of us, the way it always should have been. Gotham *needs* all of us, and you know that --"

"I do," Bruce says, and strokes down Tim's arms until he reaches the gauntlet spikes, then back up again. "It's only that I would understand if you felt the need to adjust... other protocols."

"Oh for fuck's *sake*," Jason says, moving closer and seemingly looking for something nearby to strangle. "We're *here*, you asshole! *I'm* here. *Tim's* here. It doesn't matter that you can't do what we do, because -- and I'm only saying this *once* -- Gotham needs both fucking *protocols*."

Tim blinks. Well, that's -- hearing *Jason* say that --

"What a pleasure to hear you express such an ideal, Master Jason," Alfred says, and places a tray on the table. "I'm quite sure Master Bruce would love to hear further such discourse over a light meal."

A part of Tim's mind is stuck firmly on 'where did he *come* from?' That part, however, is very, very dim. In any event, there's more than a little comfort in the fact that Jason is standing there with his mouth hanging open -- and Bruce is squeezing Tim's arms quite hard.

Point, most assuredly, to Mr. Pennyworth. Tim takes a breath. "A meal seems like an excellent idea, Alfred. Thank you."

"You are *quite* welcome, young sir," Alfred says, expressing himself to the air and tidying the napkin folded over his arm. "Please, all of you, do sit down."

"Uh... sure. Okay," Jason says, and does so.

Bruce loosens his grip on Tim's arms, but doesn't quite let go. Tim looks up --

And Bruce is looking down at him, searching him again -- Tim tries to put some of that ill-defined everything into his eyes. Bruce strokes Tim's arms with his thumbs and lets go.

Once they're all seated, Alfred removes the cover from the tray. A pot of tea, sandwiches, juice -- Tim notes that it's the same kind Cassandra had liked so much --

"You need not worry about Miss Cassandra's needs, sirs. I have already set aside a separate repast for her," Alfred says, and then looks at each of them, in turn. It's difficult to say *exactly* what's in his eyes, but Tim's sure that at least some of it is a warning. "Well. I do not believe there is any reason to stand on ceremony...?"

Which means Alfred is going to *continue* to look at them until they start consuming calories. Right. Tim reaches for the tea and pours himself a cup. Bruce and Jason both reach for the juice at the same time --

And then *look* at each other when their fingers brush. Tim focuses as best he can on the tea itself, but it honestly could just as easily be hot water with food coloring in it.

The way they see each other... the way they *are* at each other --

Chamomile. He's drinking chamomile. Tim thanks the part of his brain still capable of focus and makes a command decision to turn his attention to the sandwiches. Roast beef, ham, pastrami... corned beef, which hasn't been on offer since Tim had mentioned that he didn't care for it very much.

Jason reaches for it immediately, and smiles -- mystery solved.

Bruce pours himself juice and promptly begins staring at the glass -- until Alfred shifts on his feet and Bruce begins drinking.

Tim watches Alfred nod out of the corner of his eye, and -- yes. *Now* he's leaving. They eat and drink in silence for a few minutes, Tim looking up now and again to check on the red dot that means Cassandra. How late does she plan to stay out?

How late did she usually stay out, before coming here to work with Tim? It's something else about her Tim should've known long before now, and knowing that he's doing *better* with all-things-Cassandra is no reason not to promise to himself that he'll do more of the same.

Tim finishes his tea and goes for one of the roast beef sandwiches. Bruce is working on a ham sandwich which he's almost certainly not tasting at all. He's not looking at either of them, which is... all right, for now.

Tim keeps eating and watches Jason unconsciously show them both how it's done. It's not that he's eating particularly slowly, it's that he's *eating his food* and very clearly not thinking about very much else, and very clearly enjoying himself immensely.

He finishes his sandwich first, takes a swig of juice, and leans back in his chair. "So where were we?"

"I believe you were making deeply important admissions in the hopes of making Bruce see good sense," Tim says, and takes another bite.

"Oh yeah, *now* I remember," Jason says, and shifts -- he'd almost certainly kicked Bruce under the table. "We're *here*, you big freaky dumbass."

"I'm not... unaware of that fact, Jason. I couldn't be."

"Well, then, *act* like it. I've surrendered. You *won* --"

"It's not a *game*, Jason --"

"No. It's been a lot more like a *war*," and Jason jabs the table with his fingers. "I started it, and I own that. Now... let's try something else," he says, and snags another corned beef sandwich.

Bruce puts his sandwich down and lays his hands flat on the table before turning to Tim.

Tim swallows and raises his eyebrows.

"Tim... what do you want?"

You have a very, very big bed, Bruce, and I -- no, he can't actually say that out loud. Tim licks his lips and thinks about it -- tries to. He gets too lost in images, remembered scents...

And he's definitely blushing now --

"*I* think," Jason says, while chewing, "that that was an answer."

"Yes, I..." And Bruce reaches out and strokes Tim's cheek with just his fingertips. One particular *place* on Tim's cheek...

Ah. The last faded remnants of the bruise Jason had given him, mostly too pale to see unless you're looking for it, and Bruce... would. Tim smiles and turns his head enough that he can press his lips against Bruce's fingers and kiss.

"That's... you know, I *feel* like that should look fucking *cloying*," Jason says, and nudges Tim's chair with his foot, "but I know exactly what he can *do* with that mouth."

"It would be difficult to forget," and Bruce strokes Tim's lips with his thumb, presses hard --

It really should take more than that to make him start to get hard in his jock, but --

"Such a small mouth. Hard little lips, sharp teeth --"

"The warmth," Bruce says. "Heat."

"Raw, naked *determination* to *take* the best blow-job he can."

"Mm. It's never a gift. Never..." And Bruce's lips are parted slightly as he pushes his thumb into Tim's mouth, presses down on Tim's *tongue*, and that's -- that's definitely *enough* --

"Of course," Jason says, and swallows the last bite of his sandwich, "you can't really blame him when it comes to *you*, Bruce."

Tim closes his lips around Bruce's thumb --

"No, Jason...?"

"Really *fucking* not. You've got a big, pretty dick, and also you're *you*. Sucking you off is the ambition of all kinds of people -- and you already know that."

Bruce -- it's not a blush, quite, but there's *color* high on his cheeks. "Jason..."

Bruce's *voice*. Chiding but also so hungry, so... Tim sucks *hard* --

"Jesus, that looks good. I want to watch him suck you, Bruce. Maybe hold his head for you, kiss those hollowed cheeks..."

Tim closes his eyes --

"No, Tim --"

"Don't do that --"

Tim *opens* his eyes --

Jason laughs. Bruce... smiles, just a little. Just enough that the corners of his eyes crinkle --

"Fuck, Bruce, when the hell did you get gray hairs?"

"After," Bruce says, and brings his other hand to Tim's cheek, "I... after."

The breath Jason takes in is shaky -- "We can't get that time back."

Bruce shakes his head.

"But..." And Jason's fingers are on the back of Tim's neck, light and a little ticklish before Jason *grips*, holding Tim's head still --

Bruce pulls his thumb *out*, and Tim can't get it back, and one or both of them is going to expect him to *say* something soon --

"We have now," Bruce says.

"Yeah, I..." Jason squeezes. "Still with us, Tim?"

"Um." Tim licks his lips. "Intimidated, embarrassed, and a little terrified -- but yes."

Jason laughs and *yanks* Tim back --

The kiss is... upside down. It's messy, hot, wet, and thorough, but it's mostly *upside down*. Tim laughs into it -- and chokes on it, a little, when Bruce rests his palm against Tim's abdomen and presses, strokes --

What does the kiss look like to him? Does he like --

"Beautiful," Bruce says, and presses *harder* --

Jason hums and licks Tim's mouth, his lips -- back in to slide his tongue against Tim's own before pulling away.

Tim sits up --

And Bruce pulls him into a kiss, or -- no. He's licking everywhere Jason had, and the kiss is almost incidental --

"No way, B, *show* me," Jason says --

And the kiss isn't incidental, at all. It's hard and deeply akin to being devoured, being tasted and *fucked*, and Bruce's hand is in his hair, gripping his hair --

Jason -- those are Jason's hands on his shoulders, moving around to his throat -- releasing the catches on the cape.

Tim pulls his gauntlets off and tries to focus a little, tries to be somewhere other than just Bruce's *kiss* --

Bruce groans and Tim *can't*. He reaches for Bruce's shoulders and stands, pushes closer until Bruce uses his free hand to grab Tim's hip and pull him down over his lap. Changing the angle changes the kiss, makes it slower -- though not softer.

Tim's face feels *hot*, and there's an itch between his shoulder blades... Jason's watching this, Jason's *seeing* it, knowing --

Tim moans and starts working on his tunic --

Bruce breaks the kiss, and Jason comes in from over Tim's shoulder, licks Tim's cheek and bites him there while Bruce --

Bruce is holding Tim's hips with *both* hands, and the tunic wasn't this complicated a few hours ago, wasn't this --

"Jay --"

"Just *one* sec, B..." And Jason bites Tim's earlobe, sucks there and licks his way in --

Tim shivers and gets the tunic open, and these two things are independent of each other, entirely separate, different --

Jason pulls Tim's tunic off and licks down to Tim's throat --

Bruce *squeezes* Tim's hips --

Jason bites him over a bruise, making a new one or remaking the old. Tim can't tell. He can't -- he can breathe, it's just a matter of doing it, of not closing his eyes no matter how little winter is in Bruce's own, no matter how good it feels when Jason pinches Tim's nipple through his undershirt --

"Get up, bro, I need to remind myself how much I like kissing Bruce."

"I -- yes. I..." Bruce lets go of Tim's hips and Tim stands -- manages not to stagger, but not much else in terms of grace. And he *means* to keep stripping -- Jason has already gotten rid of his jacket and shirt, but Bruce stands for the kiss and wraps his arms around Jason, and Jason is cupping Bruce's face, and they look --

They look like Batman and Robin, they look like Bruce and Jason, they look like so much of what Tim *wants*, right there, touching each other, being *with* each other...

And Bruce turns them, walks them -- his fingers are working at Jason's body armor, opening it and then just pushing in under it --

Jason moans and pulls back --

And Bruce grabs Jason's wrists and kisses him again, hard and all over his face until Jason laughs and twists free, shrugging out of the armor and turning back to Tim -- "You *really* need to be naked."

Bruce's breathing -- he's not quite panting, but it's *there*, a possibility, and he's staring at Jason -- and then he's staring at Tim, and -- yes, naked.

Tim takes off his undershirt and is immediately hit by the scent of his own sweat and the desire to shower -- he has the distinct feeling that that's not going to happen. Especially when Bruce strips Tim of his belt, and Jason crouches down and lifts Tim *leg* to get his boot and sock off.

"Okay, ah -- I can do this, really --"

"I know," Bruce says, and pushes his fingers into Tim's waistband --

"*Way* more fun this way, birdboy," and Jason lifts Tim's other leg --

And the boot is barely off before Bruce is *yanking* down Tim's shorts and tights, switching places with Jason -- and Jason cups Tim through the jock and -- strokes, not squeezes. "Jason -- *oh* --"

"What --"

And they both look down at Bruce licking Tim's thigh, long wet stripes of his tongue, long and *hot*, cool --

Tim shivers and Bruce grips his ankle, squeezes hard and *bites* the outside of Tim's thigh -- "Oh -- Bruce --"

"Like *that*, is it, B? Heh, it's *my* turn," and Jason kisses him again, grabs Tim's hips and lifts until they're jock to jock. Tim wraps his legs around Jason's waist and kisses back, trying to hold a moment, or --

He doesn't know. Jason tastes like fruit juice and himself, and the differences between his level of strength and Bruce's are impossible to define like this, with Jason carrying him, holding him as they walk --

Into Bruce. *Against* Bruce, and the armor is cool and rough against Tim's back, the whisper and sough of it against his skin like a memory of a fantasy, a nightmare and --

And Bruce's hands cover Jason's on his hips, and Bruce is stroking both of them, a hot slow *tease* --

Jason breaks the kiss with a bite. "Bruce, *strip*."

"I -- yes," Tim says, and turns to look back over his shoulder. "Or -- you don't necessarily have to take *everything* off --"

"Oh, he totally does," Jason says. "Trust me, I'm older."

"I note that *you're* not naked, Jason --"

"I'm *busy*, Jason says, and nudges and nuzzles Tim's head up so he can get to Tim's throat again --

The bite isn't hard, but the pressure is -- intense, blocking Tim's airway just a little, just enough -- Tim thrusts against Jason, does it again and hears armor hitting the floor, again and he can't --

He has to do it again and *groans* when Jason lets go -- "Kinky. Little. *Fucker*."

"It seems," Bruce says, and presses close, once more -- skin and hair, warmth and the slick feel of sweat --

*He* wants to sweat, and he's going to get his wish very soon, very --

"Tim," Bruce says, and cups his hips again, Jason's hands --

"Ah -- yes?"

"Is it the fact of being choked? Or is it the feel?"

Tim thinks about Bruce's fingers on his carotid and jugular, and tries to be internally coherent enough to weigh it against the feel of a penis in his throat, or a hand -- Jason's hand --

Clark's body crushing his, a little --

"I. Let me... get back to you -- oh."

Bruce and Jason are kissing again, over Tim's shoulder this time. Holding Tim between them and kissing close enough that the wet sounds are confusing without pressure on Tim's mouth, that he can see the pink flash of Bruce's tongue as it stabs into Jason's mouth in the moments just before Jason *sucks*.

Tim stays as still as he can --

And then Bruce reaches up and wraps a hand around Tim's throat and *squeezes*, and it's -- challenging. He can stay still, he can *watch* --

He can feel himself heating all over and *pushing* against Bruce's hand --

Bruce squeezes tighter and Tim's moan comes out whistling and low --

Jason laughs. "I --" Lick -- "I will *stab* you if you try that shit with me, Bruce."

"Noted," Bruce says, and kisses Jason again, and -- it looks so easy, like something they've been doing all along, something they *know* about each other and can't possibly get wrong.

They look -- beautiful is the word Bruce would use, perhaps, and it fits. It *suits*, because Jason should, perhaps, always be kissing someone, and Bruce makes it look like it should always be *him*, and --

Warmth, body panic -- he's shuddering for air he doesn't *want* --

He bucks and Bruce hums, Jason squeezes his hips --

They don't stop kissing, and Tim wonders how it would feel, if he'd be able to *handle* having something that good, something he thought he'd never be able to have again. Bruce is trying to move even closer, pressing Tim against Jason's body, making the world warmer and -- *closer*, yes, that's the only word for it.

The size of the Cave doesn't matter, the size of the *world* doesn't matter. Everything Tim wants -- needs -- is in the small and contracting space between Bruce's and Jason's bodies, to the point where his knees feel a little too cold, or absent -- he's not close *enough*, or --

Air. Air would be --

His hips are moving and he doesn't know how long they've been doing it, how much -- he's hard and he's still in his *jock*, and the pain is familiar for this place, for --

Jason's smiles his way out of the kiss, lazy and wide, *wet*, and Bruce is still in his shorts and tights, pressing rhythmically rather than thrusting, and --

The pressure's gone. He can breathe. He can -- he has to remember *how* --

"*Jesus*, Tim --" And Jason bites Tim's chin *hard* --

Tim's gasp is loud and leads to other ones, leads to, perhaps, the way they're both kissing his face, now, his cheeks -- soft, shallow kisses on his mouth -- Tim shakes his head and shivers, *breathes* --

"You might consider, in the future --"

"Not *doing* that," Jason says. "God, I thought you were going to pass *out* on me again --"

"I really wasn't -- ah. There were... I didn't start losing my vision, at all. This time."

Bruce hums.

Jason looks like he can't decide whether to laugh or punch him. Tim considers an attempt to look innocent -- rejects it out of hand. He smiles, instead, letting the way he feels shape the thing on his face until it *feels* like one of Jason's smiles, wide and perhaps a bit perverse...

Jason snorts and kisses him hard, biting Tim's lips and tongue before settling in to *just* kiss --

And Bruce is tugging on the straps of Tim's jock, sliding his fingers between them and skin, and then just stroking Tim's buttocks, up over his sides to his obliques, pushing between Tim and Jason to stroke Tim's chest, brush against his nipples over and over until Tim gasps into the kiss --

"Yeah, I feel what he's doing, Tim. How *much* do you like it?"

"The specifics are -- um. It's more that he's touching me, that he's... it's really quite possessive. Approvingly so."

Jason licks his lips. "Heh. Make you feel a little like a fine cut of *meat* is what I think you mean..."

Bruce's hands stop moving. "Jay --"

"Don't get *upset*, Bruce. It's a *good* feeling."

"Why."

"Because," Tim says, and shifts enough that he can stroke Bruce's forearms, squeeze and encourage -- "If anyone could have a worthwhile opinion on -- ah -- meat... it would be you." And he's blushing again, more --

Bruce kisses the back of his neck with a great *deal* of tongue --

"Oh, that's..."

"Say it, Tim. Just pretend you're *supposed* to keep talking, because you *absolutely* are," Jason says, and strokes one hand between Tim and Bruce, tugs at the strap and does -- something. To Bruce --

"I -- can't stop thinking about the *bite*. When it will come, *if* it will come --"

Bruce scrapes Tim's neck with his teeth -- and licks him there, over and over until Tim can't decide if it's ticklish or just another thing to make him hurt, *ache*. He squeezes Bruce's forearms and Bruce starts stroking him again, *petting* --

And whatever Jason's doing leads to uneven, teasing contact on his buttocks --

And Jason is looking at him, into Tim's eyes and just -- it's not searching. It's just -- looking. Wondering, maybe... "Jason...?"

"Trying to decide what I want to do with you, what I want Bruce to do so I can *see* it..."

"I -- I liked the idea you had earlier. Sucking Bruce -- *oh* --"

Bruce *bites* --

"I'll just *bet* you did. You'd choke yourself on dick every damned *day* if you could --"

"Certainly -- ah. The idea has *occurred* --"

Bruce hums again and pulls back -- all the way. Tim's back is cold and perhaps a little *bereft* --

"Don't worry, kid, he's just stripping off more. Getting all..." Jason sighs and scratches at Tim's buttock with his nails, squeezes -- "I used to know all his scars, every story..."

"Oh... I don't. I -- I've never felt I could. Ask --"

"You *can*," Bruce says, and that's the sound of the boots hitting the floor, and --

Possibly they should eat more. They shouldn't waste the food and maybe -- maybe Jason is licking Tim's throat, slow and hungry, *wet*, pressing hard with his tongue until Tim can't stop thinking about that tongue other places, or about all the different *ways* that tongue could be touching him --

Tim groans and rocks his hips more, and every thrust is making his penis complain *vigorously* about the jock, but --

Jason stops -- "God, Bruce. I... look at you."

"Jay..."

"I. Christ, I..." Jason shakes his head and kisses Tim hard -- briefly. "I really -- need to get naked. Okay?"

For a moment Tim can't imagine what he could possibly have to do with that particular statement, but -- oh yes, he is being *carried*. "Oh -- put me down, yes, I'll just --" He unwraps his legs and stands, bracing against the need to stagger a little, and --

It's not that it was a *mistake* to turn around and look at Bruce, it's just that the act of *doing* so --

"Oh. Bruce..."

Bruce had, of course, accustomed Tim to male nudity *quickly*, and as thoroughly as anyone possibly could. It's just that Bruce is more naked right now than Tim's ever seen him, and it does and *doesn't* have anything to do with his body. He's bare, and he's hard, and he's -- reaching for Jason. Both of them, like maybe he can't bring himself to move close again, or --

Tim shakes his head. He doesn't *know*. But it's deeply distracting and also *making* him need to move closer, to reach for Bruce's penis, dark and curving, so *slick* against his palm --

"Tim..."

"Yes, I -- yes," Tim says, and hopes that's coherent *enough*. It's all he can do not to *immediately* drop to his knees, but Jason is *busy* right now and he'd wanted to *see* --

Tim wants *this*, right here, his hand wrapped around Bruce and his body pressed against Bruce's own, the feel of his heat, the scent of armor and a night's patrol. Tim licks Bruce's chest, and does it again for the salt, the hints of the armor he can't quite touch --

And Bruce is cupping the back of Tim's head, soft and cradling, holding -- Tim moans and cuts himself off by the expedient of licking Bruce's nipple, catching it between his teeth --

Bruce twitches hard in Tim's hand and Tim has to squeeze, stroke faster and suck, stroke everywhere on Bruce he can reach with his free hand, over the hard planes of muscle, skin smooth and disturbingly broken with scars --

Tim groans and bites Bruce again because he can, because he can feel Jason moving closer and he doesn't want to give this *up*, yet. Just -- Bruce, and everything he means, everything he is and everything Tim's tried not to *want*. It doesn't change that he's had this, that he's taken this.

It's still *huge* if not new, still --

*Bruce* --

And Jason covers Bruce's hand on Tim's head with one of his own, strokes and twines his fingers with Bruce's own, *pushing* Tim against Bruce and leaning in to lick and suck Bruce's other nipple --

"God, Bruce, the way you *taste* --"

"Jay... Tim. You -- both of you --"

"Dreamed about this, about the way you feel against me --" Jason bites Bruce and *moans*, and Tim's finding it distinctly hard to *concentrate* on what he's doing. His jock, his lips, wet with his own saliva --

The hard spike of Bruce's nipple against his tongue and Bruce's hand, *Jason's* hand --

"Missed you so fucking *much* --"

And Bruce *shakes* all over, steps back -- no, it's a stagger --

And a groan when Tim tightens his grip on Bruce reflexively --

"Oh, *fuck*, yeah," and Jason reaches for Bruce.

Tim lets go -- Tim tries to let go and fails utterly when Bruce grabs his wrist and holds on --

"Yeah, stay *right* there," Jason says, moving up behind Tim and twining his fingers with Tim's own, stroking Tim's hand and Bruce's penis, getting them *slick* --

"Oh. That..." Tim shakes his head and squeezes Bruce, looks up and Bruce is staring at him, lips parted and face flushed. Tim reaches up -- and Bruce catches Tim's hand and sucks Tim's fingers, eyes narrow and staring, almost *glaring*. "Oh... fuck."

Bruce's eyes flare -- amusement, and he *bites* Tim's fingers --

"You shouldn't make me *kinked* for you just fucking cursing, birdboy --"

"You have my *utmost* apologies, Jason -- oh, Bruce, your *mouth* --"

"Uh, huh. So why don't we reward him for that," Jason says, and drags Tim's hand along Bruce's shaft, hard and slow.

Bruce closes his eyes and moans around Tim's fingers, and then it's just -- stroking, being there, being so close and making Bruce *feel* this, feeling Bruce and Jason --

Jason licking Tim's *ear* again --

"We're *not* gonna make him come like this."

"Noted. I --" Tim wants another hand. Tim really, really wants another *hand*, because Jason is close enough to touch, and Jason *is* touching, but he wants to touch, too, and it's possible that he's getting stupider even faster than he thought he would in this particular...

No, he'd never pictured it like this, never imagined Bruce with saliva on his chin as he sucked Tim's fingers, never thought it could feel so *perfect* to be doing this *with* Jason --

And Jason uses his free hand to *release* Tim from his jock, and there's a part of him wondering why he hadn't done that when he had the chance, but mostly he's just -- Tim rests his forehead against Bruce's chest and *breathes* against the feel, the ache that's better *and* worse. Bruce lets go of Tim's wrist and cups the back of his head again, pets Tim's hair like he understands how much... how *much* --

"That's -- heh. Do you ever hold him while he sleeps, Bruce? Come on, let those fingers go."

Tim tugs them out of Bruce's mouth and listens to the small, wet sound -- he can't look up, yet. He -- Jason is stroking and scratching at his mound, using Tim's penis to split his fingers --

Tim shakes his head against Bruce and just -- holds on to Bruce's shoulder with his wet fingers --

"I -- I stroke him," Bruce says, and tightens his grip on the back of Tim's head. "Jason, I can't... he comes too close to waking when I try to pull him to me..."

Tim rubs and squeezes Bruce's shoulder, strokes down to his nipple and can't quite -- he's losing a certain degree of dexterity, but --

"Tim..."

Bruce doesn't seem to mind, and --

"The trick," Jason says, and it feels so good when he finally squeezes Tim's penis that Tim can't make a sound --

Can't *move* or --

"The *trick* is to let him fall asleep with you *on* him, already."

That sounds -- mm.

"I don't think we should encourage him to..." Bruce sighs and *grips* Tim's hair -- "He has far too little attachment to oxygen as it is, Jason."

"Heh, okay, you've got a *point*, but... you have to know what I'm seeing here. The way he can't get close enough to you, the way you hold him..."

"I -- to be fair, Jason, I usually. Oh -- your hand, just -- oh --"

Jason nips Tim's ear again and doesn't stop rubbing the head of Tim's penis with his thumb, doesn't stop *squeezing*. "Usually what?"

"I -- ah. I'm thinking," Tim says, and gets a better grip on Bruce's nipple --

Bruce sighs again and *pushes* into their hands --

"So fucking *hot*. Think *faster*, Tim..."

"Yes. Oh -- I... put up a fight. Often."

"*Really*."

Bruce hums and pets the back of Tim's neck, pants -- "Some of my more recent bruises are -- of that provenance."

Jason laughs and makes them stroke Bruce faster, lets *go* of Tim's penis --

"Jason, please --"

And cups his sac, instead, rolling it in his palm and squeezing it, almost pumping it --

"Or -- never mind --"

Another laugh -- "What were you doing to him? Tried to get him in your lap when you *weren't* doing anything interesting to him? Carried him up the stairs?"

Bruce exhales on a growl -- "The latter. He felt so very -- so perfect in my arms, mobile, *physical* --"

"Mainly because he was squirming like a fucking *cat* -- yeah, I can see it," Jason says and squeezes Tim's sac *hard* --

"Oh fuck. Ah -- I --" Tim rubs his face against Bruce, tries to make his hands work -- just his free hand. Jason is moving his *other* hand just fine, and -- "Jason. Jason --"

"Would you let *me* carry you up the stairs, baby?" A stage whisper, Jason's lips moving against Tim's *ear* --

"That would be... fascinating to watch," Bruce says, and his penis twitches in their hands, and he trails his fingers over the back of Tim's neck, and he's --

Not playing fair. At all. Tim laughs and rocks his hips because he *has* to, because it's better than being still --

"I don't know if that was an answer I can *accept*, birdboy," and Jason doesn't squeeze any harder, but the threat is absolutely there --

"Ah -- you can certainly *try* --"

And Bruce hums while Jason laughs, and possibly that's a bad sign, but -- no, all right, he can express himself a little better:

"It's only that I -- I'm never more *aware* of my size than when I'm being carried. It would be different if either of you were metahumans -- "

"Or big, freaky, perverted *aliens* --"

"Or that, yes -- oh --" Tim looks up. He doesn't have any option there, being as how Bruce had yanked on his hair -- "Yes, Bruce?"

"Today is Thursday."

And it's such a non sequitur that Tim has no idea how to respond -- oh. "Ah. Yes, I believe you're... right. Ah."

Bruce's eyes narrow and the smile on his face gets sharp and somewhat deadly.

Obviously, Tim's blushes *feed* some part of him --

"Well? One of you gonna fill me in? Is Thursday 'tie Tim to the bed and fuck him brainless' day or something?"

Bruce closes his eyes and the smile doesn't get *any* less sharp -- compelling, really, especially with the feel of Bruce pushing into his fist, the feel of Jason breathing against his ear -- focus.

"I -- have a date. With Clark," Tim says. "I --"

"Oh, you've gotta be fucking *kidding* me, Jason says, and lets go --

"Oh -- don't do that. I mean -- um --"

Jason is having what seems to be a heartfelt battle with Bruce over who gets to hold Tim's head in which position -- Jason wins, and Tim is looking back over his shoulder at a Jason who seems both incredulous and a little -- pissed.

Tim winces --

"You're not kidding. You -- I can't *believe* you. What are you gonna do? Crawl out of bed with us and have Clark pick you up from the damned window?"

Bruce -- that was an actual laugh, out loud and *there*, and Jason doesn't react, but Tim really can't help but try to *see* that* --

"No, look at *me* for a second here --"

"Jay," Bruce says and cups Jason's face, softly and *familiar* seeming, and Tim is *also* deeply interested in that, but --

"Bruce, seriously, *nail him down* to something before Clark convinces him to be Flamebird or some damned thing," Jason says, and Tim wonders how *much* of this Clark is listening to, or if he's doing that thing which can't quite be called *sleep* next to Lois right now...

Of course, he could be doing *both* --

"Christ, he's thinking of Clark right *now*. Would you *stop* that?"

Tim licks his lips and deliberately thinks about Bart, and wonders if he'll have time to reply to his letter more fully than he had before it's time to go back to the Tower.

Will he have room to use the new protocol there? Freedom? Does he *want* to --

Jason kisses him *hard*, grip iron on Tim's jaw and tongue stabbing relentlessly, restlessly -- Jason won't *let* Tim catch it, and neither of them are stroking Bruce, anymore --

"Jay. When you have a moment, tell me more of your thoughts regarding my bed -- oh, both of you..."

Squeezing Bruce, and it's impossible to tell which of them had had that reflex *first*, and the kiss --

It's deeper now, more thorough, and seems to have less to do with punishing Tim -- convincing? -- than with itself, and Tim is working on a small, casual theory about Jason and kissing. Just a thought, really, that once Jason is actually in the process of kissing you, he's already *there*, with you, whether or not he wants to be.

And Tim thinks of that first kiss on the rooftop, the bruising nature of it, the fact that Jason had been *ready* to seriously damage Tim, and definitely to *punish* Tim for pushing so hard, daring to *play* with him --

Tim doesn't know, and it's much, much too easy to let Bruce push their hands off of him, to turn *into* the kiss and give Jason everything he can. He could make kissing be just as important to him as it seems to be to Jason, really *push* for it, and it only involves thinking about how close they are, how every brush of Jason's body against his own is both another kiss and the *memory* of another kiss.

Jason over him, Jason pulling him close with his gun pressed against Tim's ear, Jason smiling --

Jason *grinning* into this kiss, and walking Tim back -- toward the stairs. Tim pulls back enough to take a breath, enough to see Bruce *watching* them, avid and incredibly erect --

Possibly he was about to veer off course, and that's why Jason is gripping his hips and biting the line of his jaw, his cheekbone, his *lips* --

"Jason --"

"Just stay *focused*, kid --"

"Oh, I'm definitely focused. It's just -- um -- are we going upstairs without our robes?"

"What do *you* think?" And they're on the stairs, and the only real option with Jason pushing him like this is to keep moving --

Or stop while Jason drops to his knees and takes Tim *in* --

Sucking -- *slurping* and moaning and licking --

"Oh God, *Jason* --"

"Mm-hmm..."

He's going to fall down. He's going to -- Dick had done -- and Bruce -- Connor-Bart-Kon -- *focus* --

Jason, on his knees on the stairs, fucking his mouth on Tim's penis and *gripping* Tim's buttocks, squeezing hard --

He'd wanted this, wanted to do *just* this, and Bruce is moving toward them, one step at a time, generally looking -- looking some deeply sexual variety of *inexorable* --

Tim's knees buckle and Jason yanks him down by his hips, laying Tim flat on the stairs and going back *down*.

There's a part of Tim which only wants to know what the *appropriate* reaction at this juncture would be. Let himself thrust into Jason's mouth?

Spread his legs? Drape them over Jason's shoulders? Oh, but to feel the scars on Jason's shoulders with the backs of his thighs --

Tim does it and Jason hums around him, sucks *hard*, and Tim hears himself making sharp little noises, brief yells as he tries not to *writhe* --

Ankles. Bruce has his ankles, holding them and pulling as he leans in -- does *something* to the back of Jason's neck --

Jason moans and *swallows* Tim, and that --

He --

Bruce's grip feels unbreakable, Jason's grip -- his *throat* --

So tight so hot --

"*Please*," Tim says, and Jason opens his eyes, blue and deep, hungry and amused and nothing like Bruce's, or everything like Bruce's, or --

He doesn't know, and he can't stop staring. He thinks he probably looks terrified, or stoned, or some variety of both, because Jason is swallowing constantly, *working* his throat around Tim --

Bruce spreads Tim's legs, planting Tim's feet on the stairs before letting go, and he must be doing something to Jason, because Jason's eyes lose their focus, start to close --

"Jason --"

"Jay... always so beautiful, so..." And Bruce is kissing the side of Jason's neck -- biting --

And now the swallowing isn't so rhythmic, just tight and almost *sweet*, like something he's tasting with his body, something that could just roll right *through* him --

Jason *squeezes* his eyes shut and shudders, all over, pulls back --

"Oh -- oh, God, Jason --"

Jason's panting and licking Tim all over his shaft, sucking just on the head and stroking up over Tim's body, feeling him like Bruce and generally making Tim feel unreal and vastly unimportant everywhere Jason's hands *aren't*. Tim squeezes his own eyes shut --

Jason bites Tim's hip and just -- holds it, stays there, and when Tim opens his eyes, Bruce is looking at him with his wet lips parted. He's still so *flushed*, and Tim can tell by looking at Bruce's shoulders that Bruce is still doing *something* with his hands --

"Bruce, what -- tell me what you're doing. To Jason?"

"I have my right hand wrapped around him. He's bigger than I remember, longer --"

"Jesus, Bruce, that's fucking *dirty* --"

"As you say, Jason," and Bruce kisses the back of his neck briefly. "My left hand -- I'm pressing up behind his scrotum. A touch I remember him enjoying --"

"A touch that always -- always made me *beg*," Jason says, and holds on tight to Tim's obliques, pants against Tim's abdomen.

There's sweat beading at Jason's temples, and his expression is wild, half-lost --

And Tim realizes that he's gripping the stair as opposed to anything *useful*. He reaches for Jason's face, drags his fingers through the sweat... something about the feel soothes the ache in him, changes it...

He shakes his head, because there's something *larger* there, something important he's too aroused to reach. It's just that it's Bruce, and Jason, and completely different than it would be with either of them because it's *both*. There's something almost alchemical about it, something difficult to drag into the light of the kind of science Tim *knows*.

It's just --

It's *easier* to see Bruce, and to be here with him so close, to let Bruce look at him like *this*, showing everything even without pain to ground Tim. He doesn't want to run away, at all. Tim smiles and sits up, bends *down* to kiss Bruce with Jason between them --

"No fair, I can't -- oh Jesus, *Bruce* --"

Tim pulls back --

Bruce licks his mouth, quick and light and *wet* --

"Tell me, Bruce --"

"I'm stroking him now, the way I've seen you stroke yourself. I... I have so many *questions*, Tim, so much..." Bruce shakes his head and does something --

"Bruce, no, I don't -- don't want to come yet, oh God, I can *see* Tim doing this --"

"Jason, I would... you could watch. If you wanted," Tim says, and blushes, and watches Bruce *seeing* him --

"*Fuck* yeah, but -- I'd have touch you. Taste you when you started getting all slick... oh Bruce, that time, that one time --"

"When you asked me to touch myself for you," Bruce says, and the sound he makes is both a moan and a sigh. "I confess, I was surprised by how much pleasure you took..."

Jason's laugh is cracked and a little high. "Even though you watched *me* all kinds of times, even before we were fucking --"

"From the very first time you touched yourself here, Jason. I -- you know that. You knew that --"

"I -- heh -- figured it out. Tim, too?"

Excellent question, and Tim feels a paradoxical urge to look away, to offer the two of them privacy for *this*, but -- there's a plea in Bruce's eyes, and that means he *can't*. "I... yes, Bruce. I'm -- curious."

"I had more control. And less," Bruce says, and shakes his head. "When I knew he would feel the need to touch himself, I would deliberately move away, pretend I couldn't hear, or understand..."

"Jesus, Bruce, that's -- okay, that *shouldn't* be more fucked up than the way you -- you did it with me, but..." And Jason kneels up, licking his lips and reaching to cup Tim's face. "Keep talking," he says, and kisses Tim again.

This time it's slow, wet and suggestive and *slow*, and Tim thinks he can feel everything Bruce is doing to Jason, feel the ghost of those hands on him, wrapped around and pressing, stroking --

"At the same time, I recorded everything. Every moment of him in the manor, for the brief time he lived here after his parents were kidnapped..."

Jason pushes his hands into Tim's hair and tugs lightly, just enough to remind Tim to stay right here and only here. Tim's grateful for it, but the only way to express it is with his kiss, with the way he moans for Jason's tongue and sucks --

Jason, perhaps, can *feel* things like that --

"I couldn't stop myself from watching, from *taking* that intimacy. I would... masturbate myself raw beforehand, wait until I was physically exhausted and -- preferably -- *pained*..."

Jason bites Tim's lip, sucks -- pulls back. "Tell it all, Bruce. C'mon, he needs to hear it, needs to *know*. And I do, too."

And Tim can see -- Bruce is looking at him, into him, and he seems almost *hurt*. Tim nods and reaches out --

Bruce catches Tim's hand and presses his thumb against the palm, rubs a slow, tight circle that makes something at the base of Tim's spine seize with want -- more when Bruce leans in and licks Tim's fingertips, bites them like, perhaps, he'd wanted to -- forced himself to never think about --

"Bruce," Tim says, and he's not sure what comes after that --

"Tell him..." And Jason leans in and nuzzles against Tim's ear. "Let him know that it's okay, that you're okay..." Jason's laugh is soft and a little hurt. "It *never* should be okay, but sometimes it just is..."

Tim nods for that and nods at Bruce, too. "It's -- all right. It's not like I ever even tried to sanitize myself and never think about you touching me, even when I knew -- when I thought you didn't want anything of the kind, Bruce."

Bruce lets go of Tim's hand and closes his eyes --

"Oh -- Bruce, not so -- not so fast, fuck --"

Bruce opens them again and kisses Jason's neck, slips his other hand down between Jason's legs again. "I'm sorry, I -- the feel of you --"

"I get it. I really --" Jason shivers, all over. "Keep going."

"Yes. I never allowed myself to imagine touching you, Tim. I was -- successful at this, save for my darker dreams, the loss of control, the flash and rush of images. You used to look at me with such *trust*..."

And it's Tim's turn to shiver, and to grip Jason's shoulders just to have something *steady* --

"You can still see it. When he's asleep, that is," Jason says, and licks Tim's cheek, tilts Tim's head back to get to his throat and just -- kiss, warm and hard over the bruises and bite-marks, pressure to remind Tim of every moment, every *touch* there --

"Yes. But Jay, if you had seen the way he looked --"

"I would've beat your ass up and down Gotham for taking in a kid like that?"

And Bruce -- laughs. Again. Tim has to *see* that. "Jason, let me -- he's *laughing*," Tim says, and Jason moves back and Tim looks up --

The laugh is in Bruce's eyes, still, but Tim can't quite see it. It feels very similar to that one particular science fiction story about the planet where the sun only shone once every seven years, and --

All right, so he wasn't quite locked in a *closet* -- never that -- but --

"Oh -- crap. You've never seen him laugh, have you?"

"Ah -- not while sober," Tim says, and reaches to touch the soft skin at the corner of Bruce's eye. "Perhaps he'll give me another chance."

"Yeah, uh -- I know some really *filthy* jokes -- *nn* -- Jesus, okay, Bruce, okay, remember I don't *want* to shoot all over the stairs, here --"

"All over Tim, perhaps? He seemed to find it pleasurable when I ejaculated on his erection --"

"Oh, fuck *me* --"

"Jay --"

"Was he jerking himself off? Like I used to, like I *had* to for you -- oh fuck, fuck, *Bruce*, slow *down* -- ah --"

And Bruce pulls back, stands *up*, clenching his hands into fists --

Jason is beating his forehead against Tim's shoulder and groaning, and Tim has to wrap his arms around Jason and just -- hold him, look up at Bruce, and --

He thinks he wants to ask for permission to have this, to feel Jason's heat against himself, touch the scars Bruce knows and the ones that he doesn't --

"Please," Bruce says, low and rough, and Tim's shaking -- Jason's shaking, or they both are, at once, and Jason lets go and stands up, which means it's time for him to move --

"Not that you don't look fucking great down there, bro, but..." Jason reaches down to help Tim up, and Tim feels -- too light, not quite spread evenly throughout his own body, and perhaps a bit phallocentric. *Knowing* that his penis isn't currently heavy enough to make him tip over is nothing against the feel.

And the *feel* when Jason wraps his free hand around Tim and *squeezes* --

"Jesus, don't fall back *down* --"

"Sorry. I -- ah. You should let go."

"You're that close?"

That was a question, and not the most difficult one in the world -- Tim *knows* that -- it's just that Jason sounds so *pleased*, so... thoughtful in the most sex-inclined way imaginable, and Tim realizes that he's pretty much just... staring, with his mouth open. He closes his mouth.

"Okay, so *that's* a yes. Guess we know who's turn it is first, hunh, Bruce?"

"Yes," Bruce says, and *his* voice is so full, so *promising*, possibly threatening --

Jason lets go of him and Tim groans and bucks at the *air*, and he can't stop thinking of all of it, everything. How to touch Jason to make him beg, the hours Bruce had spent watching him, how *close* they both are -- he can stop. He can *breathe* -- and start walking up the stairs.

"Uh... you gonna open your eyes anytime soon?"

"Probably -- ah. Probably not, no. In fact," Tim says, and turns around so he can face the *top* of the stairs, and not either of the large, attractive, *aroused* men behind him. Yes, it's a plan.

It's possibly the best plan he's had in... some unknown stretch of time. He takes the stairs at a jog, and can't even really bring himself to blush at the sound of Jason's laughter.

Jason *knows*, and so does Bruce, and if Alfred is waiting in the study when he gets to the top of the stairs, then he can just quietly expire, and hope that his body doesn't choose to ejaculate at the point of death. He wouldn't want to leave a mess -- engine.

Cassandra is home, and it says something about him that he's not sure whether he wants to stop or keep going. He's not sure *what* it says, but it's something --

Jason's hand on his shoulder. "Talk to her *tomorrow*."

Tim takes a moment to look down at his penis -- "Yes, probably for the best."

He moves through the manor on auto-pilot, noting that there are more lights on than usual at this time of day. A part of him wants to seize on that and *think*, try to come up with more theories about Alfred's ideas about family, but Jason never takes his hand off Tim's shoulder, and Tim can *feel* Bruce's eyes on him. Both of them.

What had Jason meant, exactly, about it being his turn...?

It doesn't matter, or -- it absolutely *does* matter, just not right this second. Tim pauses by his bedroom door --

"You *know* where we're going..."

Yes, he really does, and the fact that he has guilt over basically only using the space as a *dressing* room is just one of those random things that his brain is going to throw at him until he regains the ability to *actually* think.

Bruce's bed is turned down, the curtains drawn, the room itself seeming to demand silence in a way that Tim hasn't really felt before until it seems like the sound of their quiet breathing will tear something invisible and important --

Jason turns Tim and puts two fingers under his chin, lifts -- "Hey, are you okay?"

Bruce is standing in the doorway, watching in absolute silence, and -- they're really going to do this. *He's* really going to do this, when he could just slip back out into the hall, back into his bedroom to jerk himself off quickly and quietly, and maybe... maybe spend some more time with Cassandra, or just on the console, working out what they're going to do tomorrow, who they're going to *hurt* --

"Tim," Bruce says, soft and so *gentle*. It's a message and a request and a plea and a -- stroke, of sorts. Perhaps over his hair, or firmly down his back. He understands.

"Hey," Jason says, and shifts to cup Tim's face, stroke Tim's ear with his fingertips. "Don't leave me."

And that -- he's tensed all over, *hot* all over, just like that, and he'd never, he wouldn't -- Tim shakes his head and then just turns to press his face against Jason's palm, taste salt -- Bruce. Himself. Tim shivers and -- copes. He can do that, too. "Sorry, just... ah. I've never... with more than one person."

"And also you just started having sex a week and a half ago, I *got* that. But... it's us," Jason says. "Heh. Pretend you're still on the stairs."

"Mm, sharp edges digging into my spine --"

"Cold stone on your balls, yeah -- hasn't Bruce bent you over a gargoyle *yet*?"

Tim laughs --

"We haven't had the opportunity," Bruce says, and he's gripping the edges of the door -- not *very* tightly, but not casually, either.

It's difficult to be sure whether he's blocking the most reasonable escape route or stopping himself from moving closer -- no, it's both. And Jason is still cupping Tim's face, he's still so *close*.

Tim reaches up and rests one hand on Jason's chest, feeling the sleekly uneven texture of his skin, all the scars which don't show easily against Jason's pale skin. In his memories -- and remembered fantasies -- Jason is ruddier, wind-burned and not entirely untouched by the sun. They're basically the same complexion now, and Tim realizes that he finds that strange.

Perhaps he can convince Jason to spend some time in the sun -- and the image he gets is of all of them by the pool in a summer they may not live to see. He'd like to go shopping with Cassandra for several different bathing suits, all designed to flatter *her* complexion, and he'd like to laugh with all of them at whatever godawful thing Dick chose to wear --

"Where'd you go this time?"

Tim blushes again and shakes his head. "I was picturing us, all of us. Just... having fun, sometime. Outdoors. In daylight, even."

Bruce looks thoughtful --

Jason snorts. "Are you high again?"

"Possibly on my own hormones," Tim says, and deliberately turns his hand so he can get his thumb on Jason's nipple, rub it hard again and *pinch* --

"Heh. *Tease* -- ah -- yeah, like that..."

Using his nails: clearly a very good plan. And now Bruce doesn't look thoughtful so much as *hungry*, and -- yes. He's holding things up.

Tim steps back from Jason, lets go, and moves to the bed, crawling on, and then turning to lay on his back --

"No, stay on your stomach for a minute or two," Jason says, moving around to the other side of the bed before crawling on.

Bruce is still in the doorway, and -- yes, he's gripping *very* hard.

Tim pushes up onto his elbows. "Bruce... is it seeing the two of us here --"

"In my bed," Bruce says, low and *rough*. There's pre-come beaded at the tip of his penis and his knuckles are white.

Tim licks his lips -- Bruce's penis twitches. "You could consider... ah. Joining us," Tim says, and Jason laughs and strokes down Tim's back and over his buttocks, cupping and squeezing --

And pushing between Tim's thighs. It's something like instinct to spread his legs --

"Seriously, Bruce. I *need* to see how you touch him. How you *want* to touch him. I think..." Jason exhales low and soft and pins one of Tim's legs with his own. "I think he'll let you do what you want, tonight."

Tim closes his eyes and thinks about it -- tries to think about it. Bruce's hands on him -- and Jason watching everything, waiting for Tim to sit *still*.

Jason cups his sac and presses his thumb up behind it --

"Oh. Jason, yes, please --"

"How 'bout it, Tim? Think you can handle Bruce being Bruce all over you?"

"Certainly, you're giving me a great deal of incentive. I --" Tim rocks against the bed and moans. Bruce is still in the doorway. "Bruce, please. Please don't just --"

And Bruce is *there*, shifting them on the mattress and making the shadows deeper, *warmer*. Tim lets himself just feel it as much as he can, closing his eyes and letting his head hang down between his shoulders --

A hand on the back of his neck, and it takes a moment to be sure it's Jason's -- his hands are rougher than Bruce's, less well-maintained.

Wet sounds above him -- Bruce and Jason are kissing again, and Tim would like to *watch* that, but Jason's grip on the back of his neck effectively keeps him from rolling over.

It's a *kind* of enough to be able to hear it, to know that they're pleasing each other with him between their bodies -- has he become something they can tease each other with?

Bruce presses down at the base of Tim's spine, strokes up and down the hollow -- and down *into* Tim's cleft. That -- just...

Tim moans and Jason tightens his grip --

Bruce is stroking Tim's hole, sweat easing it *and* making it burn a little more. He's still *raw*, and Bruce is just -- oh, but would he fuck Tim tonight? Tim pushes up into the touch and Bruce makes a sound -- muffled by Jason's mouth --

"What... oh, yeah, work those *hips*, Tim..."

"The -- ah. The alternative seems unthinkable, Jason," Tim says, and starts to push up on his knees --

"Stay there. Please," Bruce says, and emphasizes his point -- or perhaps offers incentive -- by slipping one finger *just* inside --

Tim makes a sound with a lot of o's and feels himself leaking more pre-come. The bed is going to be a wreck if they keep going like this --

They are absolutely going to keep going like this. The faster he comes, the faster he'll be able to touch Bruce, or Jason... both of them. Tim *shoves* his hips against the duvet, back up to try to drive that finger deeper, get *more* --

But Bruce isn't giving it to him. Bruce wants -- doesn't want to hurt him, possibly never wants to hurt him, and that's entirely admirable, it's just that --

"Jesus, Bruce, *this* is what you want? You know how close he is."

"It's only that I..." Bruce sighs and uses his free hand to stroke Tim's back, up to his shoulders where he squeezes, cups... "Tim offered, once, the possibility of our going slowly. Taking *time* for this."

He *had* done that, yes. What was he thinking, exactly? Possibly about Roy's incredibly tight pants, his smile, his knowing, *open* eyes --

"Yeah, hunh?" Tim can feel Jason shifting -- he's lying beside Tim, still with one hand on the back of Tim's neck. "You want it slow? Could you *deal* with slow right now?"

"I. I could -- try. I mean. I want Bruce... ah. It's a little difficult to express, I just --" Tim shakes his head and breathes, tries to *think* against the feel of that finger inside him not far *enough*, against the cool slide of the duvet against skin that feels superheated and a little more alive than the rest of him. "God, I -- I want to be *touched*," Tim says, and, "No --"

Bruce pulls out and strokes him with both hands, presses Tim against the bed --

"Easy, Tim, just... mm. You should see Bruce's face right now, how hungry he looks, like he can't really wrap his head around the fact that you're here right now --"

"That I can have this," Bruce says, and his voice is low and *thick*. "That this -- that this is *allowed*."

"Oh -- don't stop. Don't --"

Jason squeezes the back of Tim's neck. "Tell him you like it, that you want him, that -- heh. Tell him the *truth*. All of it. Just like he made you tell me."

"Jay --"

"It's *not* asking too much, B. It's -- heh. Trust me on this. He *wants* to spill, and spill, and spill some more. Right, bro?"

There's always another level to the blush -- this is something Tim has learned with all of himself. There's --

Bruce is stroking the backs of Tim's thighs, pressing hard on his shoulder blades, spreading his legs wider --

"I -- Bruce could. I think I just want to be --"

"Taken, kept, held someplace warm enough that you can pretend it's *safe*," Jason says, and strokes up into Tim's hair. "Tell him."

"Oh God, B -- Batman --"

"*Tim*," Bruce says, *Batman* says --

"Just -- it's always so dark, always in my dreams, everything I've dreamed for so *long* --"

"I've got you," and Batman shifts, moves until his knees are holding Tim's thighs apart, until he's cupping Tim's hips and lifting them easily, so easily --

"Drowning me, *making* me, and I want -- I always *want* -- oh --"

And Batman lifts him, pulls him back, and the feel of Bruce's skin and hair should be wrong for this, but his body is telling him that it couldn't be more right, that Batman is and has always been a *man*, hard and sculpted, self-designed and marred by the work, and -- Jason's right there, seeing everything and *knowing* everything --

He's never supposed to *lie*, and maybe that's the best possible reason to scoot further into Batman's lap until his back is pressed against Batman's chest, until he can throw his head back and roll it against Batman's shoulder, reach up -- and get his wrists caught and held above his head.

The feel -- the position and his memories of *being* in this position --

The first time Batman had tied him *this* way and ordered him to escape -- his thumbs are already working, already. Tim feels himself *twitch* and realizes that his eyes are closed. He opens them and Jason is staring, watching them both with a little frown --

"Jason...?"

"Do I need to tell you to focus, Tim?" Batman, gruff and *openly* threatening, and Tim realizes that this isn't quite... right. It's too narrow a thing, if not necessarily private.

It's -- Tim shakes his head and forces himself to *focus* on something other than the feel of Batman -- Bruce tightening his grip on Tim's wrists. "I want this," Tim says, and it's absolutely a confession, but he doesn't think it's enough of one. He breathes --

And Jason touches his face and frowns more --

And Bruce loosens his grip before Tim has to say *anything* else, and that's -- he could use Jason for this, use Bruce's need for Jason to ease them away from *this*, but -- he doesn't want to. "I want this," he says, again, "but it's not the only thing. It -- it never was --"

"Hey, I'm *not* here to judge your kinks, Tim. You've probably spent more time getting off on Batman and Robin than anyone. *Including* B --"

"No, it's -- ah." Tim tugs against Bruce's grip on his wrists until Bruce lets go and Tim can bring his hands back down --

And Bruce wraps his arms around Tim's chest and presses his face against Tim's throat, nuzzles to the back of Tim's neck -- kisses, and if either of them *didn't* expect Tim to maintain his train of thought they wouldn't be who they are.

Who Tim *wants*. Tim strokes Bruce's forearms and lets his head fall forward again, pushes back against Bruce just to feel the hot weight of Bruce's erection against the base of his spine -- thought. "It's... I want it. I want to be -- that kind of Robin. It's just that I also... even when I thought of quitting, I couldn't stop wanting to come back here, to be *Bruce's* friend --"

Bruce groans against Tim's throat and licks up to Tim's ear, sucks the lobe and kisses just beneath, over and over --

"So -- so hard to *think* --"

"Easy, Tim, you're doing fine. You're -- heh. Probably doing better than *I* would in that position," Jason says, and pushes until Tim raises his head again, until Tim can blink and stare --

And moan, loud and long, when Bruce starts sucking behind his ear. Not -- "It's not -- hard. It's. It's gentle, so warm and wet, Jason -- I... I want him, I want *Bruce*, even when I can't take it --"

"And sometimes especially then," Jason says, and strokes Tim's mouth with his thumb. "You -- you're so hard it hurts."

Tim nods. "It's so... familiar. I -- I might as well be in the Cave, on my back on the mats --"

"Bruce looking down at you from so *fucking* high up --"

"Yes -- oh, God, please, Bruce, please --"

"Reaching down for you, and you think -- you know he's just going to punish you some more, but maybe this time he'll touch you a little first, squeeze your shoulder, pat your back --"

"Touch me, *touch* me," and Tim knows he's shouting a little, but he can't stop himself, can't --

"Tim... this time he'll listen when you call his name, when you can't stop yourself because it feels *almost* as good as you need it to --"

"*Bruce*, I need you, please, I need you so much --"

Bruce growls and holds Tim tighter, rocks him back and forth and presses hard against the base of Tim's spine, making them both harder, need more --

And Jason crawls over until he's on his knees in front of Tim, and Tim has no idea what expression is on his face, but it makes Jason lick his lips, cup Tim's cheeks with both hands -- "You want Bruce to get you off, right? Just him this time?"

"I -- I -- please, I can't, it feels --"

"Can you feel the way he's holding back, Tim? Forcing himself not to just crush you against him? All that *power* --"

"Oh, please, Jason, Bruce, I can't -- it feels so good --"

Bruce growls again and moves one of his arms -- his hand, stroking down Tim's abdomen, all the way down until he's just holding Tim's penis --

"Gentle. So -- oh, please *please* -- *ah* --"

Bruce's hand shaking on him, around him, and Jason shakes, too --

"God, so -- I remember this, Tim. *Just* this. This is what it was like when Bruce couldn't hold on anymore, couldn't just give me what *I* wanted."

"Oh, God. Oh -- fuck. Please, I -- just -- Jason, help me --"

And Jason kisses him hard, holding his face in position for a long moment before stroking down to Tim's shoulders and chafing him there, squeezing -- and dragging Tim out of things a little, *giving* Tim the ability to stay right there and moan while Bruce strokes him so slowly, so careful and gentle --

Tim feels himself shaking, but the kiss is a solid thing, as solid as the feel of Bruce behind him, almost around him, his big, hard hand stroking him so carefully, but not so gently now. It's --

It's not the way he strokes himself, and that means -- Tim rears back out of the kiss and Jason stares, panting --

"He's -- Jason, is this -- it's the way you touch. Yourself. Oh, *fuck* --"

And Jason closes his eyes, balls his hands into fists and punches his own thighs once, twice -- "Fucking *hell*, Bruce --"

"Robins," Bruce says, quietly and so firm, so *hard* --

"Not -- not fucking *quite*, Bruce --"

"I'm sorry. I can't -- he's so very warm, Jay. He's so *close*."

"Give it to him harder, then. Make him *come*. You know I didn't take it that easy on myself when I was close -- oh, fuck, Tim, are you..." Jason reaches out and brushes Tim's cheek, and Tim knows --

He knows, and he shakes his head, it's too much, he's too -- he opens his mouth to beg again, say *something*, but all that comes out is a moan, and another one, and another --

"Bruce, he *needs* you --"

"*Yes*," Bruce says, and bites Tim's throat and holds *on* -- and strokes Tim hard and fast, almost *stripping* him, and Tim's been so close for so long --

He can't see, he can't --

Are his eyes closed? No, he can see Jason, face flushed and mouth open as he strokes his own thighs, as his penis bobs and drips pre-come on the *duvet* --

"Jason..."

"Right here. Right -- I won't leave you, Tim. You can just give it up. Let *go* for Bruce. For *me* --"

And Tim doesn't know if it's the words or the feel that's making his eyes roll back in his head, but he can't stop it, can't do anything but pump into Bruce's fist and claw at the duvet --

"That's it, Tim. That's just right. You look so *fucking* good like this --"

"So abandoned," Bruce says. "Lost to this..."

"You make me want to fuck you again, birdboy. Take your mouth, your ass, haul you into the showers and do it again until I can't get it up, anymore, until you can't make a fucking *sound* --"

"I want to see you, touch you where Jay is stretching you open, taste you there..."

The words. The -- the way they're talking and --

The sounds coming out of Tim's mouth are no more desperate than he is, no more --

Bruce's hand and the sweat between them, the slick feel of Bruce's penis and his *hand* --

Please *please* --

"I'll choke you again, Tim. Nice and hard until you're unconscious. And the minute I can get hard again I'll wake you up with my dick in your ass, *fuck* you awake --"

White-out, and it feels like he's not in his body, anymore, that there's too much *feeling* to leave room for the rest of him.

He can't --

Bruce is saying something, and maybe Jason, too, but Tim can't stop spasming, can't stop *spilling*, just like Jason said, like they want --

He wants --

And maybe he's shaking himself back into his own body, because he can see again -- the ceiling -- and he can smell his own sweat and come and he can smell Bruce and Jason, too. So close, so *hot*...

"Tim..." And Bruce brings his slick-sticky hand up in front of Tim's face, to his mouth, and --

Tim knows that it's meant to give him a way out, to let him avoid saying anything else while he still feels like someone has painlessly scoured the skin right off his *body* -- Tim licks and moans --

No, that's Jason, crawling close and *taking* Bruce's hand and licking it clean, fast and wild --

"Oh -- oh, Jason --"

"Need to *taste* you, I -- never got the chance, and fuck you taste exactly like you eat way too much healthy food."

Bruce laughs and Tim twists, moves --

"Easy --"

"No, really --" Tim gets himself turned around and -- there. The corners of Bruce's eyes are crinkled, his mouth turned up at the corners -- and Tim can't -- he *has* to.

He presses himself against Bruce and wraps his arms around his neck and shivers and keeps shivering, because there's no real excuse for this, because any minute now one of them will say something, or do something -- it's not his *turn*, anymore --

"Yeah, he's right there, bro," and then there are more wet sounds, a slight pop that means Jason had sucked Bruce's fingers into his mouth briefly -- "I'd ask you what you were gonna do about it, but it looks like you *know*."

Tim -- he can *stop* shivering, really, it's just --

It's *Bruce*, and everything Dick had always said, everything he'd glimpsed and theorized -- and Bruce is stroking Tim's back with his other hand, slow and *firm*. Tim feels -- he feels --

There ought to be more he could say here, more he could offer, but it's possible that he couldn't get more naked than this *without* the actual removal of skin. He...

He laughs, and pulls back -- Bruce only lets him get far enough away that they can look at each other's faces.

"Tim... may I --"

"Yes," Tim says, and there is, actually some consolation in the fact that he can't possibly *show* more of a blush than he already is. "Just -- whatever it is, Bruce. I --"

Bruce leans in and licks the outside corner of Tim's right eye, and then the left.

"Oh... I. In my defense --"

"You *don't* need a defense," Jason says, and yanks Tim's head back by his hair. "Not for this," and Jason licks Tim's cheek in a stripe down to his mouth --

Possibly Jason likes upside-down kisses. Possibly there aren't many kisses Jason doesn't like. Something to examine in the future, in as much detail as possible -- and Jason's actually kissing him down to the bed, and of all the reasons to be bent backward Tim has heard -- and experienced -- over the years, this is definitely one of the best, especially since Bruce is stroking Tim's thighs almost restlessly, squeezing them and not *quite* pushing them wider --

It's not his turn, and he really wants to get on with *their* turns, and --

Possibly he already is.

Jason moves until the kiss is right-side up, until he's straddling Tim -- and then he shoves his arms under Tim's shoulders and *drags* Tim up the bed, away from Bruce -- he can do that.

Tim bends his knees up and plants his feet to help push -- and Jason covers him, rocks against him and groans into Tim's mouth, tensing all over and breaking the kiss just to do it again, and again, *grinding* against Tim's abdomen --

"*Fuck*, I -- can't get that out of my head, how you looked -- how you *still* look, baby, baby brother --"

Tim shivers and wants to be hard again right now, hard enough that the words can stroke him as much as everything else -- Tim strokes down Jason's sides to his hips, digs his fingers in and *urges* -- stops. "You can -- there's nothing I wouldn't let you do, Jason --"

"Aw, *fuck*, don't sound so fucking *reasonable* when you say shit like that, I -- Tim. Bruce, where *are* you --"

"Watching. Avidly," Bruce says, and Jason laughs, gasps --

"Of *fucking* course you are, you freak. How about you try a little *active* watching."

"Jay... would you tell me what you want?"

"Everything, *right* now, but lets start with your hands on me. Maybe push me down on Tim, here, make me -- oh, *Jesus*, yes --"

Bruce's hands are over Tim's, pressing them hard against Jason, pushing Jason *down* -- and pulling him back. Down again, and the rhythm is slow and hard, almost *brutally* so, and Tim's body wants him to catch it, wants him to *feel* it --

"Bruce, *Bruce* -- is this how you want to fuck him? How you want *me* to fuck him?"

"Jay. There is *nothing* I do not want from you," Bruce says, and Tim thinks he can *hear* the smile in Bruce's voice, even over Jason's cursing groans --

"Be *specific*, dammit --"

"All right," Bruce says, and drags his fingers over Tim's knuckles for a moment before moving them, and Tim follows his hands to Jason's buttocks --

"Oh. God. I'd forgotten -- fucking forgotten what it feels like to have you spread me, know you're *looking* at me --"

"Wanting you, Jay. Always -- always wanting. Jay, let me taste you --"

"Y-yes. Oh, God, Bruce, not too much, don't make me come like that --"

"No, not like..." Bruce sighs and squeezes Tim's hands --

A message. He wants Tim to keep Jason spread -- and it's a relief to know that he'd stopped blushing for at least some stretch of time, but really not to feel himself doing it *again*. But... holding Jason open for Bruce, keeping him that way --

He hasn't *seen* Jason like this, hasn't felt *this* --

"Tim, you... you're keeping me. Keeping me open --"

"Yes, Jason, I -- is it too much? Should I --"

"No, just like that, just -- make it *easy* for Bruce," and Jason laughs and keeps rocking against Tim, keeps moving --

And then the motion goes ragged and *rough*, and Jason groans and shudders, punches the pillow next to Tim's head --

"Fuck, so *wet*, I -- I can't decide whether -- whether you love or hate this, Tim, even though I've *done* it to you --"

"It drives me crazy," Tim says, and presses his thighs against Jason's. "I -- sometimes *I* don't know if I like it or not. It's -- intense."

"Yeah -- he..." Jason shudders again. "Definitely... definitely kinda weird to think of Bruce missing *this* for years -- oh God, growling against -- against my fucking *hole*..."

Tim digs in with his fingers a little, strokes with his thumbs. So much muscle, so strong -- "I -- I can imagine missing it. You know I want to do this to you --"

"Yeah -- fuck, yeah, I'll let you, you can make me lose it for you... oh..."

Jason's moaning and driving against Tim, mouth open and just -- one moan after another --

And *another* shudder --

"It's -- it's okay, Jason, you look really -- ah --"

"I look fuck-stupid is what... what I *look* like --"

"It's entirely attractive," Tim says, and rears up enough to kiss --

Jason moans into his mouth and fucks Tim with his tongue, long, fast strokes -- and that's exactly what Bruce is doing to him. He --

Tim can *feel* that, feel himself coiling and tensing inside, *wanting* -- and Bruce's hands are on Tim's own, stroking over his fingers and rubbing, pressing, petting the thin skin between --

Tim moans into Jason's mouth and wants to say -- something, everything, all at once. Jason's weight on him is so warm, the feel of him rocking and thrusting so *perfect*. He's glad, now, that he won't be hard again for at least a little while. Like this, he has room to catalogue the feelings, to dwell on -- and, perhaps, wallow in -- the individual sensations:

The slickness of Jason's penis, the slap and drag of his sac, the slight tickle marking the way Bruce is touching his hands, as if even when he's doing *this*, to *Jason*, he still has to touch Tim, make Tim feel him --

And either Bruce has changed the way he's taking Jason with his tongue or Jason's getting distracted by the kiss. He slows down enough to let Tim suck his tongue --

And punches the pillow again, again -- pulls back. "Ah, *fuck*, I don't -- don't wanna come like this, Bruce --"

Bruce groans and there are wet sounds, *sex* sounds --

"C'mon, c'mon, don't make me beg --"

"*No*," Bruce says, and stops stroking Tim's hands, moves up until he's over Jason, pressing just enough that breathing becomes challenging for Tim --

"Oh -- that's --" Tim thrusts up, twists and moves --

"Tim. Tim, you feel fantastic, and Bruce, what do you *want* --"

"*You*," and there are more wet sounds, Bruce maybe licking and kissing Jason's back, the back of his neck and just --

Tim stops holding Jason open and reaches, strokes everything he can reach -- gets a hand around Bruce's *penis* --

"*Tim*," and Bruce's tone sounds like a warning and a plea all at once --

"Oh -- oh Jesus, do you have him, bro?"

Tim nods. "He's *hot* in my hand, so hard... Jason. Do you want him to... to fuck you?"

Jason tenses hard and moans, presses his forehead against Tim's --

"Jay... please --"

"Don't -- don't *beg*, just -- I know you have lube somewhere around here. Get me ready. I know it'll be fast and hard, I know -- *fuck* --"

Bruce *moves* Jason, rolling him off Tim and over onto his back, and Tim has to take a moment to just breathe, but he can't pause, has to roll over himself, reach for Jason's chest --

And get his hand caught when Bruce lowers himself down and just covers Jason, all his *weight*. Jason has his head thrown back and he's gripping the duvet with one hand and one of the pillows with his other --

And then Bruce and Jason are moving together, slow and *hard*. Tim wants to see *everything* even more than he wants to touch, but -- he gets his hand out from between them and shifts a little closer --

And Jason grabs him by the hair and pulls. Tim leans in and *takes* the kiss, takes the loud, helpless-sounding moans until his tongue is buzzing and his lips ache, a little -- Jason pulls him back. "Tell him, Tim --"

"I --"

"He'll *listen* to you," Jason says, laughing and groaning --

Oh. "Bruce, he knows -- he knows neither of you will last. You should really -- please. Let me *see* -- I --"

Bruce is looking at him, staring into him, and he looks almost hurt, almost *betrayed* --

"It's okay, Bruce. It's -- he knows you don't want to hurt him, but he needs you. It's been --"

"So long. So *fucking* long, Bruce, God, fuck --"

"Jay..." And Bruce seems to almost wrench his eyes away from Tim and back to Jason, seems to almost drink Jason in for a moment, another -- and then he pulls back and up onto his knees, forcing Tim to let go. He shakes his head -- covers his face with his hands and *shakes* for a moment, and honestly, Tim could stare at that for quite a while before he got tired of it --

No, he wants to get between and *suck* Bruce, tug him into his mouth by the hips and urge Bruce to *fuck* --

Lube. He can get the lube, because *his* brain is theoretically working. He goes for the drawer, noting that his hands *aren't* shaking, and that that's a very good thing, especially since it doesn't seem like his brain has actually gotten the memo about that little theory --

*Definitely* hasn't, because he just slicked up his *own* fingers, and -- Bruce and Jason are looking at him. "Ah -- force of... Freud?"

Jason grins and spreads his legs.

Bruce -- Bruce looks at Tim like he's either about to save the world or develop mind-boggling superpowers --

"*Don't* wait," Jason says, and Tim's moving, rubbing his slick fingers together in an attempt to make it a little warmer, and -- Jason's right there, and Tim couldn't wait if he wanted to. Human warmth and tension, deliberately released, and it honestly feels like something huge and *growing* is crowding his mind right out of his body. It feels --

"You're so warm, Jason. You... I want --"

"God, fucking hard little *hand* -- fuck me, let Bruce see --"

"Yes, I -- yes," Tim says, and shifts enough to make sure that Bruce can see everything. He's coming in from the side, he's -- he's *in*, two fingers, and Tim thinks of Bart and wants --

Tim shakes his head and rests his other hand on Jason's abdomen, turning his fingers a little with each thrust and feeling --

The room feels close, air heavy and thick -- no, he's not breathing enough. Letting himself gasp makes Bruce reach for him, cup Tim's working shoulder --

"Fuck, *Tim*, c'mon, give it to me harder --"

"You feel -- Jason, I --" Tim gives up on the deeply theoretical sentence and *fucks* Jason with his fingers, forcing himself not to worry about spreading the lubricant evenly, letting himself just *feel*. Tightness, heat, and... Tim crooks his fingers and presses *up* --

"Tim --" Jason jerks and spasms, planting his feet and rocking against Tim's hand --

"Again," Bruce says, and it's not an order, but --

Jason shouts and slams one heel against the bed, losing the rhythm and shaking his head --

"Jason...?"

"*More*, just -- *listen* to Bruce --"

"*Again*, Tim --"

Tim crooks his fingers *hard*, this time, and Jason lets out a whine, high in his throat --

Bruce squeezes Tim's shoulder and then strokes down to Tim's wrist --

"You -- I don't. I don't want to pull out --"

"Don't, fuck -- stay in me, Tim, make me feel you, *give* it to me --"

Tim squeezes his eyes shut -- and Bruce squeezes his wrist, tugs so *gently* -- and Tim understands that he's just holding himself there, that Bruce wants -- they *both* want him to *fuck* Jason this way, and --

Yes. Yes, *please*, Tim thinks and starts thrusting again, fast and hard as he can. He cups Jason's knee with his free hand --

He strokes Jason's *thigh* with his free hand, scratching at the scars until Jason starts gasping and working himself back, bucking for it and demanding faster with just his body --

"Fuck, *please*, you feel -- oh, God, I want you both in me, I want --"

Bruce groans and strokes Tim's arm and hand *hard*, knocking Tim off his rhythm -- oh. Bruce is sliding his fingers over Tim's slick hand, and -- pushing in next to Tim. Just one finger, but --

"Bruce -- *Bruce*, I can -- God, I know that's *you* --"

"Yes, Jay. Both -- both of us --"

"Inside me, stretching me --" Jason spreads his legs wider and Tim realizes that he's still scratching at Jason's thigh.

He flattens his hand and just rubs, just --

"No, more, c'mon, c'mon -- *oh* --"

And that -- Tim's getting hard again, aching because it's too *soon*, but Jason feels -- Jason is turning his head back and forth on the pillow, his eyes are closed --

Tim turns to Bruce, and he's watching everything on Jason's face, *studying* his reactions and, perhaps, matching them against memories, fantasies -- terrible and wonderful *dreams*.

Everything they are and everything they *want*, and Bruce has no trouble keeping to Tim's rhythm, and Jason --

There's a slim thread of pre-come connecting Jason's penis to his abdomen, in danger of breaking with every thrust, every *buck* -- Tim shivers and reaches for Jason's penis with his free hand. He doesn't want to -- no. He *wants* to stroke, but he doesn't have to. He can just... stroke through the hair there, so thick and curling, move down to cup Jason's sac --

"Please -- fucking *please* --"

"Jay, you have to. Tell me, when you're ready --"

Jason nods and bites his lip, reaches down to brush Tim's hand aside and *squeeze* his own sac --

And Tim has to fuck him harder, has to -- his hips want to move for this, even though it's just his hand, just his fingers. He can *imagine* being inside Jason, doing it here, in Bruce's bed, with Bruce right there to see everything, including Tim losing his mind --

Bruce pulls out --

"Fuck, *no* --"

Tim goes in with three fingers, and it's not enough, it can't possibly be enough for Jason, but he's banging his head against the pillows and *working* his sac -- wet sound, and when Tim turns, Bruce is slicking his own penis, slowly and thoroughly --

"Oh. Oh, Jason, he's -- he's ready. For you."

"Tell me. Fuck, I can't really *focus* here, tell me how he looks --"

"Incredible," Tim says, and can't stop himself from fucking Jason harder, *more* -- "He's so dark... he has to be hurting, and. The lube is so *cold*, but his expression hasn't changed --"

"Yeah -- God, *yeah*, Bruce, missed you, wanted you --"

"Tim," Bruce says, and takes a deep, shaky breath -- Tim knows what he means, what he *wants*, but the only thing that will let Tim move is the fact that if he doesn't, he won't be able to *watch*.

"I -- I'm pulling out, Jason --"

"Yeah, okay, I'm ready, just -- a little slow..."

"Yes, I -- you feel..." Tim shakes his head and pulls out, slowly and steadily. He moves back, *away* -- and Bruce catches his shoulder before he can move out of reach. Tim looks, and it looks like Bruce *wants* to say something, and it also looks like he absolutely can't.

It's -- he understands this, too, and he nods and stays put. Bruce squeezes his shoulder once and then cups Jason's hips --

Jason shudders and gasps -- "Bruce, *please* --"

"Jay," Bruce says, low and *hungry* as he pushes Jason's knees back to his chest --

"Fuck, I can't believe -- so long -- don't make me *wait*, anymore, Bruce, I'm so -- I'm so fucking sorry --"

Bruce moans and his hands shake on Jason's legs, *grip*, and Tim thinks about moving in again, about taking Bruce's penis in his hand and guiding it in --

Jason reaches down and does it, faster and harder than Tim would've done --

"*Jay* --"

"In me, *in* me --"

"*Home*," Bruce says, and *shoves* in the last couple of inches --

Jason shouts and bangs his head against the pillow again, reaches for Bruce and strokes his chest, pinches Bruce's nipples *hard*, and Tim gasps and reaches for himself with his slick hand --

He's not entirely hard, he's -- he has to squeeze, feel himself, feel *something*, because Bruce's head is thrown back and he's just -- *buried* in Jason, and Jason's still twisting, still --

Jason has his eyes closed. They *both* do, and it looks incredible and it feels like -- Tim doesn't know. Something separate, something beautiful and *theirs*, and so Tim tries to keep the next gasp quiet, low, tries to keep himself from stroking so hard he *hurts* himself, just --

Bruce lowers his head and *looks* at Jason --

"Jay."

Jason opens his eyes and *claws* at Bruce's chest, sobs on a breath -- "Bruce, *please* --"

"I love you," Bruce says, and pulls back, almost all the way out --

"Do it, just -- do me, Bruce, give it to me like I haven't -- like it's still the *same* --"

And Tim can't keep himself from moaning when Bruce pushes in, can't -- he does it so *slowly*, even though he's shaking, even though Jason's cursing -- laughing --

"Not *that* much the same, not -- fucking *fuck*, Bruce --"

"Language," Bruce says, and the smile on his face makes Tim gasp again, and again because it was too loud, because it *moved* things inside him --

"I will *fucking* hurt you --"

"Jason. Do we need... need to speak about proper --" Thrust -- "Relationship --" *Thrust* -- "Dynamics?"

And Jason's laughing silently now, out of air and holding Bruce with his legs, sliding his hands up to Bruce's shoulders --

Tim can feel -- oh, he can *feel* --

"Jason," Bruce says, and it sounds like Jay and it sounds like -- "*Robin* --"

Jason bucks and *growls*, pulling Bruce down to him and biting his chin, the line of his jaw, his *lip*, and Tim can't look away, can't see enough at *once*.

Jason holding Bruce's lip in his teeth, Bruce's hands on Jason's hips, the way they're *rocking* together as much as anything else, shaking the mattress and making Tim *want*. Just... Bruce's rhythm is so hard, ruthless and seemingly endless, and Bruce is panting now, staring down at Jason and just -- working, *moving* --

Tim moves closer because he has to, because --

He means to only touch Bruce's shoulder, but he has to stroke down to Bruce's buttocks, has to feel the clench and *pump*, reach between Bruce's legs and cup his sac, let the rhythm push his hand against Jason --

"Oh -- Tim, I feel -- oh fucking *God*, don't move your hand --"

Tim squeezes himself and stays there, feeling himself start to sweat again, *smelling* himself -- and Bruce. And *Jason*, and his knuckles brush against Jason's sac with every thrust, and Bruce feels so tight and vulnerable in his palm, so *good* -- Tim squeezes *Bruce* --

"*Tim* --"

"Squeezing you, he must be -- fuck, *Bruce*, don't stop, don't fucking *stop* --"

And Bruce's thrusts get ragged, almost *brutal*, and Tim whimpers at the thought of feeling that, *having* that --

Tim tries to stroke himself with the same rhythm, tries to -- he wants to be *part* of this, this muscular flex and roll, this *thing* that's Batman and Robin and isn't, this --

"*Please*," Tim says, and feels Bruce tense, all over --

"Fucking begging, listen to him, Bruce, listen --"

"I *am*," Bruce says, and now his thrusts are short, sharp things, almost vicious --

"So good, so -- always so fucking perfect in me --"

"Jay, I -- I can't. I need --"

And Jason pulls Bruce closer until Bruce shoves his arms under Jason's shoulders and holds on, just like --

"Please," Tim says, again, because it's too beautiful, too --

"Don't -- don't you fucking move --"

"I won't. I can't -- I --"

The thrusts are completely arrhythmic now, Bruce's sac so *tight* in Tim's palm, and he... he wants more than he can have with just one hand. He groans when he lets go of himself, but it's worth it to stroke Bruce's back, Jason's legs, to rest his hand at the small of Bruce's back and just ride the motion, one thrust after another and another --

And Tim can't stop himself from shifting until he can kiss Bruce's back, lick and bite at Jason's ankle, and neither of them are making words, anymore, neither of them are doing anything but feeling *this* -- and Jason cries out, loud and *desperate* --

"*Jay* --"

"I love -- I --" Another cry, and Jason's entire body is shaking -- he's coming, and Bruce is still thrusting, and Tim wants to know what that *feels* like when it's Bruce, when it's Batman, when it's the man who knows everything, sees everything and still *loves* -- Tim kisses Bruce's back and can't stop, can't do anything but taste his salt and feel him --

Bruce *shoves* in and stills, all over --

"Oh -- Bruce..."

"Bruce, *yes* --"

Bruce gasps, moans and collapses on Jason, and Tim can hear them kissing -- and he can absolutely let go of Bruce's sac. In just a moment.

Just -- he feels so good, and maybe Tim can just kiss him a little more, stroke and hold --

"Tim, get *up* here before Bruce crushes me unconscious."

Or now. He could -- now.

When he gets to the head of the bed, Bruce moves aside immediately, leaving enough room for Tim to kiss Jason, taste him and the musk Bruce had left behind --

Tim shivers and gives in to it, licking Jason's face and generally making a mess until Bruce pulls him into an entirely different kiss. More musk, more -- *more*, and Tim is *aware* that he's covering Jason's leg with one of his own, that he's rubbing that leg against *Bruce's*, but he can't really do anything about it.

It's all he can do to avoid *humping* them, because --

Just --

Every time he closes his eyes he can *see* them, and the way they were looking at each other, the way Jason was so lost and Bruce so *happy* --

Bruce is smiling into the kiss -- and Jason reaches up to bring them close enough that he can join it, make it messier and more wonderful than Tim had ever thought...

Would it have been like this if he and Bart had managed to convince Kon to join them? Would it have felt this right, this curiously *complete* --

He can see himself watching Kon and Bart together, Kon perhaps using his power to hold Bart open so he wouldn't hurt, wouldn't *damage*. They'd be so beautiful together, and perhaps he'd be able to control himself a little better than he'd managed here -- Jason yanks on his hair.

"Jesus, kid, Clark isn't even *here*, yet --"

"Ah --"

"To be fair," Bruce says, and he's still *smiling* -- "He could very well be lurking outside the window as we speak."

"He lurks now? He's *capable* of lurking?"

Clark? No. Possibly *Kal* -- but. "I -- ah. Wasn't thinking about Clark," Tim says, and licks his lips.

Jason looks deeply suspicious. Bruce raises an eyebrow.

Tim -- yes, he's blushing again. "I was thinking about Superboy. And Kid Flash."

Jason snorts and shoves at Tim's shoulder, putting Tim on his back -- he still can't make himself move his leg.

"Sorry, I -- it just seemed to... there were some. Potential similarities, there. In terms of the relationships in question," Tim says, and stares up at the ceiling until he feels like he can breathe again --

"Meaning that you *almost* had a threesome with them," Jason says and shifts --

Tim turns in time to see him pushing Bruce off a little more, see him wincing as Bruce pulls out, see Bruce lose a little of his smile --

"I'm *not* going anywhere -- yet," Jason says, and stretches. "I just need to interrogate baby brother here."

"Hmm. Make sure he omits nothing," and Bruce sits up, letting one leg fan to the side and wrapping his arm around the other knee. That's...

Tim stares, perhaps a little bit. Perhaps he's also reaching for his penis, again --

Jason catches his hand and presses it against the bed. "No way. You gotta convince me you *deserve* to come again."

It absolutely doesn't matter that Tim's not sure if he *should* twitch for that, because he absolutely just did.

"And give me other reasons besides you being a giant freaky pervert in a tiny fucking body," Jason says, and moves to straddle Tim, catching Tim's other wrist and pinning that, too.

"Ah -- just to be clear: is the alternative to me giving you those answers you continuing to pin me and say vaguely threatening things?"

Jason snorts again and shakes his head in a somewhat canine manner, sweat flying. His hair is wild, dark and thick... and all right, Tim wants more opportunities to touch.

"Is this where I apologize? You sounded so approving the last several times you called me a 'whore.'"

Bruce -- chuckles, low and -- Tim doesn't want to give the man any more complexes than he already has, but he still has to stare, a little --

"Maybe he'll do that a little more often," Jason says, and there's a smile in his voice, but it's a gentle one, and Tim has to change focus, just to see that in Jason's eyes. Affection there, *warmth* --

Tim bites his lip --

"Go on, say it, birdboy," and Jason squeezes Tim's wrists.

"I was just -- your eyes aren't like anyone else's I've ever seen, and I can't quite put my finger on why," Tim says, and rolls his wrists in Jason's grip --

"So not letting go, yet. And, okay, you like my eyes --"

"I do, as well," Bruce says. "Just as an aside."

Jason shakes his head again, more slowly this time. "What is it about Kid Flash and Superboy -- excuse me, Kon-*El*.*Are* you going to make me get on them until I know their civilian names and where they live?"

How challenging would it be for Jason? Neither of them have been especially discreet. Tim smiles ruefully. "Security has become -- instinctive. You can't tell me you don't understand that."

"Oh, I *understand*. And I also understand that their your little pets -- no, no, I'll take it back. They're your own metahuman Robins, and knowing you -- you need them."

Tim nods. "They've always... they've always been capable of taking me out of myself. Making me *live*, whether or not I wanted to. And my relationship with the two of them... it's like not being quite myself, or... I'm not sure. Sometimes I think I'm a better person with them than I am in Gotham."

Jason smiles, slow and *sharp*. "Part of you can't wait to get out there -- and back to the *old* protocol."

Yes? Maybe...? Tim shakes his head. "Part of me can't wait to introduce the *new* protocol. I think Starfire, for one, will approve wholeheartedly."

"Kory... Jesus. You have a point, kid, but -- you can't tell me that you're not at least a little scared about what doing that would *do* to the way your little metas look at you. Seems like you planned to move a little more *slowly* than that."

Tim inclines his head. "I think... it could be problematic. Certainly, it will trouble them... but all of that is going to have to wait until after I explain to them that the last time they saw me I was drugged."

"Busy, busy, *busy*. What *am* I gonna do without you keepin' an eye on me?"

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Follow the protocol, and spend some time getting to know Cassandra."

Jason presses *hard* on Tim's wrists. "That some kind of order, birdboy?"

Bruce is very, very focused on both of them, eyes clear and *flaring*, almost...

"I prefer to think of it as proof that I trust you, Jason. That I *know* you," Tim says, and offers his own smile.

Jason shifts -- his thighs are slick against Tim. He -- that's Bruce's *semen* --

"Hey, what's that face for?" And Jason lets go of one of Tim's wrists to catch him by the jaw --

"Ah -- the inevitable result of unprotected sex," Tim says, and reaches to cup Jason's thigh. The *outside* of Jason's thigh --

"A little lube-adulterated semen never hurt *anybody*," Jason says, and *grinds* against Tim --

It's possible that he's making 'that' face even more. Certainly, it would explain Jason's laughter and the way Bruce is looking distressingly *thoughtful*. "I -- look, if I didn't get myself thoroughly clean, the nanny practically scrubbed my *skin* off. I have perfectly rational reasons for being this neurotic," Tim says, grabbing Jason's hip and trying and failing to hold him *still* --

"Think of this as *therapy*, bro," and Jason grabs Tim's hand and slides it up between his legs --

Well. Slick warmth and Jason's *sac*, right there -- Tim squeezes --

"Aw, fuck, that was -- heh -- some seriously poor planning on my part --"

"Yes, it really was --"

"I blame the mind-blowing *fucking* I just got --"

"And I don't plan to punish you for it, per *se*," Tim says, and presses against Jason's sac with his thumb, thinks seriously about being in a position to suck on it, taste *Bruce* -- Tim sits up and immediately gets pulled into a kiss, softer than he would've asked for... but Jason's not as hard as he is.

*Jason* hadn't just watched Bruce fucking him -- Tim squeezes his eyes shut and bucks against Jason a little, just to feel --

Warm, so *warm*, and he can *have* this --

"Oh, that looked like you went to a *good* place in your head, birdboy. What were you just thinking? In fact, didn't I tell you to just keep *talking*, already?"

Tim opens his eyes. "Yes. Yes, you really -- ah. I was thinking about Bruce fucking me. Like -- like he did with you. Hard. Kind of -- ragged --"

"Because he had to. Because he was *just* that hard --"

"Y-yes. And he was *on* you, covering you --"

"Taking up the whole damned *world*," Jason says, brushing Tim's hand away from his sac and urging Tim back down to the bed, pressing his wrists down *hard* before kneeling between Tim's legs and spreading them wide. "I could change my mind about the exact *location*, now, but I think you really need to spend a good fraction of your life *just* like that."

Tim deliberately leaves his hands and wrists flat to the bed and sits up on his elbows. "I suppose I can see the theoretical appeal --"

"Nothing theoretical about it, baby..."

And Tim looks at Bruce, but if he has any opinion whatsoever about Jason calling him that, there's nothing on his face to suggest it. What *is* on his face is... pleasure of the sort that looks soothing, warming... "Bruce..."

"Yes, Tim...?"

His voice is so *mild*, so -- Tim shakes his head. "Did you plan on *just* watching?"

"He's a born *voyeur*," Jason says. "Of *course* he wants us to put on a little show. Bend your leg up."

Tim does so -- *not* the leg that would block Bruce's view -- and thinks about it a little bit. *Considers*. How much does he want Bruce's touch versus wanting to make Bruce *happy*? And he's supposed to be talking. "I just... I think I've gotten somewhat... spoiled."

Jason raises his eyebrows and strokes Tim's inner thighs. "Used to getting your share of Bruce right around this time?"

Tim nods. "Whether or not I've been... elsewhere. I don't suppose I could convince you to finger me?"

"Oh, *indubitably*," Jason says, and reaches toward Bruce without turning around -- Bruce hands him the lubricant. "Not more than two fingers, though. Really, I think stretching you out a bit is the kind of long-term project I can really get excited about, birdboy."

"Oh, Jason. *Maximize* my potential."

"Heh. Oh, yeah, baby. I'm goal-oriented for *you*."

Tim laughs. "Okay, stop, please, Bruce actually wants me to be somewhat involved with WE, and I don't need erections in the board room."

Jason smiles at him while he slicks his fingers, and it says something about Tim -- possibly about both of them -- that Tim can't quite decide which to focus on.

Jason's face, that -- he's just as ridiculously attractive as Bruce, but in different ways. Blunter in some ways, softer in others... and that hand. That hand which is about to be *very* important to him --

"See, now I'm picturing you all dressed up in one of the nice suits Alfred picked out for you -- or did you pick them yourself?"

"I -- well. I like a somewhat more modern style. I let Alfred pick about half of them."

Jason nods and slips his fingers into Tim's cleft --

"Oh -- Jason --"

"*Right* here. So work with me. You're all dressed up --"

"Sure, yes -- please, in me --"

"Don't be so impatient, birdboy," and Jason slides his slick fingers up and down and up again, *rubs* at Tim's hole -- "Remember, Daddy wants a good show."

"Daddy. I..." Tim turns and -- Bruce is closer. Not by much, but definitely closer. And he's watching Jason's working hand -- until he's watching Tim. "Jason, I..." He was going to say something. He --

"Well, he *did* adopt all of us," Jason says. "Ever been tempted to call him 'Dad' while he's doing you? Even if it's just to see how he'd react?"

Tim licks his lips and thinks of the chaise in the library, thinks of Bruce coming to him there, handing him a book, perhaps, or -- no, in the Cave, with the cowl and cape protecting them both from any urges Tim might have, only *not*. He thinks... "I might... I mean, there have been times --"

"Tim," Bruce says, and moves until he's behind Jason, strokes down Jason's arm -- and now they both have their fingers in his cleft.

"I wouldn't. I mean, I know it's not -- that it's even *more* inappropriate. Um."

Jason lets out a low whistle. "*That* sounds like a kink worth exploring, B. Just, you know... I think it would make me fall over laughing. *And* crying, because holy shit, that's fucked up."

Tim's blushing again -- he's supposed to *talk*. "Okay, just -- I think if he was fucking me, if he was inside me and I was on my knees. The *intensity* might make me say -- anything. I have a hard enough time controlling my own brain when it comes to sex, and -- yeah. Yes."

Jason nods and strokes Tim's thigh, firm and steady and. Comforting. "What about you, Bruce? Since you decided to get involved, and all."

Bruce kisses Jason's neck, up behind his ear -- "I love my children deeply."

Jason shivers and snorts. "Fucking *noted*, *Dad*. But where was I...?"

"Seconds -- mere *seconds* -- away from fingering me until I come all over myself," Tim says. "You want to make me *dirty*."

"Oh, I really, really *do* -- but I know. You're dressed up, looking like something out of the Little Person's GQ. You're at WE, maybe you've been shooting the shit with Lucius while Bruce pretends to be brain-dead..."

And Jason is still stroking Tim's cleft, fingers tangling with Bruce's over and over again, occasionally *pressing* against his hole -- it could be Bruce's fingers. He's not sure, and it suddenly seems very important, but -- "Jason... I..."

"Yeah, let me just..." And Jason slides *in*, one finger, and that means it's Bruce who's still sliding around, still just *playing* with him. "Anyway, Lucius goes away, and you just crawl right under Bruce's great, big desk..."

"Oh. Oh... I can see it. Dark under there, and -- Bruce's legs --"

"Bruce in that thin, perfect suit. So *close* to you, Tim. You could just tear it and he'd be right there naked for you..." And Jason starts thrusting, slicking Tim inside --

"Oh Jason, he'd be so --" Tim shakes his head. "I'd lean close, so I could smell him. I -- I'm raw, still --"

"I know you are, baby, but you can take this --"

"Ah -- yes, I -- oh, your fingers --"

"*In* you, the way Bruce *really* wants to be. Don't you, B?"

"Yes," Bruce says, and reaches around Jason with his other arm to stroke Tim's thighs, over his abdomen. "I've... fantasized," and he does -- something in Tim's cleft, something --

Jason's thrusts become longer, *harder* --

"Oh, that's --" Tim closes his eyes and rocks for it, moving on Jason's finger and imagining more, wanting -- wanting. "Tell me. Bruce, tell me --"

"Hmm. Shall I start with the first fantasy? Or the most recent...?"

Jason laughs again. "Oh -- I'm kinda dying for the most recent one, because --"

"Tim's choice," Bruce says, and kisses Jason's cheek while he strokes Tim seemingly everywhere *but* his penis --

Jason. Crooking his *finger* --

And it takes a moment to be able to focus, able to -- Jason's smiling and just --

Working his finger, *rubbing* Tim there, and Bruce is watching him so closely, seeing him -- "I want. I -- I *want* --"

"Be specific. Please," Bruce says, and trails his fingers so lightly up Tim's shaft that Tim whimpers and *clenches* --

"Oh, *yeah*, Tim, do that again --"

Tim can't classify this sound, and it's possible that the effort involved in trying would kill him. It's too high, too *hungry* -- he clenches again, and this time Jason shoves in *hard* --

The burn, the *ache* -- and Tim's punching the bed, gasping and making that terrible sound again -- "I -- recent. Recent is -- good --"

"You're in my office," Bruce says, and his voice is low enough that Tim has to open his eyes again -- Bruce is all but murmuring in Jason's ear as he strokes Tim. He's so *close* to Jason, to both of them, really, but he has to be pressed against Jason's back --

He knows exactly how that feels. Tim shivers and Jason closes his eyes for a moment, reaches up and back with his free hand until he's *holding* Bruce --

"Jay..." Bruce kisses Jason's ear and *Jason* shivers -- and never stops fucking Tim with his finger.

"I -- am I 'all dressed up?'"

"Mostly," Bruce says, and turns to look at Tim, *into* Tim -- "Your pants are around your ankles along with your boxer briefs. Your tie is... loosened."

Oh. Oh...

"Now *that's* an image," Jason says, and *twists* his finger --

Tim bucks and *flushes*, he's sweating again --

"How many cameras are in that office of yours, B?"

"Five," Bruce says. "Four of which are, in this particular fantasy, taking in every detail of Tim's appearance. The fifth is, of course, pointed toward the door, which Tim helpfully locked."

"He's *good* like that," Jason says. "Is he bent over the desk?"

Bruce nods and trails his fingers over Tim's penis again, lingering this time on the head, fingertips sliding through the pre-come --

"Oh -- please. I want -- I want that -- *Bruce* --" How had he forgotten Bruce's other hand? How -- pressed up behind his sac until -- oh, does he feel Jason's finger moving? Does it -- no, it has to make it better for Bruce, to increase the number of ways he can feel Jason right now, right *here* --

It makes it harder to move the right way, to do more than writhe for the feeling with Jason inside him, with Bruce teasing him -- touching him. *Enjoying* him --

"Jason, I don't..." Tim shakes his head and clenches again, and again, and Jason starts thrusting faster. "I'm not sure how much more talking I'll be able to -- manage. Um."

"Well, we could always let *Bruce* keep talking," Jason says, and pulls out almost all the way -- and pauses.

"Jason, *please* --"

"Sometimes he's pretty fucking good at that. I know there have been times when he's gotten me so fucking high on sex that I couldn't *see* straight. Take a deep breath," and Jason pushes in slowly with two fingers --

And Bruce is stroking Tim's cleft again, focusing on the thin skin around Tim's hole, pushing and sliding and *teasing* -- testing.

How tight Tim is, how swollen -- Tim swallows, tries to *think* -- "Bruce. You were -- *am* I bent over your desk?"

Bruce sighs and seems to turn all of his focus to kissing Jason's neck, which is something Tim can understand, something he can *approve* of, especially when Bruce starts licking the mostly faded bruise Tim had left, when he *sucks* it -- and Tim can't --

He looks for the bruises on his throat, searches for them with his fingers and presses, pinches and pulls just for something like that same feeling --

Jason has his eyes closed again -- "That, yeah -- oh, I wanted Tim to bite me there again, show me how much he *wants* --"

"May I," and Bruce is kissing there now, over and over --

"*Fuck* yeah," and Jason moans --

Bruce licks --

Tim *groans* and claws at his own throat -- Jason opens his eyes.

"I did that. I was *doing* that in my big, empty bed," Jason says. "Thinking about you and that mouth of yours --"

"Oh, then -- come here? I --" And Tim watches Bruce show his teeth and *then* bite Jason, slow and hard -- harder, and Jason's fingers still inside him --

Jason's fingers *twitch*, and all of Tim's plans to sit up and get closer dry up and blow away entirely --

"Or not. Or -- do that," Tim says, and watches Jason *hitch* a little as his breathing changes, gets rougher with every second Bruce holds on with his teeth. "I -- he said you liked that. With -- the implication that he bit you all over --"

"Just everywhere that was always covered. Heh, I... the way he used to *look* at my thighs, Tim. Like he was that close to licking his lips, that close to just biting me there *anyway*..."

Tim nods and licks his *own* lips. "You... you already know how I feel about... about your thighs. Jason."

"I... God, I'm not doing the best job here -- ease up a sec, Bruce, let me concentrate on the task at *hand*..."

Tim winces -- and watches Bruce simultaneously wince and *growl*. Which... really, it's absolutely not his fault...

Tim can't possibly be blamed for thinking of Dick here, like this, for imagining the way he'd look if Bruce were biting *his* throat, the sounds he'd make, the way he'd get utterly *lost* in everything Bruce did, everything Bruce said -- "Ah --"

"*You* looked a little drifty there, birdboy," and Jason thrusts hard *again*, and again --

"Oh, but -- I was thinking. Within the family. Ah -- please don't stop --"

"Family, hunh? Who --"

"Barbara," Bruce says, and it's a question, but it also *isn't*, and now it's an *image*, too --

Would Barbara let Bruce carry her up these stairs? Jason? Her hands are so *strong* --

Jason laughs softly. "Well, it's Barbara *now*," he says, and crooks his fingers --

Tim throws his head back and pants, moans more --

"But who was it *before*?"

"Ah -- ah. Dick. He was... I was just. Bruce biting him -- *oh* --" And that's Bruce's hand around him, he knows it without looking. Just -- so big, so hard and *smooth*, and he's never actually seen Bruce moisturizing himself, but it must be an *epic* process -- "Fuck. Fuck, Bruce, I don't --"

"I'd like you," Bruce says, and begins to stroke, "to come."

Tim closes his eyes again and nods, *keeps* nodding, but -- "Tell me more. The office. You --"

"Wait, I wanna hear more about *Dick*," Jason says. "Was he fingering you like this? *Has* he fingered you at all?"

"No, he -- we haven't. Done that," Tim says, and tries to focus a little more, tries to hold on even though Jason's opening him and Bruce is squeezing him, jerking him with short, *sharp* strokes. Two different rhythms, two -- focus. "Mostly I was -- it was just the thought of him with *Bruce*..."

"As opposed to the three of us," Bruce says, and hums. "I would prefer to have --"

"All of us at once? Cass and Babs, too?" And Jason's twisting his fingers a little with each thrust, and Tim's body is telling him that it's too slow, when really it's just that it's harder, *more* --

"It would be easy to become lost in such an experience, to keep myself apart and only watch, as opposed to taking --"

"But we *want* you to take, B. Be a little greedy, show off that hunger of yours. Do you have any idea how *much* I'd get off on you doing something like sucking on Barbara's nipples?"

Tim groans again, *clenches* and just --

"See? Tim *agrees* with me. Don't you?"

"Y-yes. I -- she's so beautiful, so strong, and you -- Bruce, I've never seen her. Breasts, but --"

"But he *wants* to, B. Wants to see your mouth on them, your big, big hands --"

"Jason. *Jason*, please --"

"Please what, Tim? More? I'm *not* giving you another finger."

"Oh, I --" Tim shakes his head and tries to *stop* picturing it -- but the only thing that happens is that he winds up picturing Jason fucking him, hard and slow while Bruce licks him, or fucks him --

Or Bruce in Tim's mouth while Jason takes him, either of them, both --

The feel --

It would be --

"Oh, I think we're losing him a little, Bruce."

"You shouldn't tempt me to stop, Jay," Bruce says, and that's his thumb on the head again, sliding and pressing, stroking --

*Rubbing* --

"*I* would hit you if you stopped. Hey, Tim, are you still capable of listening?"

Tim nods and keeps nodding, swallows back saliva and imagines himself bent over the car, the pommel horse, anything and everything for Jason, for Bruce --

"I think that's a *provisional* yes," Jason says. "So why don't you tell us more about Tim bent over your desk while he's still conscious?"

Bruce hums and there's a wet sound, but when Tim opens his eyes he can barely focus, barely make himself translate what he sees into anything he can understand -- a kiss. They're kissing again -- Jason pushes Bruce back --

"No fair being distracting. *Tell* him."

"Bent over my desk. He's in front of me, holding his forearms together as if they were tied. I didn't ask this of him, but he knew. *Understood*. His stance is perfectly balanced, he lets his head hang down."

Jason sighs and does something -- some --

An extra twist, a crook or -- Tim doesn't --

It could be Bruce's hand, but it *isn't*, and maybe Jason is in the office with them, maybe they've told the press that some *other* fifteen year old boy had gotten blown up in Ethiopia and Jason had been wandering around North Africa with amnesia --

Possibly that could *work*, and Tim laughs -- it comes out sobbing, desperate, and the sound drives him right back into his body, into Bruce and Jason *pleasuring* him, focused on *him* -- "Oh, *please* --"

"More, Bruce, c'mon --"

"He enjoyed being... being *spanked*..."

"We love you *so* much, Daddy --"

"Jay, please -- please don't --"

"Fuck, don't *beg*," Jason says, and his fingers still for a moment --

"*Don't*," Tim says, even though he knows Jason doesn't mean it, knows that Jason *had* to --

"Sorry, sorry, baby -- nice and hard. Nice and --"

Tim groans and shudders, all over, feels something knot and *twist* at the base of his spine, maybe deep within his hindbrain -- Jason could spank him, call him 'baby' and whisper and *hit* --

Pant and *thrust* --

"I think," Bruce says, "he might prefer it if I used a paddle --"

"N-no, please, your hand, your *hands*, Jason --- Bruce -- oh, *God* --" Bruce squeezing him and Jason crooking his fingers again, and Tim realizes that he's curling up on himself, trying to --

Jason uses his free hand to shove Tim back down -- "Relax and *take* it. Just like D -- like Bruce is spanking you. Hard and fast, up and down your thighs, light on your sac..."

"I would, of course, pause frequently to feel his skin, his *heat* --"

Noise. Just -- noise, and Tim tries to be quiet, at least quiet enough to hear more --

Bruce is still talking, and it's possible that Jason is, too, but it's too good, it's too -- Bruce's hand and too many fantasies of being stroked *just* like this, from the days when he'd blush in his bed for imagining a bare hand. And Jason... oh, Jason *isn't* getting him ready for anything but his own orgasm, but that doesn't change the feel, doesn't make him any less --

More --

Hand on his sac, squeezing hard, and he doesn't know --

He doesn't *know*, and he thinks he's shouting, but then he isn't thinking at all. It's too much -- it's perfect and he's losing himself, losing everything as he spasms --

Shouts again --

And that thump is his body hitting the bed, and possibly he should do -- something.

He has no idea what, and -- he can't even make a sound when Jason pulls out. He manages to raise his arm, but it just falls right back down to the bed.

"*You* look like you're feeling good."

He can smile, and he does.

Jason laughs -- and Bruce does, too. Tim opens his eyes and tries to focus, and it takes much too long to realize that the main reason why he can't see anything interesting is that he's looking at the ceiling. He sits up, and immediate gets pushed back down. This would be more problematic if it didn't come complete with Jason's arm across his chest and one of Jason's legs over his own.

He checks -- Jason's not very hard, at all. He could probably fix that --

"Easy, birdboy. I -- uh. I kind of jacked it before I came over tonight. Twice."

Tim... thinks he can understand that. The afternoon with Barbara, the fact that Jason would *want* as much control as possible... still, though --

"Again, *poor* planning on my part. Heh. Did I mention I used to leave all of that up to B?"

"Somewhat intimidating," Bruce says, and he's still at the foot of the bed. "Considering how many of my plans, at the time, revolved around the goal of touching you, Jay."

Jason snorts. "You know, I used to *wonder* what you were thinking about when you just stared at me working out for a fucking *hour*... and then I stopped wondering. C'mere. I gotta get out of here soon, and I want... well, I *want*."

Bruce moves up the bed and lies down beside Jason, then does something that makes Jason sigh and close his eyes.

"You *don't* have to leave, Jay --"

"Yeah, I -- really do," Jason says, and strokes Tim's chest. "Just be glad I'm not taking Tim *with* me. He'd look damned good on the back of my bike."

Bruce is silent enough that Tim... *he* knows that Jason was only talking about taking Tim for a few hours, maybe a day, but...

Tim turns on his side and reaches over Jason for Bruce's hand. Bruce pushes his fingers between Tim's own and squeezes.

"What -- oh. Heh. No, I'm not gonna try to *poach*, Bruce. Not *much*, anyway. I'm getting what I want out of this little arrangement."

"We all are," Tim says. "I mean -- I think we are --"

"I am," Bruce says, and pushes against Tim's hand until he can wrap his arm around Jason. "A great deal of what I want, to be sure."

Jason's smile is small and a little private until he opens his eyes, at which point it becomes distinctly rueful. "Yeah, just... let's keep it like that. We'll stay right here, and pretend -- we'll stay right here and just *be* here, and let it be as okay as it is."

Tim nods --

"Thank you." And Bruce leans in and -- probably he's kissing the back of Jason's neck.

It makes Jason sigh again and turn over onto his back --

"Too much?"

"Just feel like looking up at this ceiling again," and Jason reaches down and tugs on Bruce's hand until it's centered -- with Tim's own -- on his abdomen. "I think I'm gonna sleep for about an hour, unless either of you have any objections...?"

Tim shakes his head.

"None," Bruce says, and presses their hands against Jason's body.

"Of course, at least *one* of you is going to have to find something to do other than *watch* me sleep, or else this is going to be damned frustrating for everybody."

"Ah. I'll... I should probably sleep, too," Tim says, and shifts until he's a little more on his stomach --

"Because a) you wouldn't make Bruce give this up if it would save your damned life, and b) you have a date with the Superection," Jason says, and pulls his arms up and stretches them before resting them on the pillows. "Damn, I'd forgotten how easy it is to get *comfortable* in this bed."

"I do tend to sleep rather deeply here."

Jason yawns. "Wait until he actually fucks you."

"Certainly, it's a theory I'm eager to test," and Tim looks at Bruce -- who has managed, for some unknown period of time, to watch Tim without raising even one of Tim's hackles. Endorphins are wonderful, terrifying things. "Bruce... how have *you* been sleeping? I mean, considering your devotion to the unblinking stare."

"Devotion... is a wonderful word," Bruce says, and squeezes Tim's hand just hard enough to make every part of Tim aware that he's holding *Bruce's* hand. Being held.

"Not, actually, an answer to the question, B," and Jason yawns again.

"All right. On average, I've slept approximately one point five more hours since I began my relationship with Tim than what had been my usual."

Jason laughs. "See, was that so hard?"

"That's actually kind of horrifying, Bruce. Considering."

Bruce smiles and raises an eyebrow. "My morning productivity has suffered dramatically. I'm sure, given time, that I'll come to regret it."

Productivity... oh. "When should I come in for the meeting about DI?"

"It's less of a meeting than a brainstorming session, but your input would be appreciated. It's scheduled for one in the afternoon. Time enough for you to sleep."

Tim nods. "I'll be there."

"Tim... you understand that I don't want you to feel that I've taken over for your father, that I only want you to have what's rightfully your own?"

"I do understand, Bruce. But... I."

"Tell me, please."

And when does the order to keep talking *stop* being in effect, exactly? Perhaps when he can't feel Jason moving him -- slightly -- with every breath. "I never felt that way. It's more that you've been handling things I couldn't, and I appreciate that more than I can say. I trust you, Bruce, especially with the business end of things. The fact that my father would've been uncomfortable with how this has gone..." Tim squeezes Bruce's hand. "He never knew you."

Bruce nods and turns to Jason -- and smiles, again. Tim looks and Jason is asleep, mouth slightly open and fully relaxed, all over. He seems older rather than younger this way, fully-formed and scarred and beautiful.

"Bruce... is this how you saw him when you first saw him in that alley?" Tim keeps his voice to a whisper.

"No," Bruce says, following suit. "He was precisely as young as he was, grimy from not having access to running water and from being too street-smart to try to use the Y without a friend. Lean from missed meals, cheekbones stark in his face. I knew I could help him, but more than anything I knew that I was nearly as alone as he was, and that I didn't have to be."

What would he have done in Bruce's position? He can imagine himself bringing Jason to Leslie, working to find a family that could care for him, but... he can also see himself doing what Bruce had done. Just -- stealing the tires from the *Batmobile*. Undoubtedly cursing a blue streak when he was caught -- "Was he afraid of you?"

"Very much so. He fought so hard not to show it, not to do or say anything which would even suggest it... I wanted to push him, to see how far I could go before he *did* show fear. I wanted to protect him from myself. I wanted to touch his face, and tell him that his beauty was unspeakable. To *accuse* him..." Bruce laughs, but it seems more sad than anything else. "I wanted everything, all at once. Tim... I was grateful when I saw you trying to make yourself different, trying to show yourself as something other than Jason. I knew you were trying to protect me."

"Both of us. I... and it wasn't very hard --"

"Wasn't it?" Bruce's expression isn't hard, but it's absolutely penetrating. "You taught yourself not to want, not to urge or even hint at your own desires --"

Tim shakes his head. "I wasn't very good at that, and... I'd had some measure of practice before we ever met."

Bruce squeezes Tim's hand again. "You were ruthless with yourself, and I'm ashamed to admit that I needed exactly that, at the time. I don't know how I would've..." Bruce closes his own eyes, just for a moment. "I know precisely how I might've used you given half of an excuse. And then I would have never had your trust, at all."

That... Jason is still asleep, and... Jason. Bruce is, of course, happy because of Jason's presence, and that's the sort of thing Tim can't help but take pleasure in. But -- that's not the only reason why *Tim* is happy. However, even attempting to separate the happiness he feels for Bruce from his own pleasure would be... small, if not actively impossible. "Bruce. You have to realize that I only wanted to *be* useful at the time. A part of me -- a *large* part of me -- still does."

Bruce smiles ruefully. "I understand. But I still want more *for* you -- and for myself."

Of course... of course. He wouldn't be Bruce if he didn't feel that way, and Tim can't imagine feeling so comfortably lost in anyone else's bed, no matter how large and... full. Tim smiles and scoots up enough to rest his head on Jason's arm -- carefully.

Bruce smiles back and covers Jason's leg with one of his own.

It's not that Tim thinks they could keep him there solely through the force of tag-team cuddle, but... they can offer incentive.

"Tim," and everything is in Bruce's voice, everything Tim can name and several things he's still afraid to.

It's a pleasurable fear, though, rife with every inappropriate and problematic thought that strips Tim bare and makes him enjoy every moment of it. "Bruce," Tim says, meaning it and several other names, too.

The way Bruce's eyes flare suggests -- strongly -- that he hears every one. Tim nods internally and closes his eyes.

Perhaps he'll dream of laughter in the black.

end.

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