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“How to reconcile with a loved one: A ten-step process”. The title of the article Dick mindlessly clicked on was eye-searingly bold on the screen he was holding above his head, moments away from sleeping off a hard patrol. Or at least, moments away from sleep until he was rudely awakened by clickbait. Did Tweeter have his guilty conscience’s advertising data now too?
“Fuck.” He groaned out loud, dramatically spreading his arms wide across his mattress, blankly staring at the ceiling, waiting until his screen timed out, sending the room into pitch black darkness. He’d deal with his guilty conscience and mindlessly like some dog photos to reset his algorithm in the morning.
~~
The ten-step process was bullshit, but his guilty conscience had something right: he needed to reconcile with Tim. Pretending all’s well that ends well was clearly not working, and he missed Tim more than he missed his favorite spandex blend. He could admit he never dealt with huge life changes well to begin with, but add in a homicidal kid of his dead mentor and a hefty guilt trip in the form of Bruce’s will keeping him locked in Gotham, and he fumbled. Hard. When Tim needed him. See, all those pseudo-therapy Toks were worth something, right? Admitting a problem existed was the first step; now what to do next?
~~
Maybe he should think about this less as something that had steps, and more like a commitment to doing better. Might be worth a shot. And less likely to get him shot on patrol because Red Robin was pissed enough at the flowers and the dramatic apology to “miss” the shooter just long enough to get a graze in.
~~
“So. I miss you, I’m sorry I was terrible to you, and I want to do better by you. What can I do to help you trust me again?”
Tim swiveled in his chair, looking deadpan at Dick. “Maybe check that I’m listening, first.”
“You’re always listening, and I love that about you.” Dick immediately clapped back.
Tim’s single-eyebrow-raise spoke wonders.
“I’m not lying or over exaggerating here, I do miss you, and I want you back in my life. What do you need me to do?” Dick said seriously.
Thoughtful eyes scrutinized Dick, leaving him to sweat for a few moments before Tim broke the silence with: “Start by looking through these case files, I need a second pair of eyes.”
~~
“Do you ever think about where we’d be if Gotham hadn’t dug her claws so deep inside us she will never let us go?” Dick rambled, one leg dangling over the side of the building they were perched on, the other hooked around a gargoyle.
Tim was positioned in a much less precarious way straddling the next gargoyle over, reviewing statistics on his wrist computer while eating a granola bar with the other. “No. I was born here, that ship has long sailed.”
“She does have a death grip on us, huh? Gotham’s a girl that moves fast.” Dick mused.
Snorting, Tim glanced Dick’s way before returning to his data.
Abruptly, Dick shifted topics: “Do you ever want another Stephanie to come out of nowhere?”
“What, with a brick to the face?”
“Yeah.”
Grinning, Tim replied: “No, I clearly wasn’t experienced enough as a vigilante at that point, can’t believe that was enough for 15-year-old me.”
“By now, bricks-to-the-face are so last season, where’s the romance anymore?”
“Exactly. I’d take a new Porche and a trip to the Denver Art Museum any day.”
Baffled, Dick left of swinging his foot over the side of the building to concentrate on Tim: “Denver?”
“The Denver Art Museum, keep up.”
~~
That conversation with Tim kept rattling around in the back of Dick’s mind, popping up when he brushed his teeth and when he was reading case files about art forgery cases. By the time he found himself at the Denver Art Museum with Tim after resolving a case together that took them over state lines, he’d somehow justified that the outing wasn’t romantic, just another way to treat Tim better than he had by listening and caring more.
“It’s emptier than I expected.” Tim observed as they passed the ticketing lobby.
“Why the Denver Art Museum?” Dick asked, still a bit confused.
Lowering his voice, Tim murmured: “I’m banned from most larger art museums as Mr. Draper, but I still like art.”
“Oh ho, is Mr. Drake too close to your alias to risk it?” Dick teased back.
“Oh, like Ric is any better a moniker for undercover work?” Tim retorted.
“Well, I’m glad we made it here together, even if the museum is emptier than expected.”
The bright smile Tim sent Dick’s way made it seem like Tim thought so too.
~~
“It’s no Porche, but I do think you’ll like the ride either way.” Dick tried to tone down his smugness, but he wasn’t sure how well he managed.
“Where did you even get this?” Tim wondered, hovering his hand over the edge of the spacecraft.
“Our favorite princess hooked me up with a new trading contact, and when I saw this I thought of you.”
~~
Tim was staring, which wouldn’t be unusual, except he was staring directly up at Dick from across the café table and writing down his observations in a little field notebook. It wasn’t exactly stalking, but it was a little bit weirder than Tim’s normal.
Eventually, Dick broke and asked: “You good over there, T-man?”
“Who the fuck is T-man? This is why you had Clark give you a new moniker and your mom gave you the one before that.” Tim retorted, still scribbling away.
“Hey, I heard no complaints from all the little birdies that followed in my footsteps.” Dick mildly responded.
Scoffing, Tim decided to go back to his notebook, flipping to a new page and presumably a new topic as he didn’t glance up again.
“Seriously, what’s up with the close-up notetaking? Am I acting odd?” Dick asked, disconcerted.
“Would you say you came into contact with some extraterrestrial bug, or maybe caught a head cold from your last trip?” Tim asked.
Now it was Dick’s turn to scoff. “As if.” Curiously, he continued: “Why are you asking?”
“You’ve just been weird.” Tim responded evasively.
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know, just, more attentive, weirdly so.”
Now concerned, Dick asked: “Have I been making you uncomfortable?”
“No, just, I think I got used to you being off doing other things.” Tim admitted.
“I just want to hang around my favorite person.” Dick softly assured. “I always have, it just took being away a bit to realize how much.”
Tim’s hand froze on his page, eyes widening.
Dick firmly rephrased his point: “Really, I want to be here with you.”
~~
The latest alien apocalypse was a disaster. Maybe not of epic proportions, but why was ground zero always in Gotham? Did they choose the most polluted yet populated spot on Earth to avoid further polluting arable land? Maybe he’d ask about their landing site criteria next time he got to interrogate the surviving prisoners of war.
Dismissing those thoughts from his mind, Dick continued to flip from rubble site to rubble site, eyes peeled for Tim in the wreckage. He’d lost comms about an hour into the invasion and he needed to see Tim ASAP. He was the only one who had never died in the Gotham cohort, and he dearly hoped he kept that winning streak. If he hadn’t, well, Dick might need to get a little creative in his dealings for a bit to bring him back to the land of the living.
Finally, blessedly, Dick found Tim sitting on the concrete levees protecting inland Gotham from storm surges. Dropping down to join him, Dick flopped over Tim in relief, rag dolling to get as much coverage as possible.
“Wassup, my dude.” Tim joked.
Sighing heavily, Dick propped his chin on Tim’s shoulder, noticing Tim’s miniscule shiver as he talked so close to his ear.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been looking for you. Please tell me you’re working on better tech, stuff that won’t get fried by the next apocalyptic invasion of Gotham.” Dick pleaded.
“Already in the works.” Tim confirmed, finally closing out his wrist computer and relaxing back into Dick’s space. Not that he left much in the way of space when he’d draped himself over Tim earlier.
Being together was better than the best post patrol snack, but he wouldn’t tell Alfred that.
~~
“I heard you started dating someone?” Dick queried, forcing his tone to remain light.
“Eh, I wouldn’t say dating.” Tim responded evasively.
“What, are you in the talking phase?”
“More like a situationship.” Tim admitted, walking further away from Dick to play around with nick nacks on his wall he’d picked up in his travels.
“Tim.” Dick protested.
“I know, I’ve been thinking about calling it off.”
“What, the dick isn’t even that good?” He joked, too relieved to realized he’d punned.
“Ugh, don’t you start, Dick. Not everyone’s dick can be Dick with a capital D.”
Like an out-of-body experience, the lightheadedness that came from his relief knowing Tim wasn’t serious about the latest guy absolutely torpedoed his brain-to-mouth filter, and what popped out was: “But you could have this Dick.”
What brought Dick back to reality was seeing Tim twist around so fast he winced to stare in his direction. Fuck.
“Eh, ignore me, bad joke.” Dick laughed nervously.
Tim was an intense person; but seeing him pace determinedly his way and then leap in a tackle as soon as it looked like Dick was going to pull a run to escape this social interaction was more than his usual intensity. Twisting to get away, Dick and Tim wrestled a bit, both determined to get their way. Unfortunately, this road to reconciliation had instilled a bad habit in Dick to let Tim get his way, so Dick found himself pinned to the floor, and honestly, a bit inappropriately happy about it.
“Dick.” Tim stated, firming his grip.
“That’s me.” Dick said, breathless from more than the exertion.
“Did you mean it?”
A pause to make eye contact, then: “Yes.”
~~
The sex was nice, but honestly, having Tim back in his life all the time? Sleeping in the same bed together, giving each other massages before patrol, making bad jokes just to see each other smile? Dick was happy for the first time in a long time with Tim at his side, and he’d do his damnedest to make Tim as happy as he was too.