Work Text:
“There is another option,” Nightwing trailed off, implying Red Hood.
Tim pulled out his personal cell before Batman could even start to argue.
First Gotham Trust had a big rooftop because it was a big bank, and they were on top of said roof because it was in the middle of being robbed. Tim slipped in between two grimy AC units and hit call.
Jason picked up on the third ring. “What?”
Tim kept his voice low, “N’s going to call you and ask for your help in a few minutes. I want you to say yes.”
It took a long beat of silence for Jason to reluctantly sigh.
“Thank you,” Tim whispered, “And sorry, cause B’s in a mood. But you’re not even going to be on his team, you’ll be with Robin and Spoiler, so you probably won’t even see him.” Red Hood had only recently started tolerating Batman’s presence, and only ever for the good of Gotham’s public.
“Where are you?” Jason sounded tired and resigned to his fate. Tim wished that he didn’t have to be the fate Jason was resigned to.
“First Trust. We think it’s the same crew that hit Tri-Crown Financial last month.”
“‘Kay. How are you doin’?”
It still caught Tim off-guard every time Jason did that—the check in’s. They would be in the middle of doing recon or half way through a pre-mission debrief and Jason would just ask ‘How are you doing?’ like Tim was supposed to have an answer that wasn’t ‘Fine.’
But ‘Fine’ wasn’t an acceptable answer. Jason had made that clear early on, even as they were in silent agreement to keep their distance.
Tim thought about his answer before he gave it. “Fine, tired. Stressed about work. Real work,” Tim clarified. He knew Jason would understand that he meant Wayne Enterprises. “But fine here. How are you?”
“I’m too busy for this shit,” Jason grumbled. He added, “I’ll see you in 15,” and hung up.
Tim could only hope that ‘this shit’ meant stopping whatever he was doing to help with the bats. He assumed that if Jason was tired of Tim’s shit, he’d stop answering the phone.
But Jason’s inherent obligation to Tim made him question if Jason answered Tim’s call because he wanted to or because he felt like he had to, given he was Tim’s soulmate and all that.
Not that it mattered. Neither of them ever acted on the knowledge and no one else knew that they were cosmically bound to one another. Jason helped maintain the secret by acting like he barely tolerated Tim’s presence. Tim wasn’t certain it was acting.
He tucked his private cell back into it’s designated pocket and slipped back into the conversation circle.
Argument circle, really.
Batman’s tone was terse, “Nightwing. The threat of deadly force is not worth the increase in-”
“I don’t think he’s a threat, though,” Dick interrupted, “The last several times we’ve called him, he’s been on his best behavior. And he’s been playing nice lately down at the docks-”
Spoiler cut in, “Two people were found dead-”
“But five were found in cuffs.” Dick tapped on his wrist computer without waiting for anyone’s approval and announced, “He’s never going to learn to work like us if we don’t give him the chance to work with us. Trust me.”
—
Stopping a bank robbery in Gotham went as smoothly as anything in Gotham ever went, but the blood was mostly not-theirs and no one died. Tim made a mental note to thank Jason for adhering to Bat Policies, again.
He had been good about the no-killing thing ever since Tim pulled him to the side and asked him not to use deadly force while on missions with the family—even the ones without B’s presence.
Tim was pretty sure that Jason, like most people, felt an obligation like none other to his soulmate. He clearly didn’t want to be Tim’s, but he was cosmically tied to Tim and he still did what Tim asked of him more often than not. Tim tried not to abuse the privilege.
Jason’s red helmet and brown leather jacket creeped into the edge of Tim’s peripheral and suddenly Dick’s post-mission debrief got harder to focus on. Tim couldn’t help his full body awareness of where Jason was, of his proximity, of his distance.
Jason stepped into striking range and made intentional noise on dark bank roof. He held out a to-go cup by the lid’s rim, “Red.”
Tim took it without question despite his many questions. He grabbed it around the cardboard sleeve, purposefully giving space to Jason’s black glove.
“When the hell did you get coffee?” Dick asked, eyebrows nearly above his domino.
“You were with the pigs,” Jason excused tightly, already turning around. Tim did the mental math for how long Dick debriefed the GCPD for a decided that yeah, it was reasonable time frame for a quick coffee run.
“For Red Robin?” Dick questioned further.
Jason called over his shoulder, “For Penguin.”
Tim racked his brain for the last time that he help Jason with his Penguin debacle and couldn’t come up with anything. Tim rolled with the lie, “Happy to do it.”
Jason didn’t bother responding. Tim watched him shoot his grapple across the alleyway and hated himself for wishing Jason would stay. For imagining a life where Jason stood next to him during mission debriefs instead of trying to getting away from Tim as fast as he could.
Dick shouted, “See you later!” at the spot Jason leaped from. He leaned into one hip and gave Tim a satisfied grin, “He didn’t shoot a single bullet and he’s giving out thank-you coffees? That’s progress, Red,” he nodded to himself, “That’s progress.”
The coffee was double-cupped to help keep it hot. Tim plucked the black stopper out and knew it was a triple-shot americano before he took a sip.
Jason’s go to drink was a double-shot vanilla latte with—depending on how he was feeling—either whole milk or something plant-based. Not that Tim would know that kind of thing.
Tim had said he was tired on the phone, he’d mentioned he was stressed about work, so Jason brought him his go-to coffee order. It was the kind of thing that soulmates might do for each other.
But as far as Dick was aware, and as far as Jason seemed concerned, they weren’t anything. So Jason said it was for help with a case and Tim neatly tucked back all the squirmy feelings that lived behind his heart.
———
Jason’s aversion to Bruce and the Cave meant that he wasn’t privy to the updated antidotes, upgraded gear plates, and the newest bat-grade tech. He seemed to fair perfectly fine without the all fancy stuff but, as Tim picked out new gear from the crates Lucius sent them, he couldn’t help but think about Jason’s scuffed-up grappling gun.
If Tim took two grapples and silently dropped one off in Jason’s most frequented Park Row safe house, that was no one’s business but his own.
———
Tim had been getting more into white collar crime.
Not Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises Tim, but Red Robin Tim. There was less blood, guts, and guns, but the schemes were more complex and the roots went deeper into Gotham’s underbelly. Unraveling the webs of illegal activity took more time, more patience, and more computer work than just beating down a purse robber.
And, most importantly, it was fun.
It was fun to look Dr. Roberts in the eye at a charity ball and know that Red Robin was two weeks away from sending evidence of her money laundering scheme to the Feds. It was fun to uncover the inner workings of making and distributing counterfeit ten dollar bills, of all things.
It was fun to catch the Penguin, Oswald Cobblepot, widely known murder-enthusiast, on tax evasion.
From: RH
You asshole
I was working on something
Tax evasion?? Seriously??
Delivered 3:02 AM
To: RH
You snooze you lose
He owed 154000 from the lounge alone
It was a cake walk
You’re welcome :)
Delivered 3:56 AM
And, it was fun to screw with Jason’s illegal activities by screwing with Gotham’s underbelly, but it also made Jason pay attention to him—just a little bit.
Which was nice.
———
Tim had suffered through worse press conferences.
He couldn’t recall any at the moment, but he was sure that he’d had worse.
One of their Talent Acquisition Managers was caught soliciting favors in return for getting new employees into positions above their skill-set. It got to the public before it got to HR, so then Tim was the CEO of a company that traded Masters-level jobs for blowjobs, and that was a bad look.
Half of the reporters implied that Tim gave sexual favors as a minor to get his position as CEO, and the other half thought that Tim was the one getting sexual favors in exchange for giving high-competition positions and salary raises. The whole thing was the worst PR mess WE had seen since their annual charity ball two years ago. Tim pushed his hair back again, a nervous habit he hated, and couldn’t tell sweat from gel.
“That went as well as it could have,” Mindy offered quietly. Tim was saved from responding by her fluffy powdered brush in his face.
PR was already talking at him and Mindy’s powder was in his nose and the pack of reporters was a grating buzz behind the flimsy stage wall and the weight of his dad’s Fortune 500 Company was sitting on the hollow of his throat and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. And it didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter that his chest was tight around his lungs. It didn’t matter that his face was hot and his hands were cold and the sweat dripping down his spine was catching above his belt. He had new lines to run though, a reworked speech to give, a new set of questions to answer. There were more important things than his suffocation.
“Mr. Drake-Wayne,” PR snapped, “Are you paying attention? Listen to me-”
—
Depending on the day, Tim stayed at his primary residence penthouse near WE, the Manor, or one of his seven different safe houses. It meant that he had nine toothbrushes he regularly used—which was too many for one person.
After the day he’d had, Tim flopped down onto the floor mattress tucked in his favorite, quietest, privatest safehouse. It was the only one of the rotation that the rest of the bats didn’t know about yet.
Theoretically, a hug from Steph or a pep talk from Dick would be good for him. Even Bruce might have had something encouraging to say after his decades of PR disasters. But Tim wasn’t in the mood for encouragement or comfort, he was in the mood to wallow.
The press conferences had been absolute shit despite Tim’s genuine best effort. Stocks were already dropping and he got an Outlook invite to Emergency Board Meeting at 9am the next morning. He was in charge of Wayne Enterprises, so WE’s mistakes were his own, and he had fucked up in a way that would take months and millions of dollars to recover from.
Tim’s mother, before her passing, had given him a high bar of standards that he was expected to meet. College. Drake Industries. Marriage. Heirs. Her death meant that she was saved from seeing Tim fail so miserably, so often, in every way imaginable.
He was 19 with no college prospects, a soulmate that wanted nothing to do with him, and a century old company on the verge of implosion.
He was also, unfortunately, being dramatic. Wayne Enterprises would recover from this scandal the way it recovered from every other scandal. Bruce would take WE back someday and he would get the degree he was supposed to. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to get married, but if he did, he could probably find someone willing to do it, if not just for his money.
Not Jason, but someone.
His mom and dad weren’t soulmates. Their marriage was originally a good business plan that eventually turned into a deep love. Lots of people didn't have soulmates, it wasn’t the end of the world that his was uninterested.
It was, however, statistically improbable. A very, very small percentage of people that had cosmically decided better halves didn’t end up with their soulmate. It was rare but it happened. Sometimes, the universe was just wrong.
Tim and Jason were a classic case of just pain old wrong.
In theory, there were dozens of scenarios where they could have been good, been right.
They could have touched for the first time as children at a gala, shaking hands on their parents behest. They could have met while they overlapped at Gotham Academy Middle School. The fact that he lived down the road from Jason, before his death, made Tim want to scream.
But Tim had no clue Jason was supposed to be his and Jason had no idea that Tim knew the Wayne’s secret.
And then Jason died. Tim attributed the weird, unearned, months-long weight of unshakable grief to the same thing that the Waynes were feeling—the loss of a Robin.
And then Jason was back with a vengeance. Tim got a little kick out of getting the chance to fight his predecessor and hold his own, the chance prove that he was good enough to fill the shoes left behind.
And then, Jason’s knife pressed against Tim’s throat, Tim felt the skin break, and watched blood spontaneously appear in the exact same spot on Jason’s throat.
Soulmates had three defining traits.
One, a scientifically proven empathetic connection. It sparked at first touch and grew with the relationship. It had the downside of making it difficult to differentiate whose feelings were whose, creating a feedback loop of sorts, but gave it also great insight into what the other person was feeling without verbal communication.
Two, shared medical abnormalities. Both soulmates would be allergic to cats or peanuts. Both would have celiacs or neither would. Experts theorized that it was just one more expression of cosmic compatibility.
The third trait, by far the longest known and best understood, was that soulmates could not physically harm each other.
Well, they could, but only at an equal cost.
So in the midst of their fight, when Tim’s ribs ached as he caught Jason’s kidney with a good bō shot, he ignored the pain. Thought nothing of it. They were mid-combat, stuff was going to hurt.
When Jason caught him clean across the jaw and an unfamiliar anger sparked under his chest, Tim brushed it off. Combat increased adrenaline and aggression, and he had more important matters at hand.
But then Jason snuck in a good sweep and got Tim pinned down and everything was still, tense. Identifiable. Jason nicked Tim’s throat and suddenly, blood appeared on Jason’s throat in the exact same spot.
Tim glanced down at it and made the connection first, half a second quicker. Then Jason went wide-eyed and rolled off of Tim. Jason’s mouth moved like he was going to say something but nothing came out, and then he fled.
Jason didn’t contact Tim in the aftermath. He wreaked havoc for B and then left Gotham for months. Tim, still processing, didn’t made any attempt to contact him either.
Jason was his soulmate. Tim was almost certain that he didn’t have one before Jason’s blade outed them.
And then Tim knew he had someone that was good for him, someone that he could lean on, someone that would love him back, and it was Jason.
Tim told no one.
Gotham noticeably warmed during Red Hood’s reappearance, or maybe it was only noticeable to Tim. Jason didn’t reach out and Tim wasn’t brave enough to take the first step, so he didn’t either.
Instead, Tim made an active effort to track Jason down in secret. To find his safehouses and uncover his Red Hood endeavors. Of course he would want to know about Red Hood, Jason was supposed to be his.
But Jason was Tim’s as much as Tim was Jason’s. They were, begrudgingly and without their consent, stuck with each other.
So when Jason planted a bug in Tim’s WE laptop at 2am on a Wednesday, Tim just deleted the security feed and pretended he didn’t know. If every single one of Tim’s trackers stayed exactly where he put them, even the most obvious ones on Jason’s motorcycle, that was no one’s business but Jason’s and his own.
He respected Jason both as his own person and an extension of Tim’s soul, so Tim kept all his unauthorized intel on Red Hood and Jason Todd to himself. He stayed out of Jason’s territory because Jason wanted his space. He kept the bats from veering towards Park Row the best he could.
In return, Tim got envelopes with flash drives and surveillance photos dropped on his desk while he was out town. Tim found his top criminal cases tied up on rooftops instead of dead in a river. And, predictably, Tim got greasy take-out hand delivered to his favorite wallowing spot.
The window squeaked as Red Hood shoved it up. He slipped through the opening and landed on the warped hardwood without a sound. Tim noticed the rifle strapped over his shoulder first and the brown take-out bag second.
Jason thumbed at the hinge of the helmet with one hand, tugged it off, and shook his hair out like a dog. Tim huffed at the sight.
Jason jerked his chin up in greeting, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Tim echoed. He pushed to a sit but made no move to get off of the floor mattress.
Jason rocked back on his heels, awkward in the center of an empty room.
“Did you need something?” Tim asked quietly.
“Uh, no,” Jason shrugged. It pulled at his brown leather jacket and emphasized just how wide his shoulders were. It also shifted the rifle strapped across his back. “I brought food,” He offered lowly.
“I’m not hungry,” Tim told him honestly.
“You’re never hungry,” Jason muttered under his breath. He dropped the brown bag at the edge of Tim’s mattress and walked away without a word. Tim watched him pull the rifle off of his back, set it against the bathroom doorframe, and close the door behind him.
The sound of water running through ancient pipes was covered by Tim nosing through the crinkly brown paper bag. His favorite wallowing safehouse had basic weaponry and a change of clothes, but lacked the necessary furniture or cutlery to eat table proper. Tim was certain Jason wouldn’t care.
“How’d I do?”
Tim pulled up the top bun to check the toppings before he answered, “Good. I’m taking the jokerized fries.”
“They’re both jokerized,” Jason said. His voice was low and smooth without the helmet’s modulator—Tim liked it more than he would ever admit. Tim thought about offering up the bed to sit on, and then felt like that was too close. Jason lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs under him.
He looked ridiculous in full gear, all heavy boots and thick armor, sitting crisscross on the ground like a school child. Tim wished they were close enough for him to say so.
The apartment above his safehouse had a Cuban couple that liked to play their music day and night. It made the silence less silent. The sirens helped fill the empty space between them.
Tim wondered if the conversationless quiet was supposed to be awkward, and then wondered if soulmates got cosmically absolved of awkward silences.
It took too long for Jason to break the silence and offer between bites, “Tough day, huh?”
Theoretically, people could train their emotions to stay theirs and theirs only. It was a learned skill and it kept the person’s soulmate from holding their emotional burdens for them. There were whole classes that catered to people who had lost a loved one and didn’t want to project their grief onto their soulmate.
Tim had not learned that skill yet, so Jason suffered for Tim’s post-PR disaster wallowing. Tim’s random, irregular, nauseating bouts of fear and anger indicated that Jason hadn’t learned it either.
Tim swallowed down his bite and said, “Tough life.”
Jason made a noise of agreement, did a weird half-shrug-half-nod, and ripped into his burger again.
—
Failure always left a cold pool of achy, shameful dread in the pit of his gut. Tim wasn’t stupid enough to think that Luke-warm fries were the thing that eased the feeling.
———
Jason kept a rotation of safehouses that popped up and disappeared without any real schedule, at least not one that Tim could identify. He didn’t seem to be attached to any and had a bad habit of leaving Tim’s bugs behind in places that he had abandoned.
Jason also had one permanent residence that no one was supposed to know about.
Tim’s WE calendar notification JT Rental Disbursement happened once a month, every month, on the 5th. It was his reminder to pay Jason’s rent and utilities before he could try to pay it himself.
Jason had never acknowledged it and Tim doubted he ever would.
———
Tim liked to pride himself of being on top of his shit.
He ran WE with—up until recently—only minor issue. He was Oracle’s second best and Batman’s primary case-cracker. He lead Young Justice for years. The Justice League had called on him over a dozen times in the last few years.
Not Batman, the Justice League.
So yeah, Tim had his shit together.
He was reminded that he did not have his shit together when he came home to a starkly clean apartment, organized case files, clean laundry, and a fridge stocked with two weeks of homemade meals. Each plastic Tupperware container had a sticky note with a good-by date and microwave instructions.
Tim would know Jason’s handwriting anywhere.
It started happening after Tim started paying Jason’s rent. Tim had yet to thank him for it the way he should, the way he wanted to.
———
Fear was one of those things that ate at you from the inside out. It was inescapable and all consuming. It was a strange feeling to have while curled up in sweatpants and working at the Bat-computer.
Tim immediately pulled up Jason’s blinking red dot. He overlaid it with the most recent reported sightings of Scarecrow, and then tapped on Damian’s green dot.
“Robin.”
“Hey,” Tim kept his voice steady, “Do you have the updated fear toxin antidote on you?”
Damian’s silence dragged out for a second longer than it should have. “Yes, why?” He sounded suspicious. Tim wanted to sigh at his bat-grade cautiousness, but could barely breathe under the suffocating fear.
“Scarecrow has been sighted near 53rd and Wray Street, and so has Hood. Not sure if he has an antidote that accounts for-”
“I am on my way. Report my course to Batman.”
Damian cut the line as soon as he was done talking.
It took 23 minutes for Tim to breathe easy again and he thought about Jason for every single one of them. He used every calming trick in the book to keep his breathing slow and even, to keep his emotions still and at ease. Tim hoped he gave Jason even just a sliver of help from his spot in the Cave.
———
All the bats took three nights per month off from patrol. It wasn't optional, and if they didn't chose their night early enough then Bruce just randomly forced it on them.
Tim’s night off from patrol meant that he got to stay late at WE. The financial quarter was coming to an end and Tim had more to do than he had minutes in the day, so staying into the night was the only real solution.
When the office was empty and his bat-only phone was silent, Tim could pin point his focus on the tasks at hand. It shortened his to-do list at a rapid and immensely satisfying rate. It made silly things like eating and sleeping minor obstacles on his end-of-quarter war path, so he avoided them entirely.
On nights like those, Tim felt like he deserved his position as CEO. Burning the midnight oil felt like earning it, felt like proving that he was good enough.
His personal phone rattled on his desk.
From: Jason
Go home.
Delivered 2:42 AM
Maybe he was burning the slightly-past-midnight oil.
Jason had his location in so he knew Tim was staying late at the office, but he didn’t know what work Tim had to get done. He didn’t understand the weight of Wayne Enterprises, he didn’t know the amount of time and effort it required.
Tim ignored the text.
The work was worthwhile work. The sour hunger in the back of his mouth and behind his ribs was easy to ignore—it was a skill he was literally trained in. Tim finalized his 10-Q with a signature and went to the bathroom as a reward. He left the lights off to give his eyes a break.
From: Jason
Go home or I’m calling Dick.
Delivered 4:19 AM
Dick was off planet for Kori and, apparently, Jason didn’t know that.
Tim checked the tall cabinet in his office filled with extra clothes and found a new tie. If he changed his tie, brushed his teeth, and ran a wet brush through his hair, he could stay over night and no one would notice a thing.
To: Jason
I’m going to sleep here- theres a couch. EoQ so ive got time sensitive work.
Delivered 4:33 AM
To: Jason
Dick’s off-world.
Delivered 4:34 AM
Jason’s lack of response irked him in a way that was bone deep and just barely ignorable. Tim chose to focus on his work rather than his soul.
—
When Tim finally got home a whole day later, there was an untouched pizza box in the fridge and a piece of tiramisu from a bakery/money laundering front in the Bowery. Jason refused to shut it down because their sweets were just that good.
The pizza receipt was time stamped for after midnight. The ache in his soul made a little more sense.
—
To: RH
Thanks for the drop off
Also. Gray 2010 corvette C90 ELE. White 40s male, 5’10 brown hair. If you see him in your territory, lmk.
Delivered 11:18 PM
———
Jason’s personal cellphone had phenomenal security, far excessive for the average person. But Jason was not the average person. Neither was Tim.
Tim let his presence in Jason’s cell be known just so Jason didn’t freak out over an unauthorized person hacking into his system. Not that Jason had ever really authorized Tim to hack into his system, but still.
Jason didn’t use social media at all—probably a side effect of being legally dead. Most of the photos in his camera roll were screenshots of recipes or pictures of stray alley cats, with the occasional candid of Roy. He had recently applied to be a bouncer at a gay bar near the Bowery with a fake name. His latest Google searches included:
do airheads have gluten
ketamin chemical composition
whatsa group of turkeys called
Tim snooped because that’s what he did when he had the chance, but he wasn’t actually in Jason’s phone just to poke around.
Whenever Tim got the feeling that he wasn’t pulling his half of their unspoken soulmate weight, he logged into Jason’s favorite online bookstore app and bought out the entire cart. He paid extra for two-day shipping just because he could.
There were nearly a dozen books sitting in his cart, just waiting. Last time there were only six.
Tim wondered if Jason left them in his cart just for him.
———
Tim’s stake-out was taking exactly as long as a stake-out should take, which was all fucking night.
Laying on a roof with a scope to his eyes wasn’t fun by any means, but the weather was nice. It was still cloudy and muggy with a prickly nighttime chill, but nice was relative and Gotham was Gotham, so Tim took what he could and was grateful for the little things.
At least it wasn’t raining.
Just as Tim had the thought, the first drop of rain tapped the top of his head.
Shit.
And, just to add to the shit of the night, something heavy landed behind him.
Tim rolled and used the momentum to extend his bō staff. The second he was on his feet and ready to fight, the fight left him.
“Little warning next time,” Tim said dryly.
Red Hood just shrugged. His heavy jacket and thick gear only accentuated the size of him. Tim always forgot how big Jason was until he was standing right across from Tim and Tim had to look up at him.
Red Hood held up a to-go coffee cup and said, “I brought coffee and an AED.” Jason’s heavy voice modulator had little-to-no tone, but despite his deadpan inflection, Tim immediately understood that his little blinking dot hadn’t moved an inch in four hours.
Jason’s care nipped at the achingly sensitive, embarrassingly desperate part of his heart.
Tim slipped his staff back into his should strap before he stepped in, “Just the coffee will do.”
Jason handed it over and looked down at the apartment window Tim was watching. “Who are we creeping on?”
"We aren’t creeping on anyone,” Tim told him. Just as he was going back to his spot on the edge of the roof, the urge to say thank you tugged at his tongue.
Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for filling in the gaps where I can’t. Thank you for bringing me food when I’m hungry and taking care of my home when I don’t and bringing me coffee when it’s cold. Thank you for seeing my location dead-still on a roof and coming to check on me. Thank you for not abandoning me entirely after you found out I was yours.
“Thanks,” Tim bit out, suddenly, “By the way. For-” he gestured with the hot coffee, “And, you know-” everything. He waved the cup around again, like it made up for his inability to form a full sentence.
Jason rocked back on his heels and bobbed his dark red helmet in a nod. “Yeah, uh-” his voice modulator turned the sound of him clearing his throat into a low growl. He shoved his hands in his cargo pants pockets and nodded to himself again.
Tim watched every piece of his body language scream awkward and started, “You don’t have to-”
“No,” Jason interrupted, “No, it’s not- I, uh. I’m about to head in and crack open Bring Down the Duke, so. Thought I’d-” Jason cut himself off and shrugged. Tim could only assume it was one of the books he had bought Jason the week prior.
“Ah. Well, um. I hope it’s good.” Tim sounded stupid and lame to his own ears. He wanted to jump off the ledge he was standing on.
“I’ve already read it,” Jason offered lowly, “I just didn’t own it. And now I do. So, thanks. For that.” Jason tugged his gloved hand out of his pocket and pointed at Tim’s coffee, “That’s the thank you.”
Tim looked at the thank you coffee and nodded at nothing. At the acceptance that soulmates were not cosmically absolved from awkward silences. The first scattered drizzle of rain started down on them.
“Well I can- I’ll go,” Jason said suddenly. “You’ve got people to creep on.”
“Thank you,” Tim said again without thinking about it, and found that he sounded like he meant it. Found that he felt desperate to say it before Jason fled from him again. “I appreciate the- I don’t know. The everything, I guess.”
Jason’s red helmet looked down at his feet. He nodded at the ground and, after a long beat, said, “I also appreciate the everything.”
Tim wanted to say What everything? He wanted to argue that Jason was fulfilling his soulmate responsibilities at every turn and Tim was just playing catch up. He wanted to apologize for being the person Jason was stuck with.
Instead, Tim said, “Cool.”
Jason bit out, “Yup,” and turned on his heel. Tim watched him walk towards the far edge of the roof instead of throwing himself from the close edge.
———
Bruce screwed something in his knee—an unfortunate sign of his age catching up with him—and was put on a three day Alfred-mandated rest. In that time, he entirely redid their antis stash. Antivenin, antidote, antitoxin, antiserum, all of it. It was a very Bruce way to use 72 hours of rest.
Tim hated lying in reports, it felt like a good way to get screwed over by past him, but he did it anyway. He recorded that he took three antidote collections, one for his belt, one for his apartment, and one for his primary Red Robin safehouse.
Lying that he had a stash of antis in his civilian apartment seemed like the least risky lie given he would also typically have his belt in that apartment with him. He could also synthesize a new round on his own and stash it in his place and then it wouldn’t be a lie at all.
Tim left a note with the stash saying what everything was and proper dosage for prepping injection needles.
He also left a hot vanilla latte next to the box—double cupped with a stopper in, to help keep it warm.
He also triggered the window alarm on his way out, in hopes that Jason would swing by soon enough to get his drink while it was still warm.
—
From: RH
Thanks for those
And the coffee
Delivered 11:48 PM
To: RH
No problem
Let me know if you need me to synthesize more
Delivered 12:36 AM
From: RH
I hope I dont need that
Delivered 12:41 AM
———
From: RH
Your corvette was headed back from the docks
He is now waiting for you on top of SJ Legal Services
Alive
Delivered 2:24 AM
To: RH
You’re the best. Thank you
Delivered 2:29 AM
Tim regretted it the moment he sent it. It was too much, he knew it was. It was stepping in too close to the line they silently agreed not to touch. He felt that regret somewhere in the tight space between his sternum and his spine for his entire drive into Jason’s territory.
Red Bird looked out of place on the side of a dingy Bowery street, it always did. Tim felt out of place in his own life when he rolled onto the roof and Jason was there.
Red Hood was leaning against an industrial AC unit with Tim’s mark hog-tied at his feet. “You’re right,” Red Hood greeted loudly, voice carrying across the rooftop, “I am the best.”
Tim wished he didn’t have his cowl on so Jason could see him roll his eyes. He wished he had mentally prepared for Jason to be waiting for him. As Tim got closer, he suddenly became uncomfortably aware of the speed he was walking. He didn’t want to rush, he didn’t want to linger. He didn’t want to saunter like Dick. Did he saunter? Tim had never been so aware of how his knees worked.
His mark took his attention off of his own knees.
The bastard looked a lot tougher when he was pushing counterfeit money for illegal arms. Scuffed up, tight down, and freaked out at Jason’s feet was a bad look. A pitiful, weak look.
Tim was just glad he was alive.
Red Robin cocked his head at the bastard and asked, “Do you know how lucky you are to be alive?”
He couldn’t answer through his rope gag, but he could flop his receding hair around in a frantic nod.
“He knows,” Red Hood said confidently. His low voice stole Tim’s attention—it probably always would. Tim looked up at Jason and found his posture relaxed and self assured. He looked good. Tim hated himself for thinking it. Jason held his hands out and asked, “No thank you coffee?”
Tim put his hands on his hips and said, “I didn’t know you were here. I thought you left the bastard up here and went back to beating the shit out of people, or whatever the hell you do.”
Red Hood clicked his tongue, “Yeah, that’s about it. You can buy me one once he’s put up then. If you’ve got the time.” He tacked it on like an after thought. Tim felt the spike of anxiety in the back of his throat and knew it was Jason’s nerves without knowing how he knew.
It was an out. It was a chance for Tim to say, Sorry, I don’t rather not.
Tim pretended to consider just so he didn’t seem so giddy at the thought of spending a few extra minutes with Jason. At the thought of Jason wanting to spend time with him.
Tim hummed in thought and said, “There’s that Italian spot that’s open late, Red Stripe? It’s down the street from GCPD headquarters,” Tim trailed off and looked down at his mark, “Which is where you will be going.”
He saw Jason’s shoulders tighten just as he felt it in his stomach. “Maybe another night, then,” Jason said quietly. He added, “Bit too close to the pig sty for my blood.”
Tim fought the sharp instinct to back track, to jump to a different option. He wanted to say somewhere else, then. Anywhere else. Anything you want. He wanted Jason to want him more than he hated cops.
Instead, Tim swallowed down the ache and echoed, “Another night, then.”
The tight, desperate stillness between them lasted for three seconds. It was broken by his mark squirming, and Tim moving to grab him. Jason hauled him up so it was easier for Tim to drag him down to street level.
Tim turned around to thank Jason, and like the bat he was, he was already gone.
—
From: RH
Red stripe is owned by a nazi sympathizer btw
Delivered 4:36 AM
To: RH
No
Actually?
:(
That blows
They had really good chocolate croissants
Delivered 5:12 AM
From: RH
[https://www.ferrironjpr.com/]
If you want a good choc croissant
Delivered 5:17 AM
To: RH
Is that not the money laundering front?
For Penguin?
Delivered 5:19 AM
From: RH
Yea but trust me
Better than good
I’ll put them down eventually
I just have to steal all their recipes first
Delivered 5: 26 AM
To: RH
Steal their recipes?
Grand theft bakery
Oceans Leaven
Delivered 5:27 AM
From: RH
Wow
Well I WAS gonna bring you some
No longer
Delivered 5:27 AM
To: RH
Wait
Wait no
That was funny
You know it
Delivered 5:28 AM
From: RH
Nope
Delivered 5:28 AM
To: RH
Wait pleasw
Delivered 5:28 AM
From: RH
Starve
Delivered 5:29 AM
To: RH
:(
Delivered 5:31 AM
From: RH
Fine.
It was funny.
>:(
Delivered 5:44
To: RH
:)
Delivered 5:48
———
In the middle of Tim’s biweekly ELTM, every single one of his electronic devices simultaneously buzzed, pinged, or beeped. Corporate laptop, personal tablet, personal cell, work cell, smart watch, all of it.
Tim held his pen up in a silent Pause and his CFO stopped mid-sentence, as requested. Tim’s spot at the head of the conference table meant that no one could see his personal tablet screen as he checked the security alert.
Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, put a stop to his Executive Leadership Team Meeting just to watch Jason wave a white pastry box at the security camera attached to his apartment foyer. It was dramatic and ridiculous.
It made his heart flutter.
It took every ounce of learned muscular control to keep his face still, to fight down the bright grin pulling at his lips, to fight the warmth blooming under his cheeks.
Tim kept his expression neutral, closed the video feed, and put his pen down. A silent Continue.
Even with a gun to his head, Tim couldn’t say what the rest of that meeting was about.
—
To: Jason
You were right
Better than good
Thank you
Delivered 7:38 PM
From: Jason
Ofc
Glad you liked them
Delivered 8:12 PM
———
Tim set a specific pattern—short buzz, followed by three longer ones, repeat—for Red Hood’s silent ringtone. It made him pry his dry eyes open and pull his phone out of his back pocket despite his desire to sleep for 90 minutes straight.
“Hey.”
“Shit. Did I wake you up?”
Tim didn’t know what tipped Jason off but he didn’t like it. He pressed the microphone against his shoulder in an attempt to hide his throat clearing. “Nope,” Tim lied, “You’re good. What’s up?”
“Go back to sleep.” Jason’s helmet mic picked up his chastising tone perfectly.
Tim let out a grumpy huff. He pushed off the couch arm, sat up, and said, “I’m up, Jason. What do you need?”
The other end of the line stayed silent. Tim checked the screen just to make sure Jason hadn’t hung up. Tim sighed, “Jason.”
“Are you near a computer?”
Tim put Jason on speaker, set his cell down on the coffee table, and tugged his laptop closer. “Yeah, what are you looking for?”
“Look up Livery Park Homes.”
Livery Park Homes was the most white-bread stereotypical townhouse complex Tim had ever seen, and it was far too close to Gotham’s city edge for Tim’s taste. “Looking at it.”
“Can you get a floorplan of the complex? Specifically if there’s a basement.”
Tim rolled through the dismal cybersecurity of Gotham’s DOB and asked, “Why do we need a floorplan of the basement?”
“Because I just watched my mark go through an exterior cellar door and none of the other houses have one.”
“So they built their own basement?” Tim scrolled through city-approved floorplans and said, “Because Livery Townhomes do not have a basement floor plan. They do have a two-foot crawl space, though."
“Hm, nope. He definitely walked down a set of wood stairs.”
“Any clue what’s at the bottom of those wooden stairs?” Tim flicked through geotechnical surveys of the area and added, “There's a small aquifer under the East-most homes, closest to the river, by the way.”
“Those are the ones I’m looking at,” Jason drawled. Tim could tell by his tone that he was thinking about something.
“Jason,” Tim tried again, “Do you have any sense of what’s at the bottom of those stairs?”
“I’ll be fine, don’t get your panties in a twist.”
“Who’s your mark?”
“Nun-ya.”
Tim huffed at him. Jason was an obstinate, irritating, and completely capable asshole. Tim was worried about Jason because Jason was his, not because he had any real reason to worry about Jason’s ability to handle his own.
“Fine,” Tim decided, “Is there any other intel that would help? Because otherwise I’m going back to sleep.”
“I knew you were asleep.”
“Jason.”
“Have a good nap, Red. My bad for fucking with it.”
“Be safe.” Tim said it without thinking about it and immediately regretted it. It was the kind of thing that people who had acknowledged and accepted what they were to each other would say. “And don’t kill anyone,” Tim tacked on.
“So needy,” Jason teased dryly.
Tim sighed and drawled, “Bye.”
“Night, birdie.”
Jason cut the line before Tim’s heart had a chance to get back to it’s normal rhythm.
Tim did not go back to sleep.
—
From: RH
Home safe and sound. No one died.
Delivered 3:56 AM
From: RH
Thanks for the tech support
Delivered 3:59 AM
———
Tim toed one work shoe off and then used his socked foot to push the other one off. He left them in their touching toe-to-heel state right in the middle of the foyer.
39 minutes. He had 39 minutes to eat something, get ready, and head out for patrol. He mentally planned on using 19 of those minutes to lay on the couch and will his throbbing headache away.
His personal calendar said he had 45 minutes between getting home from work and leaving for work, but it didn’t account for weather-induced traffic. So Tim only got 19 minutes to breathe instead of the intended 25. He was unreasonably cranky about it.
Probably because of the headache.
12 minutes into his designated break for eyes-closed-slow-breathing-while-horizontal (but not sleeping, never sleeping), the door staff buzzed him. It was low, irritating drone. It meant someone was in his apartment lobby for him. It meant he had to get off the couch and ask who.
It meant his lifestyle-induced headache was throbbing even harder and he was fucking pissed.
—
Jason had ordered him too much Greek food and sent it straight to his apartment, still warm and exactly enough to have leftovers when he got back from patrol. He didn’t even have to tip the delivery guy, Jason had pre-tipped.
Tim was pissed that his designated rest time was interrupted.
Tim was also unreasonably grateful that he didn’t have to figure out what to eat between work and work. It took a weight off of him that he didn’t know was there. It made his stomach less achy and his shoulders less tight and his head less painful.
To: Jason
Thank you
Delivered 10:14 PM
From: Jason
Ofc
Delivered 10:27 PM
———
Jason’s territory lines were clearly enforced specifically against the bats. It meant that the bats rarely came in contact with Jason unless he got called out (by Tim) to help with something big.
Jason’s mark didn’t know that he was supposed to stay on the East side of 44th Street.
Tim landed silently and greeted, “B is three blocks away.”
Jason’s stone still position didn’t waver. Neither did his sniper rifle trained down the street.
15 blocks down from the far edge of Park Row was fair territory for the bats and, specifically, for Bruce. Tim wondered if Gotham’s newest up-and-coming gang leader thought he was safer in Batman’s territory than Red Hood’s.
Tim tried again, “Hood.”
“Busy,” Jason sounded distracted even through the voice modulator. Tim got closer before he could think better of it.
Jason’s chosen sniper position was laying down on his stomach with one knee cocked. He had brought a roll out pad for his elbows and a small, collapsible stand for the long barrel gun. Tim walked up to Jason’s boots and pointedly ignored the way his ass looked in his cargo pants.
“B is going to come by here any minute,” Tim warned lowly. He felt the first brush of cold Autumn wind push up his back and catch on his cape. He tapped the side of Jason’s black boot with his toe, “Go be somewhere else.”
Jason growled into his helmet and the modulator made it sound like Bruce.
Tim huffed. He could already see the disaster of Batman finding Red Hood with a gun aimed down at a civilian office building. Batman would try to strong arm Red Hood, Jason would come back mean and angry, it would get bloody fast, and Bruce’s mood would ruin everyone’s month in the aftermath.
So Tim did the mental math, weighed his consistently precarious place under Batman’s command with his literally unshakable place in Jason’s soul, considered the consequences, and then knocked his bō staff into the barrel of Jason’s rifle. Jason fumbled with at the unexpected hit. Tim watched Jason’s gun tumble down 20 stories and break into five pieces on the grimy sidewalk.
Dangerously slowly, Red Hood looked back at Red Robin.
Tim shrugged off the look. “You can’t kill me,” he reminded lightly, because it would kill you too, “And now you don’t have to be here when B gets here. You’re welcome.”
Tim felt the sharp, tight pinpoint edges of Jason’s irritation and frustration in his own shoulders, but not a single hint of actual aggression. Tim wondered if Jason could feel Tim’s feelings, his total assurance in his safety, his Bruce-induced anxiety.
“I will still kill you,” Jason growled.
“No you won’t,” Tim said dryly, cosmically confident in his words, “Go get that thing before someone steals the pieces.”
Jason growled again and grumbled lowly, “I hope you fall off a fuckin’ ledge.” The lack of heat behind his tone was telling.
Tim watched him push to a stand and tried not to be enamored with the sheer size of him, with the clear strength he held in each movement. Somewhere in the back of his head, Tim mentally acknowledged his privilege as the only person on earth Red Hood couldn’t actually beat into a pulp.
“Bye, Hood,” Tim drawled quietly.
Jason gave him the middle finger and dropped from the rooftop ledge without a word.
—
Did Tim feel bad for smashing an illegal rifle, saving a life, and keeping Red Hood out of Batman’s sights?
No.
Did Tim feel bad for Jason’s tight, anxious irritation between his shoulder blades and up the back of his neck? Was his jaw sore from holding Jason’s frustration for him? Was he exhausted from the emotional weight of a cranky soulmate?
Yes.
Sending Jason a meat-lover’s pizza from Dinado’s wasn’t going to ease his tightly coiled aggravation, but it was easier than sending a text.
—
From: RH
Thanks for dinos
But future reference
If B doesn’t want to see me, that’s on him. Not me.
Delivered 4:35 AM
—
The uneasy nervousness in the base of his throat wouldn’t go away. Jason didn’t like him or want him, Tim already knew that, so he couldn’t figure out why Jason’s irritation with him bothered him so badly.
—
It took a few days, but eventually Tim figured out the reason he was so upset with himself—he had started to forget that Jason didn’t like him or want him. He had started to think that Jason was warming up to him, that Tim was more than just a cosmic responsibility to him.
His irrational and unbelievably stupid hopefulness made Jason’s unspoken rejection cut deeper than it should have.
Tim wrestled with the idea that he was just an undesirable person, given that he wasn’t even wanted by the one person on earth that was supposed to love him.
—
From: Jason
Hey
I’m pretty sure you've been anxious for like three days straight
Talk to someone or take a benzo or something
Delivered 2:24 PM
—
Tim had a responsibility to deal with his emotions so that Jason didn’t have to deal with him.
He came to the conclusion that he would be alone for the rest of his life and decided that maybe it was a good thing, it would mean no one else would have suffer through putting up with his shit.
Tim wondered if the suffocating weight of self-imposed loneliness would ever get easier to breathe through.
—
“Delivery for Mr. Drake-Wayne?”
Tim didn’t even bother looking up from his desktop to point at his office coffee table. It wasn’t the most polite thing he could have done, but he was busy focusing on his work so he wouldn’t think about his soul. The inner-office delivery guy would probably forgive him.
It took an embarrassingly long time to sit back from his computer and drag his eyes to the coffee table. It took even longer to finally stand up.
There was a white paper bag sitting on top of a cardboard cup carrier with only one cup in it. The white plastic lid had a bright orange stopper sticking out of the mouth.
Stuck between the cup and the bag was a folded up take-out receipt from Dinado’s Pizzeria. Jason had written on it in with a shitty pen, Not as good as a benzo, but hope it helps. Talk to someone.
Tim thought, You’re my someone and felt the sudden sting of tears behind his tired eyes.
—
Tim could be stupid, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think an almond croissant and Americano were enough to fill the gaping, aching hole in his soul. He appreciated he effort, though.
—
To: RH
You didn’t need to do that.
I’m was just trying to keep the peace
Sorry about the gun
Delivered 12:11 AM
From: RH
That’s Dicks job, not yours
And no you’re not
Delivered 3:51 AM
—
From: Jason
Hey
You okay?
Delivered 8:22 PM
Tim read the text and wanted to say, No, of course not, you asshole.
How am I supposed to be okay without you? cycled through his mind the entire night of C-effort patrolling.
—
To: Jason
Yeah, fine
Thanks
Delivered 4:31 AM
To: Jason
Are you okay?
Delivered 4:35 AM
———
“It’s Arkham,” Dick emphasized, “All hands means all hands.”
“I know what all hands means,” Bruce growled, “But someone may be one of the escaped prisoners. Red Hood could compromise the mission-”
Dick threw his hands out, “Our mission is to get those fuckers back in, that’s-”
“Language-”
Tim had heard the same exact argument five times in the last year and didn’t need to hear it again. Slipping away from Batman and out of the cave wasn’t an easy task, but it got easier when he was focused on his favorite kid.
The last thing Tim wanted to do was bother Jason, especially after his lack of response, but all hands meant all hands—and Jason was a strong and capable set of hands. Tim tried not to think about them too much.
With every unanswered ring, the unsettling anxiousness in his chest swelled higher and higher, pressing against the base of his throat and suffocating him. Jason was supposed to be his and-
“Hey.”
Tim swallowed, “Hey, sorry to call. We’ve got-”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Jason cut in.
Tim opened his mouth, found he didn’t know what to say, and closed it. Yes I do. Of course I’m sorry for calling you. I’m sorry you have to answer. Why don’t you want me?
“Sorry,” Jason said after a beat, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. What’s up?”
“Um,” Tim swallowed again and took a breath to find his words, “We’ve got an, uh-” he cut himself off and coughed. His week of anxious nerves was crawling up the back of his throat, sour and uncomfortable. Before he could stop them, the words escaped him, “I just know I’m not your favorite person right now, that’s all, so I’m sorry for bothering you. But we’ve got an Arkham-”
“What?” Jason cut in, “You aren’t my favorite person right now? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tim’s breath caught at the top of his throat. It took an embarrassingly long beat for him to finally got out the words, “B and the gun?”
“Fuck B,” Jason spit out quick, and then smoother, “That shit’s between us though. You don’t gotta play ref for me or him. I told you that.”
“Still, I pissed you off and broke your gun,” Tim said quietly, “That’s all. Listen, Arkham’s had-”
“Guns are replaceable. ‘Sides, thought you didn’t like guns.”
“We don’t, but that’s not the point. Jason, Arkham’s had a break out and it’s all hands on deck. That’s what I’m calling about.”
The beat of silence on the other end felt like a sharp contrast to Jason’s quick responses. Tim waited a moment and then asked, “Jason?”
“So it’s a work call?”
Tim wondered if Jason could feel his confusion yet. “Yeah?” Tim asked, “What else?”
The few seconds before Jason answered dragged out, long and uncomfortable. “Right,” Jason finally said, tone sharp and bitter, “What else. Fine. What’s up with Arkham?”
Over a week of constant anxiety, unsettled and sleepless nights, poor work performance, and intense self-deprecation left Tim strung tight, like a rubber band about to break, and Jason was the last push.
Tim snapped, “Drop the attitude, asshole. Yeah, Jason, it’s a work call. What the fuck else? Do you want me to call you and tell you that my PR team is up my ass about the winter ball even thought it’s only September? I took a photo of a rat carrying an entire hotdog last night? Is that what you want? Cause otherwise, it’s going to be a work call. When has it ever been anything other than a work call?”
Tim let out a deep breath, became conscious of his embarrassing outburst, and sighed, “Sorry, I just-”
“A whole hotdog?”
Tim huffed, exasperated, “What?”
“You took a photo of a rat carrying an entire hotdog?”
“Jason,” Tim sighed, “That is not what anything is about.”
“Well, yeah, no. But like, it could be,” Jason audibly swallowed and tacked on, “You could send me that photo. When you see shit like that, I mean.”
Behind his sternum, Tim suffered a sharp bout of nervousness and suddenly realized that it might not be his. It might not have been his that whole time.
“You don’t-” Tim started, found he didn’t know what he was trying to say, and then tried again, “You don’t ever- You don’t do that. Send me shit or call me. For not work things, I mean. You know.” Tim dropped his head back and fought back a wave of embarrassment.
“Well, I- no. Yeah. Do you- Would- Not that-” Jason stumbled over his own tongue and Tim couldn’t decided if the feeling of awkward embarrassment was his own or Jason’s. “I- Okay,” Jason huffed into the line, clearly collecting himself, and then said, “I could. If that was something that we, you know, started doing. I could send you rat photos or something.”
“Or something,” Tim echoed quietly, just to say something back. Without really thinking about it, he said, “Or the cats.”
“The cats?”
“You like to take pics of those alley cats,” Tim reminded him.
It took an awkwardly long beat for Jason to finally say, “Stalker.” His tone sounded warm, like the way Tim’s cheeks felt.
“I’d say sorry, but,” Tim trailed off.
“But you’re not. I know.”
You know, Tim wanted to echo, You know because you know me and I know you and your mine and I’m yours. I wish you to wanted me the way I want you.
Instead, Tim lamely said, “Yeah, um. Anyway, Arkham?”
“Right, yeah. What’s up? Where do you need me?”
—
From: Jason
Hey stalker
[Image attached]
This is Skrunkle
Delivered 10:08 PM
To: Jason
Aptly named
And adorable
The hotdog rat as requested
[Image attached]
Delivered 10:13 PM
From: Jason
Oh damn
Thats a whole ass hotdog
Delivered 10:16 PM
To: Jason
That’s what I said
You didn’t believe me?
Delivered 10:19 PM
From: Jason
No I had no doubt
It’s just so big??
Maybe its a small rat
Delivered 10:21 PM
From: Jason
Also
Weird comment?
That photo is really good??
Like
It's a tasteful photo of a rat with a hotdog
If that makes sense
Delivered 10:22 PM
To: Jason
Tasteful??
Thank you
I think?
Delivered 10:24 PM
From: Jason
Yeah?
Sorry maybe that was a weird thing to say
Text?
Delivered 10:26 PM
To: Jason
No
I used to do photography
Like as a hobby
So it’s nice to see the skill stuck I guess?
Delivered 10:26 PM
From: Jason
You don’t anymore?
You should
It’s a good photo
Delivered 10:27 PM
To: Jason
Well I mean
I still take photos
You know
Delivered 10: 27 PM
From: Jason
Ah
Yeah but
Like as a hobby
You should get back into it
Delivered 10:27 PM
To: Jason
Bit busy for another hobby these days
Not a lot of free time
You get it
Delivered 10:28 PM
From: Jason
Cause you don’t make the time
Everyone is busy all of the time
Gotta make the time for that stuff
Delivered 10:28 PM
To: Jason
You dont work a 40 hour week
Delivered 10:28 PM
From: Jason
Neither do you
More like 60
May be the problem
Delivered 10:29 PM
To: Jason
Not the point
On the topic of work tho
Did you hear back from Prism?
Delivered 10:29 PM
From: Jason
???
Stalker
But yea
Not a 40 hour gig tho, barely part time
You gonna come? I’ll let you in for free
Delivered 10:29 PM
To: Jason
You think I don’t already get into Prism for free?
Delivered 10:30 PM
From: Jason
Ah, right
I forgot that you were classically attractive under that stupid cowl
Delivered 10:30 PM
“What are you smiling at?”
Tim popped his head up and schooled his face at the same time. “What? Nothing.”
“You’re smiling at your phone,” Dick told him. His face twitched up into teasing-big-brother territory, “Who are we flirting with?”
Tim huffed, “No one.” He still tilted his phone screen towards his stomach, just for good measure, and snarked, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting shot at by now?”
“Nothing or no one?” Dick teased back.
Tim’s phone vibrated in between his caged hands, Tim knew it was Jason without looking at it. Tim muttered, “Fuck off,” without any heat and kicked the floor, rotating his spinning chair to somewhere Dick couldn’t see his face or his phone screen.
From: Jason
Too far?
Sorry
Delivered 10:33 PM
To: Jason
No not all all
Dick is just being a dick
Bothering me
Brothering me lol
I have to head out soon tho
Gotta put my stupd cowl on
Cover my classically attractive face
Delivered 10:35 PM
From: Jason
He does that
Hope you see more rats
Delivered 10:36 PM
To: Jason
With hotdogs or just in general?
Sned me photos of every cat you see
Delivered 10:36 PM
From: Jason
Every cat?
Thats so many photos
Delivered 10:36 PM
To: Jason
Yes
Gpod
Heading out
Delivered 10:39 PM
To: RH
This line please :)
Delivered 11:12 PM
—
Jason did see a lot of cats on his nights out as Red Hood. Tim saw just as many ridiculously fat pigeons, funny signs, and stray animals.
Despite his best effort, every single photo made him break out into a grin. Tim wondered if Jason had the same constant, warm, fluttery feeling under his ribs.
———
Jason didn’t need new ultra-high molecular weight polyethylene plates for his body armor, but the Cave had extras and Tim would prefer to keep his cosmically designated other half alive.
If Tim couldn’t physically stand next to him and keep him safe, then he could at least drop off the world’s best body armor and a hot coffee in his favorite safehouse.
—
From: RH
Thank you
I owe you
Delivered 4:02 AM
To: RH
No you dont
Delivered 4:35 AM
———
Short buzz, followed by three longer ones, repeat. It meant he knew that Jason was calling before he stopped swinging his bō staff.
Two of the three men bitched and moaned the entire time Tim was tying their wrists behind their back. One was too unconscious to complain. Tim got all three of them situated against the damp alley wall before he switch his staff to one hand, tugged his personal phone out, and called Jason back.
Jason answered on the second ring and greeted with “Hey, is the thing were you look at the sun and then you sneeze a real thing?”
Tim thought What? and said, “Yeah, it’s a real thing. It happens to me sometimes. Why?”
“See!” Jason sounded further away. The clear sirens implied speakerphone. “I told you it was real. I have it too.”
“That feels like a fucking joke,” Roy drawled.
Tim didn’t know Roy Harper all that well, but he knew that Jason was close friends with Roy and hated that he didn’t know how close. Tim bit back an unreasonable spike of jealously.
“It’s a real thing,” Tim told him, “The light tickles the sneeze button in the brain or something.”
“The sneeze button?” Roy snarked.
Tim snipped back, “Do you want me to tell you about nasal passage irritation and the optic nerves pathways or-”
“Yeah yeah,” Roy huffed into the line, and from further away, muttered, “Nerd.”
“Thank you,” Jason said clearly, phone back to his ear, “I told him it was real and that you would know.”
Tim fought back the grin tugging at his cheeks, “Yeah? Well it’s real and I did know, so you were right.”
“Broken clock’s right twice a day,” Jason teased, and after a beat, added, “That was all. Sorry, you might have been busy with something.”
“The thing I was busy with is tied up and waiting for the calvary,” Tim told him easily, “So you’re good.”
“Well, okay. Good,” Jason said quietly, and asked after an awkward beat, “Everything good over there?”
Tim thought, Didn’t I just tell you they were tied up? and then thought, He cares.
Tim fought down the grin pulling at his cheeks and said softly, “Yeah, everything’s good over here.” It took a beat for him to tack on, “You good over there?”
“We’re supposed to be causing trouble but our guy’s not here, so yeah, we’re fine. Bit bored.”
“Clearly,” Tim teased.
Jason cleared his throat and said quietly, awkwardly, “Well, um, thanks for the back up. I’ll let you get back to your thing.”
“Happy to do it,” Tim told him quietly, “Stay out of trouble, okay?”
Jason snorted, “No chance, but good try. See ya round, yeah?”
“Uh, yeah. See ya,” Tim fought down his grin and hung up, just so he wasn’t the one that got hung up on.
The moment the line was dead, Tim pressed the edge of his cell against his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to fight down the warm feelings crawling out of his chest and onto his face.
It didn’t work.
———
To: RH
Hey
Have you been working Maroni at all
Delivered: 2:13 AM
From: RH
Nope
Why?
Delivered 3:04 AM
To: RH
Cause this case is pissing me off
And misery loves company
Delivered 3:41 AM
From: RH
I have a suspect list that’s 67 people long
It took me an hour to get through the first 10
I was going to chip at it tomorrow night instead of heading out
Cause of the rain
Delivered 3:50 AM
To: RH
Suspect list for what??
And same, cause rain
Was going to order chinese or something
Delivered 4:01 AM
From: RH
Blackmask’s arms runner
Not to brag
But I can be miserable company
Delivered 4:03 AM
To: RH
Is it not Markovic?
[[email protected],92-184.0637754,21]
Delivered 4:05 AM
From: RH
idk he’s in the Ms
Im still in the Js
Delivered 4:09 AM
From: RH
10pm?
Delivered 4:11 AM
To: RH
I’m planning on getting back from work by 8
So anytime after that is fine
What do you want
[https://myasiakitchenocnj.com/]
Delivered 4:21 AM
—
“Smells like bullshit.”
“It is bullshit,” Tim told him, “But it’s not like I can go dangle Judge Shearer by his feet until he rats on Maroni.”
Jason gave Tim an intentional, questioning look and pointed his chopsticks at himself.
Tim sighed, “You’re going to get lo main on your shirt, and no, you’re not going to go dangle Shearer.”
Jason gave him a small smirk and said, “I mean, I could, but I won’t,” and shoved chicken lo mien between his lips.
Lips Tim had been trying not to pay too much attention to. The alternatives—his large, scarred, vascular hands perfectly positioned around chopsticks, his muscular chest under his gray hoodie, his thick thighs wrapped in black denim—were not better places to let his eyes linger.
“Thanks,” Tim said dryly. He put his eyes back on his computer screen just to keep them off of Jason.
He heard Jason click his pen and, without looking, knew he already had his nose back in one of the manila files he’d brought over.
Tim had nearly given himself a panic attack in the hour and a half between when he got home and Jason knocked on his door. What if he doesn’t show? What is it was horribly awkward? What if he ordered the wrong thing? What if what if what if-
Jason had knocked as a nicety and then let himself in before Tim had even gotten off the couch. He immediately started bitching about Blackmask, Tim countered it with Maroni, and suddenly it was business as usual. Mediocre takeout, bouncing ideas off each other, complaining about marks. Tim had played the case-coworking game with a dozen different people over the last half a decade, and Jason was the person that it was supposed to be easy with.
And it was.
In fact, the hardest part about Jason’s presence on the black leather couch across form him was how cosmically easy it was. Under his chest, his heart tightened uncomfortably, too full of desperate want. Right next to it, his warm, pleased soul fluttered in the presence of it’s other half.
Jason shifted, switching out lo mien for his laptop, and Tim couldn’t help but be enamored with the shape of his muscular arms under his hoodie.
Maroni was a lackluster distraction from the beating want under his ribs.
—
“Hey Red, you need anything while I’m up?”
“Nope.” Tim watched him move around Tim’s kitchen seamlessly and was suddenly reminded that Jason had spent the last seven months irregularly cleaning Tim’s entire apartment for him. “Hey,” Tim called out without thinking, “Thank you, by the way.”
Jason’s head popped up from where it was in Tim’s fridge, “What? For what?”
“You know,” Tim gestured around his space with his chopsticks, “You come in here and clean the place up.”
“Oh,” Jason pulled a face and shrugged, “Well, yeah, it’s not like I’ve got rent money for the fuckin’ Marble Alley.”
“I don’t need you to pay my rent,” Tim told him.
The sound of Jason’s voice was muddled from behind the fridge door, “Yeah, right, which is why I do the other stuff.”
“You don’t have to-” Tim waved his chopsticks around, “Do all that, though. Cleaning an entire apartment is way more effort than paying a bill.”
“Depends on the bill.” Jason closed the fridge and started back towards the couch. “‘Sides, it’s kind like, part of the gig, I think.”
The gig.
What a underwhelming way to say soulmate.
“The gig,” Tim echoed, tone dry. He watched Jason flop back down on the couch and prop his socked feet on the glass coffee table. Tim glanced at his washed-out, previously white, permanently greige socks and said, “Your sock has a hole in it.”
“Buy me new ones, then, since you like to foot the bill.” Jason gave him a bright, knowing side-eye.
Tim was helpless against the way his mouth twitched up at the corners, but he could still roll his eyes at the stupid pun.
———
From: Jason
Hey
Theres a photography show thing happening at mid modern
On Sunday
1-5
Delivered: 3:38 PM
From: Jason
You should submit your rat photo
Delivered: 3:51 PM
Tim was in the middle of fighting through his nerves and trying to find a subtle, cool, nonchalant way to say It’s a date when the second text came through. His disappointment swelled from his stomach to the base of his throat, heavy and suffocating.
To: Jason
Only if you submit Skrunckle
Delivered: 3:59 PM
———
“So what’s going on with Dick and Kori?”
“Can you focus?” Tim asked, tone tight, “For literally two fucking minutes?”
Jason dropped his red helmet back and let out a petulant groan, but refocused his flashlight on Tim’s fingers and the mess of red wires. Tim let out a deep sigh and tried to ignore Jason, the dangerous creak of the water tower, and the steadily ticking timebomb.
“No rush,” Jason drawled after a beat, “You’ve still got 58 seconds.”
Tim fought the urge to swear at him, untangled one hand, and held it out, “Pliers.”
“Pliers,” Jason echoed.
Tim closed his fingers around the new weight in his hand. He asked, “You want to check my work?”
“Nope,” Jason said, popping the p, “Go for it, Red.”
———
From: RH
Hey are you busy
Delivered 11:19 PM
To: RH
Busyish
Why
Delivered 11:27 PM
From: RH
I have 5000 lines of encryption to get through before clock strikes midnight
And would appreciate help
Delivered 11:28 PM
To: RH
It’s 11:28??
Delivered 11:28 PM
From: RH
Yea
Which is why I’m texting you
Delivered 11:28 PM
To: RH
Send it
Delivered 11:28 PM
From: RH
[file.mocw.twx.xv]
Preemptive thank you
Delivered 11:29 PM
To: RH
Done
[file.mocw.twx.xv.oorc]
Postemptive welcome
Delivered 11:37 PM
From: RH
?????
I worked on it for an hour??
With no luck??
Delivered 11:37 PM
To: RH
So you gave me 30 minutes???
Rude
Delivered 11:37 PM
From: RH
Figured you need like 15?
Not 5
Jesus
Okay thanks
Delivered 11:39 PM
To: RH
Happy to help
Delivered 11:39 PM
From: RH
I gotta bash some heads
But you free later?
Thank you ice cream
On me
Delivered 11:40 PM
To: RH
It’s 40 degrees out
And you want ice cream?
I’m off patrol at 330
Delivered 11:40 PM
From: RH
[[email protected],92-184.0619954,21]
345?
Delivered 11:42 PM
—
“Dogs or cats?”
Tim hummed in thought as he sucked the last of his ice cream off of his plastic spoon. He pulled it out of his mouth and said, “Cats.”
Jason made an acknowledging noise around his own spoon. Tim was making a diligent, barely successful effort to keep his eyes on glittering city skyline and not Jason’s nice mouth wrapped red plastic. He looked obscene sucking cookie dough ice cream off of the plastic spoon, so Tim decided to stop looking.
Easier said than done.
Jason gave the spoon a good suck, hollowing his tan cheeks in a way Tim would never forget, and popped it out of his mouth. “I think I’m a dog person,” Jason said quietly. He sounded considering, like he wasn’t sure if it was true.
Tim purposefully got a big chunk of chocolate in his next scoop of mint and teased lightly, “I could have told you that.”
Jason lolled his head to the side and quirked his eyebrows up in question. With the spoon hanging out of his mouth, it was a stupid look. Tim loved it. Him. Tim brushed the thought away and shrugged under Jason’s questioning gaze.
Jason tugged the clean spoon out of his pretty mouth and asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tim waved his own spoon around uselessly and said, “I don’t know. You just- you have dog vibes.”
“Dog vibes?” Jason’s tone was light and teasing. Easy. Warm. Tim wanted Jason to lean in close and kiss him.
Tim tapped the back of his boots against the skyscraper’s concrete siding and shrugged again. “Yeah, dog vibes. I know you like cats, but- I don’t know. You have dog vibes.” Tim shrugged again and made a mental note to stop.
“So you just knew that I was a dog person?” Jason pushed, tone quieter and heavier. Weighed down by the thing they kept dancing around.
Yes, Tim wanted to say, Yes of course I knew that you were a dog person. I know you. You’re mine and I know you and you know me and I wish you would just kiss me already. Want me the way I want you, please.
But Tim couldn’t say that, so he hummed in affirmation and stuck his spoon back in his mouth.
Jason scuffed his boot against the damp brick and gave his nearly empty, stained paper cup a contemplative stare. Tim could feel the weight of whatever Jason was thinking about. It sat heavy on his shoulders and his soul, it made his chest tight. Tim wanted to ask.
Jason beat him to it.
“Why do- Can I-” Jason stopped as soon as he started. Tim felt Jason’s regret in stomach as he watched Jason’s jaw jump and tense. He didn’t have to finish his sentence for Tim to know what he was going to ask.
“Yeah,” Tim whispered, “You can.”
Jason swallowed and nodded, seemingly to himself, before he started quietly, “Why do you think we’re,” he trailed off.
Soulmates.
Tim twirled the red plastic around just for something to do with his hands. He wished he had a pen to click. “I don’t know,” he admitted softly. Regretfully.
For the first time in Tim’s life, he barely cared about the why.
Jason looked up at the dark smog, baring his muscular throat, and asked, “Think he fucked it up?”
Tim wanted to kiss his throat, wanted to bite him, wanted to eat him alive, wanted.
“He?” Tim questioned, tone incredulous, “God?”
“I don’t know, the universe?” Jason shrugged, “Whatever it is out there.”
Tim couldn’t help himself, “Are you religious?”
Jason rocked back for a second before he whispered, “My mom was Catholic.”
Tim didn’t have anything good to say back to that. He wanted to reach out and touch him, comfort him. He wanted to be the person he was supposed to be for the person that was supposed to be his.
After a beat Jason asked, “Are you?”
“No,” Tim answered easily, “And if there was a big man in the sky, I wouldn’t trust him, given then state of things.”
Jason huffed a laugh and it crinkled the corners of his pretty eyes. Tim wanted him more than he had ever wanted anything else.
“Fair,” Jason’s grin faded before he asked, “So what do you this it is that decides this shit?”
This shit. Tim’s heart ached. He wondered if Jason could feel it.
“I don’t know, fate?” It was a haphazard guess. Tim regretted it as soon as he said it.
Fate.
“You think fate’s the thing that screwed the pooch?” Jason teased dryly.
Tim snorted, “Screwed the pooch?”
Jason waved his spoon around, “I don’t know. Screwed the pooch, botched the job, dropped the ball, fucked it up. Got it wrong or whatever.” The moment the words left his mouth, regret flooded through Jason’s chest. Tim felt it, or maybe it was his own wave of heartbreak that felt so suffocating.
The silence after was indicative. They didn’t need words when they had each others hearts in their hands.
“I wonder-” Jason’s jaw jumped as he clenched it. His throat boobed as he swallowed. “I wonder if it was the right call, before-” Jason cut himself off again. His pain showed on his face and Tim felt it at the base of his throat.
Before.
Before Jason’s life was taken from him and Tim’s heart was buried with his body. Before Tim resented the gaping hole Jason left behind and Jason resented Tim for trying to fill it. Before they beat the shit out of each other for no good reason.
“Maybe,” Tim whispered, conceding.
———
Agony.
Agony that wasn’t his. Breath that wasn’t his, that he couldn’t catch. Pain, suffocating and unending and all encompassing. Pain that left an ashy coat in his throat, pain that made his eyes burn, pain that radiated from his head to his neck to his back. Fire licked at his spine as he arched off the bed-
Tim sat straight up and thought Jason-
He yanked his phone off the nightstand and took the charger with it. Jason. Tim’s shaky fingers couldn’t get the passcode in, the back of his eyes burned like there was smoke, Jason’s name was at the top of his call list-
Jason-
He didn’t answer. Tim hit call again sucked in a slow, rasping breath. He exhaled just as slowly, wet and trembling. Jason. Every calming trick in the book felt useless, he did them anyway. He twisted his fingers into the comforter to get them to stop shaking. His ribs rattled against his lungs with every breath. He didn’t answer. Tim hit call again.
Jason.
The ringback got exponentially quieter as Tim’s conscious world expanded to a dark bedroom, to messy sheets and the clicking ceiling fan and the white noise speaker. He closed his mouth and swallowed, just to find his throat ash dry. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He hit call again.
It took three more rounds of slow, intentional breathing for the call to click through.
Tim’s heart tripped over it’s self. “Jason?”
The sound of tinny, speakerphone breathing, heavy and rasping, fighting for air. Tim tried again, “Jason.”
Jason rasped, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Tim said softly, “Breathe, Jason. You’re okay, you’re fine. Take a deep breath, okay?”
Tim listened to the quiet sound of a slow, deep inhale and a louder, slow exhale. “You’re okay,” Tim reminded gently, “You’re okay.”
“Tim.”
Tim’s heart tightened under his ribs. “Yeah, Jay, I’m right here. You’re fine, breathe, breathe for me. You’re okay.” Tim took a deep breath for Jason, loud enough to follow, and heard Jason’s shaky exhale just after his own. “You’re okay,” Tim reminded softly, “Just breathe.”
Tim breathed for the both of them and heard Jason match his pace, Tim thought calm thoughts and tried to relax enough that Jason got a hint of it. The tight pressure of panic under his chest eased, rib by rib, until Tim could think clearly and Jason wasn’t fighting for air anymore.
After a quiet beat, Tim asked, “Jase?”
Jason cleared his throat into the line and said, “Yeah.” His voice was low and gravelly—Tim might have found it hot if he wasn’t busy being worried. “Sorry,” Jason whispered.
“Don’t be,” Tim told him gently, “It’s part of the gig, remember?”
Jason didn’t answer that.
Tim checked in, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Jason said quietly, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Before he could think better of it, Tim offered quietly, “Do you want me to come over?”
“No, no,” Jason swallowed, sound loud in the quiet, “I’m fine. It’s fine. I didn’t- I’m sorry you had to deal with it- me. That you’re up.”
Tim huffed, “Jason. Stop apologizing. It’s fine, really. I’m worried about you, not upset.”
The admission felt bold. He didn’t have the heart to regret it while he was still full of concern.
“Well-” Jason paused, Tim felt his hesitation in his own throat, “Thanks. I- Me too. Not- Not just right now, though. Other times.” Jason stopped again, and Tim held his breath while he waited. He bit at the inside of his cheek just to keep his mouth shut. “Most of the time, really,” Jason admitted softly.
Tim’s heart skipped a beat under his chest. He swallowed and said softly, honestly, “Me too.”
I’m worried about you all of the time. I think about you all of the time. I want you all of the time.
The silence between them lingered. Tim watched the phone call timer tick up, second by second, as Jason’s lack of response dragged on. Tim wondered if the deceptively delicate weight on his chest, right on top of his heart, was Jason’s or his own.
“Any chance you get back to sleep?” Jason whispered.
Tim glanced at the time, took gauge of his wired nerves, and answered honestly, “Probably not. I needed to head in early anyway.”
“Okay,” Jason breathed out, resigned.
Tim asked, “You?”
“Fuck no.”
Tim snorted. It wasn’t funny that Jason had a nightmare bad enough to wake both of them up, and it wasn’t funny that they were going to be more sleep deprived than they already were, but Jason’s crass honesty made Tim huff a laugh. It probably always would.
Something warm and pleasant fluttered under his ribs and pulled at his cheeks. Tim knew without a doubt that it was Jason’s—he could practically see the the pleased, lopsided grin that went with the feeling. The thought made his heart a even warmer.
—
Tim stopped typing and listened. Something closed, it sounded like a cupboard. Water turned on, a squeaky faucet. Something crinkled. Tim broke their long-standing comfortable silence and asked, “Are you making food right now?”
The water turned off. Jason said into the speaker phone, “Yeah? Fuck else am I supposed to do?”
Tim shrugged in his empty apartment and said, “I don’t know, five a.m. just isn’t typical meal prep time.”
“It’s breakfast, dumbass. Five a.m. isn’t typical email time either.”
Tim bit back a grin and told him matter-of-factly, “I’m scheduling them for eight, dumbass.”
Jason huffed loud enough that the speakerphone picked it up. Tim glanced at the steadily ticking clock on his phone screen, bit back a grin, and watched as the call’s timer rolled into hour two.
———
Jason rarely called him as Jason and not Red Hood, so when he did, Tim stepped out of his most important meeting of the financial quarter to answer.
“Hey, what's up?”
“Hey, sorry to bother. You busy right now? I know you’re in the office.”
Tim mentally weighed the value of the Wayne Enterprises' Board of Directors meeting over whatever Jason sounded so hesitant to need, and said, “I’ve got a few minutes. What’s up?”
“I’m leaving the country for a week or two on Friday,” Jason trailed off. Tim knew what he was asking.
The first time Jason had asked Tim to water his plants while he was gone, Tim had been about to leave for a international mission and couldn’t agree. He kicked himself for it the entire time and genuinely considered bailing out of an active hostage situation just to water Jason’s houseplants.
Tim told him, “I can take care of your place and your plants, no problem.” He wanted to ask where Jason was going, what the mission was, if he was bringing back-up, if he’d be safe. He didn’t. “Do you want me to watch your backyard for you, too?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. I’ll let the boys know not to give you trouble. And- sorry, this is weird, do you know my sourdough starter?”
Tim hummed, “The bread monster.”
Jason huffed a short laugh and it pulled at the high points of Tim’s cheeks. “Yeah, the bread monster,” Tim could hear Jason’s grin in his tone, it made his heart flutter, “It needs to be fed with a water-flour mixture. I’ll leave a note on the counter with the measurements and stuff. If you wouldn’t mind doing that, too.”
“Sure, I’ll feed your weird living bread-monster-creation,” Tim teased lightly.
“Her name is Whitney and she’s the reason you get homemade sourdough, asshole, so be nice.”
Tim couldn’t hold in the quiet laugh that Jason’s mock-serious tone tugged out. He knew that Jason was grinning into the phone, despite smiling being a silent activity, because he could feel Jason’s smile in the space between his ribs and his lungs.
“Well I apologize for the insult, to both you and Miss Whitney,” Tim teased through a smile.
“You can tell her yourself,” Jason trailed off. Tim knew it was a thinking pause, not a full stop, “On Sunday? Does that work? My fiddle-leaf will probably need to be watered by then.”
“Your plants are so needy,” Tim drawled, the teasing couldn’t hide the fact that he was pleased to be needed.
“What can I say? I’ve got a thing for high maintenance.”
“Do you?” Tim teased lightly.
“Yeah, obviously.”
Obviously because Tim was high maintenance and his soulmate and Jason was his and suddenly, the friendly banter felt like treading in unsafe waters.
I want you. Do you want me, too?
“I can swing by on Sunday,” Tim said, a graceless change in conversation, “Just tell me what you need and I can do it.”
“Thank you. I’ll owe you,” Jason offered.
Tim swallowed, and echoed the only half-acknowledgement they ever really used, “You know you don’t.”
“Yeah, well. Still. Thank you.”
“Of course,” Tim whispered. He took an intentional breath and admitted, “I’ve got a meeting I should probably be in.”
“Go be in it. I’ll text you.”
The words escaped before he could catch them, “If we don’t talk again before you leave, just-” his throat caught. Tim swallowed around it, “Take care of yourself while you’re wherever you’re going.”
Take care of my soulmate for me, please. Take care of my heart.
The lack of response dragged out long enough that Tim checked the screen to make sure Jason hadn’t hung up. He had fucked up, over stepped, gone into the place they had silently agreed to avoid.
Finally, Jason gave him a low, short hum. It was more of an affirming grunt, like Bruce would.
Tim waited one more silent second before he said, “Well-”
“I-” Jason stopped. “You go,” he offered.
“No, no, sorry. You go,” Tim told him.
“I-” Jason sighed, “I’m gonna be gone for two weeks max, probably. So just. What’s mine is yours. Safehouses and whatnot. You can stay at my place longer than just to water the plants and shit. I’m not- I won’t be here. But, you know. Whatever you need, you can have. From what I have. Cause I can’t- If you need- You know. Until I’m back.”
Tim suffered through one beat of awkward silence and couldn’t help himself. He asked, “Are you having a stroke?”
Jason huffed an embarrassed laugh and said, “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“I do,” Tim offered through the same smile Jason always gave him, “Mi casa es su casa until you’re back.”
“Yeah, that. And after, if you want. You don’t have to but you know what I- whatever. You know,” Jason tacked on lamely.
“I know,” Tim agreed quietly.
I know you try to fulfill your soulmate duties by taking care of me, even from a distance. I know you trust me to watch your plants for the same reason I trust you to watch my back. I know you like no one else and you know me and there’s nothing we can do about it.
“Thanks,” Jason said softly. He added, “Hope your meeting doesn’t suck.”
“It will,” Tim said simply. He couldn’t help but ask, “Keep me in the loop.”
“Course.”
The was an empty pause, right in the spot that two people cosmically bound to each other would say I love you, or something like that. The empty lingered.
“See ya’, birdie.”
“Bye,” Tim bit out just before the line went dead.
The rest of his meeting was simultaneously a blur and a drag. Any period of time filled with thought of Jason made his chest ache and his throat tight in a way too painful to ignore. Tim wondered if Jason felt it too.
———
Jason was gone for half a month, and Gotham was lonely and cold the whole time.
It was hard to be alone in a city full of millions of people, and even harder to be alone when he regularly saw his closest family and friends, but it was easy to feel alone when he knew that Jason wasn’t in the same zip code.
And Gotham was typically cold, but winter’s first cold front winds pushed through the city earlier than the weather station predicted and Tim was certain that it was because of Jason’s absence. A ridiculous and irrational notion that he knew was true in his bones.
The only place that felt protected from the sudden cold front was Jason’s apartment.
Jason had a myriad of finicky, high maintenance houseplants that required a frankly ridiculous amount of attention and effort. He loved them dearly and entrusted them to Tim’s care, because Tim was precise, detail-oriented, Gotham-based, and also the one person in the universe Jason was supposed to be able to trust.
The one thing that Jason’s plant did not require was Tim’s mere presence, but Jason had said he could stay longer than strictly needed and Jason’s second-hand couch was the only place that Tim could focus on his case files and not the achy, prickly cold settled between his chest and his throat.
Tim used the legal pad he left on the kitchen counter—because Jason was a paper notes kind of person—to detail what he did on each day to each plant. He made tiny, irregular comments about Whitney’s bubbly, monstrous condition. He wrote down an unnecessary observation that Jason’s upstairs neighbors fucked frequently and loudly. Tim had used eight sheet of legal pad paper by the day Jason was supposed to be back.
The last thing Tim wrote down was the time, paired with the date, that the large meat-lovers pizza from Dinado's got picked up. Tim didn’t even take a slice, he just put the box right in Jason’s fridge.
If Tim was a better cook or more inclined to embarrass himself, he would have made leftovers for Jason like how Jason did for him. But Tim’s cooking skills were a mile behind Jason’s and he wasn’t willing to humiliate himself by trying, so he ordered a pizza that would keep well, taste arguably better cold, and left Jason a note so he would know it wasn’t old.
Tim tried to time his departure so that Jason wouldn’t have to see him, but the Earl Gray latte he left on the counter would still be warm for him.
———
From: RH
Hey
Are you buys
Busy
?
Delivered 12:41 AM
To: RH
Busyish
Why?
Delivered 12:52 AM
From: RH
I made bread
Its warm
Delivered 12:55 AM
To: RH
Omw
Delivered 12:55
—
"So how was the trip?"
Jason's tongued at the back of his teeth and shook his head. "Trip makes it sound like a nice vacation. It was fucking frigid the whole time and Roy nearly gave himself hypothermia." He gestured with his butter knife, "The only reason it took so long was cause our intel was absolute shit. I think I'd rather actually die again than go back to Canada anytime soon."
"At least it's over?" Tim offered, simultaneously asking Is it over?
"At least it's over," Jason echoed, agreeing, "We still have some loose ends to tie up over here, but we will not be going back up to that coast."
Tim leaned against the counter and dipped his butterknife into the soft stick between them. "The last time we all went to Northern Canada together, Dick kept threatening to leave me there," Tim told him.
Jason asked around a mouthful of bread, "Did you deserve it?"
"Probably, but at least I didn't give myself hypothermia."
Jason huffed a laugh and Tim liked that the sound was his fault. Tim slid off the barstool and before he could turn around to do it himself, Jason reached down and unsnagged his cape from the seat lever. Jason looked up at him, "You need something?"
"I need you to stay right there," Tim pointed at his stool, "I can get my own water."
"You're makin' me feel like a bad host," Jason teased lightly.
Tim opened the cabinet next to the fridge and grabbed a glass. "You already cooked for me, I don't need you to be my waitress too."
"It's baking," Jason corrected, "And it's a thank you loaf since you kept all my shit alive."
"Did I?" Tim asked. He leaned over the kitchen island to set his glass next to his plate and said, "I tried to do everything exactly as written, but I was still stressed about killing something." He stole Jason's mostly empty glass while he was there and got a nasty look for it.
"I can get my own water," Jason said, echoing Tim.
"I'm already standing," Tim told him.
"Alfred's gonna beat me for being a bad host."
Tim rolled his eyes, walked back with Jason's refilled glass, and said, "Alfred doesn't have to know."
"He will though, through like, Alfred magic or some shit." Jason's fingers brushed against Tim's gloved ones as he took the offered glass. Immediately and deeply, Tim regretted still having them on.
Tim swiped his heavy winter cape to the side before he sat back down next to Jason. Jason grabbed himself another slice of soft, buttery bread—his medium-successful attempt at Brioche, apparently— before Tim had even finished his first one.
"You could take that off, you know," Jason pointed his butterknife at Tim's cape, "Settle in a little. Unless you're in a rush to run."
Tim picked up his half-finished slice and hummed. He glanced at Jason, whose sweatpants and hoodie indicated that he was clearly taking his first night back off from patrol, and wondered if he could reasonably get away with slacking on his patrol route.
"I'm supposed to be patrolling the Old City tonight, so I really shouldn't be here at all," Tim admitted quietly, and then bit back a grin, "But I couldn't say no to the work of Miss Whitney."
Jason shook his head slowly, "Sorry to break the news Red, but Miss Whitney was not involved in this in the slightest."
Tim mocked shock, "So I'm here for nothing?"
Jason grinned at him. It made his pretty ocean green eyes crinkle at the corners and Tim's heart stumble under his ribs. "All for nothing," he teased, like he wasn't Tim's everything.
Tim wanted to kiss his pretty smile off of him. He wanted to run his fingers through Jason's loose curls, he wanted to even out his hoodie strings, he wanted to sink his teeth into his tan throat, he wanted.
Tim swallowed down the want and asked, like Jason's answer would help distract him from Jason, "But she is alive, right?"
"Oh yeah," Jason nodded, "Everyone's alive and happy. The Slipper seems like she was happier with you than with me, honestly. Not sure what that's about."
Tim tried to focus on which plant that was instead of the stubble on his sharp jaw. "I tried to make note of literally everything I did so you would know where I left off when you got back."
"Yeah, I read through what you did. You're hand writing is still shit, by the way, but you did everything perfectly, so good job and thank you. I also saw that Dustin and Riley-"
"Who?" Tim cut in.
"My upstairs neighbors-"
Tim sat up straight. "Your upstairs neighbors fuck so goddamn loud-"
"I know," Jason groaned, "And it's constant. I saw your cute little note about from last Wednesday, I think? But it happens literally all of the time. They're like the world's loudest rabbits."
Tim felt his cheeks warm. He teased, "Cute little note? I was doing diligent record keeping, Jason."
"Diligent record keeping would be legible, Tim," Jason teased back, "I spent like five minutes trying to decipher an entire paragraph about the Calathea-"
Tim cut in, "Your inability to read is not my fault-"
"I read all the time! " Jason pointed his butter knife at Tim, "You just couldn't pick up your pen if someone put a gun to your head-"
Tim tried and failed to bite down his smile, "It's called cursive and you learn it when you're wealthy-"
Jason mocked shock, "Your making this about class?"
"I'm just saying," Tim smirked, "If you had learned how to read cursive at private school like I did, you would-"
Jason faked dramatic outrage, "That chicken scratch bullshit is not cursive, Tim. And I make you fantastic homemade Brioche and you thank me by calling me poor?"
"I thought you said it 'wasn't your best work'?" Tim grinned, "Not a very good thank you loaf if it's not even-"
"Alright," Jason tugged Tim's plate away from him, "No more bread for the classist piece of shit-"
Tim snatched his half eaten slice of bread off the plate before Jason could stop him. He shoved it in his mouth as he pushed off the stool, successfully putting a quick two steps of distance between them. Tim grinned triumphantly around his mouth-full of Brioche and watched as Jason tried and failed to bite down on his own bright grin, his eyes crinkled at the corners despite his best efforts.
Tim's chest tightened over the warm, pleased flutter tickling the back of his heart, and he found that he couldn't tell if it was his or Jason's.
———
The first whispers of November snow melted as they landed on Jason’s dark curls. He wanted to touch them, brush them off before the could melt. He wanted to cradle Jason’s cold-flushed cheek and kiss him gently. He wanted to peel his domino off so he could look at Jason's pretty eyes as they fluttered closed. Tim could picture it so vividly he could practically taste it. Him.
Jason stuck his tongue out to catch a snow flake. Tim fought the desperate desire to put his fingers in Jason’s mouth.
“I’m surprised it’s snowing,” Jason said after a beat, breaking the comfortable quiet, “I thought it was only supposed to get bad up North.”
Tim hummed in agreement. He asked, “You know the Waffle House Index?”
“Oh, fuck,” Jason dropped his head back with a groan, “I haven’t had Waffle House in so long. That sounds so good right now.”
Tim lightly kicked his shin guard and teased, “Not an answer.”
Jason cocked his head at Tim, “Should we go get Waffle House?”
Tim teasingly snapped. “Jay, focus. Stop thinking about waffles. You know what I’m talking about?”
Jason answered Tim by grabbing a handful of snow off the ledge and tossing the dry flakes at Tim’s chest. Tim batted it away, a useless action against the flurries, and scooped up his own handful to throw. Jason put his hands up and mostly blocked Tim’s half hearted attack. He gave Tim a easy, pleased grin for his successful defense. It pulled at the scar on his cheek and showed his chipped front tooth.
Tim wanted to kiss his pretty smile off of him. He had never wanted anything more.
Without waiting for Jason’s answer, Tim told him, “They closed one in Lansing.”
Jason’s dark brows popped up. “Shit, that’s how bad it is out there?”
Tim tapped his boot against Jason’s shin guard again, just to touch him. “Yeah, News 12 said it should break over the lakes though.” Jason shifted to the side and pushed his leg out, pressing his shin guard back into Tim's armored toe. Tim's cheeks warmed in sync with his heart.
“So,” Jason tilted his chin down, giving Tim a low look, “That means ours is still open?”
Tim rolled his eyes behind his domino and knew that Jason could feel it even if he couldn’t see it. He nudged Jason's shin guard again, just because he could. “What is it with you and Waffle House? It’s not even that good.”
“No, but,” Jason sighed, “I try to be really good about going to the local spots and like, supporting small businesses and shit, and sometimes I just want a shitty burger from a lady that smells like cigarettes, ya’ know?”
Tim gave him a dry look. “No, I don’t know.”
Jason groaned, “Tim.” It was whiney and petulant and childish, but it was also Jason groaning his name.
The sound was going live in Tim’s brain for the rest of his life, whether he wanted it there or not.
“Fine,” Tim relented, throat unreasonably dry, “I will let you buy me shitty Waffle House breakfast.”
Jason lit up, visibly pleased with himself. Tim tried and failed to bite back a grin at the sight.
———
Tim didn’t want to acknowledge the time, but it was the responsible thing to do, it was the thing he would do for anyone else—anyone that he wasn’t desperate to have close.
“Hey,” Tim said softly, interrupting the quiet, “It’s almost four.”
Jason hummed around the pen between his teeth. He didn’t stop typing or look up. Tim tried not to focus on the way his lips looked wrapped loosely around the back half of a shitty pen.
Tim grabbed the equally shitty pen he stole from Jason and threw it at him. It bounced off his thick chest and landed in his lap. If Jason noticed, he didn’t care.
“You said you were going to leave at four,” Tim reminded.
Jason took the pen out of his mouth, scribbled something down, and said, “You’re still working.”
Tim didn’t want him to go. He hated himself for reminding Jason that he should leave, that he could leave. Tim said, “Yeah, but you said you had to go.”
Jason clicked his pen three times and looked up. His dark eyebrows twitched up, “Do you want me to go?”
“No,” Tim said without thinking, “But you said had to go before four. Just letting you know the time,” Tim said casually, like anything about Jason was casual to him.
“And now I know it,” Jason said, equally as casual. He grabbed one of his many Blackmask files and flipped it open, clearly signaling that he wasn’t leaving.
Tim wanted to call him an asshole, wanted to ask why he said, 'I’ve gotta leave by four' if he didn’t mean it. He also wanted him to stay.
Tim swallowed down the fluttery pleasure tickling the back of his throat and put his focus back on his laptop.
It only took a few minutes for Jason to break the quiet, “When do you need to call it?”
The smart thing to do would be to call it a night before five, which was early enough that he could still get a full two hours of sleep. The thing he wanted to do was sit across from Jason in relative silence until the end of time.
Tim faked nonchalance, “Whenever you go.”
Jason hummed, and said lowly, “I’m not going anywhere, Red.”
The blood on the inside of Tim’s veins thrummed a little harder, he felt his pulse in his elbows and his chest. He hoped his cheeks didn’t look as hot as they felt.
Tim swallowed again and said, “Cool,” like anything about them was just cool.
———
Tim’s comm line triple beeped- Jason’s signal- so Tim tapped him in without thinking. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Hey. Sorry to bother. What are you doing right now and how important is it?” Jason sounded like he was trying not to sound winded.
“Not a bother,” Tim reminded quickly, “I’m staring at a cold case and starting to understand why it’s a cold case. What’s up? What do you need?” Are you okay?
Jason huffed, “You know that plant monster thing with the spikes and shit?”
Tim’s heartrate ticked up. “Ivy’s sandbox porcupine thing, yeah I know it. Are you okay?”
“Uh,” Tim could hear Jason’s wince, “Dr. Thompkins is doing a surgery right now so she’s busy, according to the asshole that’s running her phones, so, um,” Jason swallowed down a grunt.
“Where are you?” Tim demanded.
“Tim-”
Tim already had his little blinking dot pulled up. Jason had made it back to his permanent residence.
“I can help. I’ll-” Tim floundered. I’ll do anything you’re hurting you’re mine let me help you please- “Med report. What are your-”
“Stop panicking.” Jason huffed into his helmet’s microphone and said lowly, “I’m fine. I’m not dying, I’ve just got- fuck. I’ve got like a hundred spikes through my armor and I can’t get them out myself, in my back, so I can’t get my armor off and it’s just- fuck. This is so stupid, Tim, stop panicking. This is so fucking embarrassing. Don’t get your panties in a twist about it.”
Tim sucked in a slow, deep breath, tried to stop panicking because Jason was okay, and then let out a short huff of a laugh.
“Don’t laugh,” Jason grumbled.
“You told me not to panic,” Tim reminded, “This is the alternative.”
“Just- ugh. So are you busy?”
“No,” Tim said quickly, “Not busy. I can be there in less than 20.”
Jason growled into his helmet and muttered, “20 fuckin’ minutes of bein’ a goddamn pin cushion covered in plant spunk-”
Tim chuckled into the line as Jason grumbled about his post-Ivy condition. He kept his phone pinched between his ear and his shoulder as he tugged his boots on and tucked his sweatpants cuffs in.
In any other situation, the post-snow slush mixed with heavy rain would have made Tim drive a hair slower. But Jason didn’t hang up and Tim refused to, so they stayed on the line and compared war stories from their Ivy encounters while Tim speed through yellow lights at four in the morning.
“You ever been dangled?”
“Of course I’ve been dangled,” Tim said. He swerved into the wrong lane to avoid a massive pothole and made a mental note to replace his windshield wipers, “We’ve all been dangled. She hung Damian from his toes once.”
“That’s what he gets for wearing those stupid toe boot things.”
“Pretty sure that’s racist,” Tim commented, mostly focused on the light traffic and the relative safety of running the red light in front of him.
“Not racist to say that his boots looks stupid. Stop speeding so much.”
Tim slipped past a bright blue Prius going 10 over the speed limit, “What?”
“Stop speeding so much, I’m not bleeding out or anything.”
Tim said, “You want to stay covered in plant spunk for any longer than you have to?” instead of You’re mine-you’re hurt-I need to help-you’re hurt-you’re mine-you’re hurt-
The drive only took him 16 minutes.
He made it to the right hall and only hung up after Jason’s tinny voice said, “It’s open.”
Tim let himself in without thinking about it. “Hey,” Tim greeted lamely, “You look like shit.”
Jason still had his Red Hood helmet on with all of his gunk-covered gear, and he took up the entirety of the tiny apartment hallway’s doorframe. The heavily modulated voice said, “You look like a drowned cat.”
The heavy rain had not done Tim any favors. Ivy’s plant-based porcupine hadn’t done Jason any favors, either.
“Thanks,” Tim said dryly, and then let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “That’s not a hundred,” Tim told him, a reassurance to the both of them, “That’s like, barely a dozen.”
“Still too many,” Jason snipped back. He jerked his red helmet back and turned in the hallway. Tim kicked off his boots and followed him into a cramped, faded teal bathroom.
“The back is worse,” Tim admitted aloud, “But still not a hundred. They don’t look super deep. Why do you still have your helmet on?”
“Using it for a mic,” Jason excused lowly. Tim could appreciate that Jason kept it on to talk to him, he could also tell that the long, tan spikes in the side of Jason’s shoulders would make it painful to raise his arms in any capacity.
Tim spoke before thinking, “Want me to take it off for you?”
Jason’s hesitation showed in his silence. Tim felt a tight pang of nervousness under his chest and couldn’t tell whose it was. Tim glanced at the Jason’s reflection in the bathroom mirror and found his posture tight and defensive.
Tim swallowed, “Sorry, I can just-”
“No,” Jason cut in, “Uh, yeah. Sorry. That would be great, yeah, if you don’t mind.”
“Yeah,” Tim said, voice breathy, “Course. I’m here, aren’t I?”
It took a beat for Jason to clear his throat, voice modulator turning it growly, and say, “Yeah, you are. Sorry ‘bout that. Clasps are at four and eight.”
“Don't be sorry,” Tim reminded quietly. He stepped in, careful not to lean on any of the spikes sticking out of Jason’s back, and reached up to brush his fingertips along the bottom edge of Jason’s helmet. The clasps were invisible to the eye but easy tactile finds, right at the clock points Jason had directed him to. Tim gently pulled up on the helmet at the same time Jason bent at the knee, helping get the helmet off and over his head.
Tim fought the desperate urge to run his fingers through Jason’s flattened curls. He teased quietly, “Nice helmet hair.”
“Did it myself,” Jason quipped. Hearing his voice with the modulator settled something in Tim’s chest.
Tim put his gunk covered helmet on the bathroom counter and stepped back to appraise the situation.
The spikes were imbedded mostly in Jason’s back, shoulders, and left arm. His body armor seemed to do a good job keeping the spikes from getting organ-deep. The back and side of his left thigh caught a few strays, and there was one stuck right in the meat of Jason’s left asscheek.
“They have barbed ends,” Jason told him, quiet in the silent bathroom, “They’re all probably an inch deep or less, but they’re caught on the plate. I pulled one of out my thigh before you got here, if you want to go see what you’re dealing with.”
Tim nodded to himself, “Where is it? And where's your kit?”
“Left it in the kitchen, big kit’s under the sink. Clean towels behind you. I’ve got alcohol and gloves in here.”
Tim nodded silently and left for the directed areas.
“So,” Tim set the well-stocked med kit on the bathroom counter and asked, “Game plan? Do you think they can come out through the gear?”
“If you wiggle ‘em real good,” Jason gestured to his thigh and said, “I got one out with a bit of work, but I can’t reach the ones back there. And I think the plate’s gonna give you a bit of hell.”
“Probably,” Tim agreed quietly. The barbed ends were like arrows—they didn’t like to go back out the way they came in. “Do you have a stool or something? Or do you wanna straddle the toilet?”
“Barstool?” Jason offered, “They can go pretty low.”
"Need anything else from out there?" Tim asked.
"Don't think so."
Tim hauled one of the barstools into the small bathroom and set it right behind Jason. Tim watched him wince as he reached a hand back for the seat lever. He sat down with only the right half of his weight and braced his left boot out. At the lowest setting, Jason’s shoulders were the perfect working height for Tim. Jason met his eyes in the mirror and after a confirmation nod, Tim got started.
Jason was quiet while Tim washed his hands, so Tim didn’t break the silence. He swabbed the medical pliers with alcohol, looked over Jason’s head to met his eyes in the bathroom mirror, and asked “Ready?”
Jason nodded once, “Go for it.”
Tim had barely gotten a spike’s slippery end between the pliers when Jason’s hand came up, “Wait-”
Tim stilled, waiting. He looked at Jason’s wide eyes through the mirror. “What?”
Jason swallowed and asked, “Are you going to hurt?”
Tim cocked a brow and repeated himself, “What?”
“When you pull them out,” Jason clarified. He gave Tim a serious look in the mirror, “Is that going to classify as you hurting me?”
It took a second to process, and then Tim said, “Oh.”
The best understood, longest known, defining ceremonial trait of soulmates was that they could not hurt each out without suffering an equal cost. Right.
“Um,” Tim thought about it, “Honestly? I don’t know. But if it does, then I’ll know if you’re being a baby or not,” Tim teased lightly.
Jason’s worried face twisted down in irritation. “No, Tim, we’re not doing this if it’s gonna hurt you,” Jason shrugged, winced, and said, “I can call Roy or something.”
“Fuck that, no.” Tim stepped around him to look him in the eye without the mirror, “I’m here and we’re getting these out.”
Jason frowned. “I’m not-”
“Jase,” Tim cut in, “Seriously. No. I don’t care. And I can handle it just as well as-”
“No, Tim.” Jason’s stern voice caught Tim off guard. Tim closed his mouth and gave Jason a sharp look.
Jason sighed, deep and tired. His tone was softer, quieter, when he started, “I’m not- I-” he stopped and closed his eyes. Tim wanted to smooth out the line of tension between his dark eyebrows. He wanted to tilt Jason’s face up and kiss the tight expression off of it. He wanted to not be the reason that Jason looked so aggravated.
Jason opened his eyes, looked at the faucet instead of Tim, and whispered, “Back forever ago, after,” his jawline jumped as he clenched it. Tim filled in the blank. “I promised myself that I wasn’t gonna get you hurt or hurt you again, not like that. And this is,” he gestured uselessly, “This is you gettin’ hurt cause of me.”
Jason looked up at Tim and Tim saw the same exhaustion, the same desperation and sadness and hurt that he had been harboring in his own heart. He couldn’t tell who it belonged to this time.
Tim couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t fight the instinct to comfort the other half of his heart, not while he was sitting right in front of him. Tim switched the pliers to his left hand and reached out to the side of Jason’s head and paused just before he touched, waiting. Jason gaze didn’t waver from Tim’s own, and he didn’t move his head away. Under his ribs, Tim’s heart ached with want. He couldn’t tell if it was his or Jason’s.
After holding his own heart at bay for nearly two years, Tim gave in. He gently, tentatively, pushed his fingers into the sweaty curls behind Jason’s ear.
And Jason melted into his touch.
His eyes fluttered closed and the weight of his head got heavier in Tim’s palm. Tim curled his fingers in, gently scratching at his scalp. He set the pliers down so he could bring his other hand up to cup the side of Jason’s jaw. He brushed his thumb against the hollow of his check, over the scars and the muscle and the stubble. Every single muscle in Jason’s head and neck relaxed as he leaned into Tim’s touch-
Because Tim was touching him.
“I don’t care,” Tim said, barely a whisper in the quiet bathroom, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Tim’s heartbeat stuttered and caught in his chest, like it was too big for the space. He knew the feeling was Jason’s without thinking about it.
Jason reached his spike-free right arm up and wrapped his fingers around Tim’s hip. Tim had half a second to feel how big his hand was, to realize that Jason was touching him, before Jason tugged him close. Tim went easily, stepping into his space. The moment he was close enough, Jason pressed the crown of his head to Tim’s sternum.
And Tim’s chest ached.
It was as easy as breathing to sink his hands into the sweat damp curls at the back of his neck. Jason wanted him close and kept him close with the hand around his hip, and Tim wanted it just as bad. He had wanted it for the last three months, for the last year, for his entire life. Tim had wanted with his entire heart and soul and now he had him.
Jason nuzzled closer, pressing the strong line of his nose to base of Tim’s sternum. Tim couldn’t help but curl in and around him, cradling the back of Jason head like it was his very own heart in his hands.
—
The barb caught on Jason’s protective back plate, again. Tim wiggled it, trying to get the sharp hooks free, and felt the pinpoint pain in his own shoulder. He twisted the spike clockwise and felt one hooked barb let loose from the armored plate at the same time an icy pain radiated out from his back.
“Ouch,” Tim whispered in sympathy. Jason grunted in answer, short and quiet. It reminded Tim of Bruce.
Tim twisted again, deeper, and finally unstuck the last of the spine’s hooks. Dragging it out felt like getting a hollow needle taken out of his shoulder. Tim covered the bloody space with gauze the moment he could.
The stupid barbed spike made a dull, unsatisfying thunk in the sink next to the dozen other spikes Tim had gotten out.
“Sorry,” Tim whispered. He held the gauze down with one hand and used the other to gently scratch through the curls at the base of Jason’s neck, “Nearly half way.”
Jason dropped his head forward with a low hum, giving Tim free access to the back of his neck. Tim used the opportunity to gently apologize for the pain and, selfishly, to finally satisfy the want.
—
“Ready?”
The sharp line of Jason’s jaw jumped as he clenched it. “Yup.” Tim could tell that he was gritting his teeth as he said it.
Tim apologized preemptively, “Sorry,” grit his own teeth, and yanked the deepest spike out of the back of Jason’s left ass cheek.
Sharp, fiery hot pain shot down Tim’s leg and up his spine. Tim pressed gauze over the open wound as he steadied his breath, trying to fight through the pain. Jason’s white knuckle grip on the bathroom counter made him feel better in some cosmic way.
—
Jason said, “A little lower.”
Tim walked his fingertips a little further down the seam of Jason’s body armor, looking for the release latch. It was a tactile find, like his helmet, and Tim worked through them like he was working through the latches on Bruce’s suit.
The suit panel released under Tim’s hand, shifted a hair, and then stuck.
“This is going to suck,” Tim warned.
“Yup,” Jason agreed dryly, “Hope it doesn’t suck for you too.”
Tim didn’t bother responding. He dug his fingers into the gap between panels and gently, as gently as he could, tugged.
The armor felt suctioned against his strong back with the sticky, tightly sealed mess of blood, sweat, and plant goo. The resistance tugged at every open wound on Jason’s back and imaginary one on Tim’s own. He winced, whispered another apology, and pulled down on the plate.
Tim let the armored body plate clatter to the ground and tried to breathe through the feeling of having dozens of bandages ripped off at once.
“Sorry,” Jason grit out.
Tim flattened his palm on the slick undershirt at the middle of Jason’s back and felt it slip in the pale pink mess of sweat and blood. He gently pressed on the hard muscle in an attempt to reassure them both, and whispered, “Me too.”
—
Tim tried to ignore Jason’s gorgeous, sweaty, muscular torso while they cleaned up the bulk of bloody gauze, red spikes, and ruined armor. Jason let Tim wash his hands before he kicked him out of the bathroom to take a shower. Tim grabbed Jason a clean shirt and sweats from the directed location, left them in front of the bathroom door, and then was left to his own devices.
He snooped through his collection of books, a chunk of which Tim had bought him—the thought made his chest warm and fuzzy. Tim gave his hands a second wash at the kitchen sink to get the blood out from under his nails. He stole a Gatorade out of the fridge because he wanted to and he could.
Because he was in Jason’s apartment and they had been touching.
Tim could still feel the ghost of Jason’s curls threaded around his fingers. He couldn’t stop thinking about the flat, muscular planes of his back. He couldn’t stop wanting.
The bathroom door clicked open and Tim turned around at the noise. He regretted it the moment he did it.
Jason kept the tan towel wrapped around his waist secure with one big hand and Tim tried not to focus on the fact that he was only covered with a towel.
Tim very purposefully schooled his face, took his eyes off of Jason’s damp, bare chest, and looked him in the eyes.
Jason’s dark brows twitched up, knowing.
His cheeks prickled with heat. Tim ignored the warmth in his cheeks and Jason's pointed look and asked, “All good?”
“I’m not covered in plant spunk anymore, so yeah,” Jason stooped down to grab the folded clothes, “Let me do my leg and then, since you’re still here, if you wouldn’t mind-”
“I can do your back,” Tim said, beating him to it, “And I can do the back of your hip, if it’s too hard to reach.”
Jason’s handsome face broke into a small, pleased smirk. He teased, “You just wanna touch my ass again.”
Tim bit back an embarrassed grin and played dumb, “I don’t know what you're talking about.”
“Yes you do,” Jason told him. He looked at Tim’s stolen Gatorade, “I’d say help your self, but-”
“It’s my thank you drink,” Tim told him sweetly.
Jason mouth tightened as he fought back the same warm smile that Tim was also fighting. The easy, fluttery joy tickled the back of his ribs and it pulled at his warm cheeks. Jason’s pleased, lopsided grin pulled at his heartstrings. Tim wanted to kiss it off of him.
Tim thought about the way Jason’s hair felt curled around his fingers and thought that maybe, maybe, he might get to.
—
Jason drawled, “Terrible news.”
Tim peeled open a new gauze packet and hummed, “Oh?”
“Yeah,” the corner of Jason’s mouth twitched up, “I could reach my own ass.”
Tim gestured with the packet, “Then what the hell am I doing in here?”
Jason bit back a grin and asked sweetly, “My back?”
“Ugh,” Tim groaned in mock annoyance, “Fine. If I have to.”
“You don’t have to, but I mean, since you’re already here,” Jason trailed off and gave Tim a warm look.
“Since I’m already here,” Tim echoed, quietly teasing.
Without asking, Jason held his hands out for Tim’s new roll of white wound gauze, simultaneously playing the role of patient and assistant, and Tim handed it over. Jason held the roll in one hand and the shears in the other and waited patiently for Tim to finish preparing all of the medical tape he thought he might need.
“I was not this thorough with my leg,” Jason commented, breaking the comfortable silence.
“I can redo it,” Tim offered.
Jason huffed a laugh and teased, “If you wanna touch my ass that bad, you can just ask.”
Tim’s heart thrummed harder under the hot wave of want. He wondered if Jason could feel it too. “Maybe later,” Tim said quietly, tone warm.
Jason swallowed, audible in the small bathroom. Tim decided that the heat coiling low in his belly was as much Jason’s as his own.
He ripped off his last piece of tape, stuck it on the counter ledge, and took the gauze out of Jason’s hand. “Lean forward a little,” Tim instructed softly.
Jason, in all his bare muscled glory, did as he was told. The smattering of bright red wounds and heavy patches of scarring couldn’t take away from the sight. Tim wanted to brush his fingertips down the hollow slope of Jason’s spine, he wanted to bite into the thick muscle of his traps, he wanted to drag his hands over Jason’s ribs, he wanted.
“Pretty scuffed up, huh?” Jason joked.
Despite Jason’s light tone, anxious nerves crawled up the back of Tim’s throat. Tim reached out and gently rested his fingertips on the center of Jason’s spine, a soft reassurance for both of them, “No different than the rest of us.” He lightly brushed his fingers up to the high edge of Jason’s shoulder blade and warned, “I’m going to start here and work down. I’d say let me know if it hurts, but-”
“You’ll know,” Jason finished quietly.
“I’ll know,” Tim echoed.
Jason sheared off a small sheet of white cotton and handed it back to Tim with his good arm. The first press of clean gauze to Jason’s open wound ached in Tim’s shoulder, but it was nothing near the pain of pulling the spikes out. He smoothed it out and tugged a piece of tape off the bathroom counter ledge to hold it in place.
“Hey,” Jason looked back over his shoulder, “How’s your back?”
Tim hummed in question. He gently smoothed down another strip of tape over dressing and tried not to linger on Jason’s warm skin. He wanted to run his hands up and down the smooth planes of muscle more than he wanted to breathe. He reached for a another piece of tape instead.
“After doing mine,” Jason clarified, “You bleeding or anything?”
Tim held his hand out for another sheet of gauze and and said, “No, no bleeding. It’s a little tender, I bet there will be some bruising, but since I didn’t actually make a cut on the outside of your skin-”
“Then you shouldn’t be cut on yours,” Jason filled in. “Are we worried about internal bleeding?”
“I’m not,” Tim told him. He wiped up a slow dribble of blood and covered the spike hole with the new cotton sheet.
Jason hummed in thought. “I’d like to look you over when you’re done, just to be safe.”
Tim’s mouth twitched up despite his best efforts. He used Jason’s same teasing tone from earlier, “If you want me to take my shirt off, you can just ask.”
Jason huffed a laugh. It expanded his back out just enough to mess with Tim’s half taped wound dressing.
“No laughing,” Tim reprimanded, “At least not until I’m done.”
Tim could feel Jason’s amused grin without looking at him and had to fight back one of his own.
—
"Okay," Tim lightly smoothed his palm down the length of Jason's patched-up arm, took one last look at the thick, muscular planes of his back, and regretfully said, "Done."
"Think I'll live, doc?" Jason teased.
"Through the night at least," Tim said dryly.
"Good enough." Jason stood up to his full height and rolled his shoulders out, flexing and shifting every single one of the gorgeous muscles under his skin. Tim swallowed down his drool at the sight. He wished he had his camera, he wished he had the right to touch the way he wanted to. He turned around and started putting the med kit back together just to think about anything other than the miles of bare skin behind him.
"Woah, hold your horses." Tim glanced back and found Jason pointing at the stool. "Your turn," Jason told him, "Shirt off. I wanna see the damage."
Tim's mouth quirked up at the corner. He teased, "You want to see me with my shirt off, is what you want."
Jason nodded along, "That too. Now sit down."
Tim's cheeks warmed at the easy admission. He looked at Jason in the mirror and waited a beat, waited for him to say nevermind, I don't care. His dark eyebrows twitched up expectantly.
Tim grabbed the hem of his hoodie and fought down a wince as he tugged it up and over his head. The back of his shoulders stung where he had dug the medical pliers into Jason's back, his ribs ached where he had twisted the spikes out of Jason's side. He lowered himself down to the stool and felt the the sour wave of hurt before he saw it.
In the mirror, Jason's brows pinched down as his mouth curled in a scowl. He looked half a second from snarling at Tim's back like it had personally offended him.
Rationally, Tim could pick out Jason's acidic threads of anger and hurt and regret and understand that they were pointed inward. Irrationally, the other half of his soul was scowling at the sight of his bare skin. Embarrassment prickled under the skin of his cheeks.
"Hey," Tim breathed, "Stop."
Jason's hard gaze flickered up in the mirror from Tim's back to his eyes. His scowl deepened, somehow.
Tim turned around to look up at him without the mirror, the motion pulled at his tender side. "Jase," Tim said again, "Stop it. Seriously."
Jason's sharp jaw clenched, the muscle in his jaw jumping with it, as an aching sadness settled under the base of Tim's throat.
Tim’s heart tightened under his ribs like Jason’s frustration was a physical fist around it. He watched Jason swallow and duck his chin down, putting his hard gaze on the floor. Tim felt the sinking weight of his shame like it was his own.
“Jason,” Tim whispered again, “It’s okay, it’s-” he gestured uselessly, “Part of the gig.”
Jason gave him a tight look. “You lookin’ like that is not part of the gig.”
Tim glanced back at the mirror and found what Jason was scowling at. Every tender spot was marked with a harsh, blooming red bruise. Tim could tell which of the spikes in Jason’s shoulder were the deepest just by looking at his own back.
“It’ll heal,” Tim told both of them. He turned back to Jason and dropped his head to the side, trying to catch Jason’s eye. “Helping each other, taking a hit for each other, that’s the gig, Jason.”
Jason shook his head. "This isn’t-," he huffed a sigh, "This isn’t taking a hit, Tim. This one’s on me. And it's like, it's always me gettin' you hurt. I can't- it can't be good for you, not in the long run."
Tim swallowed down the sour hurt crawling up the back of his throat. "I have never thought that," Tim whispered honestly, "Not once."
Jason’s pretty green eyes glanced up, tight and tired and angry, and Tim couldn’t help but reach out for him.
The weight of his head dropped into Tim’s palm like he had just been waiting for the permission. Tim tilted his face up, silently asking for him, and guided Jason’s sharp jaw into his space.
Jason brushed his nose against Tim’s and Tim’s heart shuddered with the touch. It swelled in his chest, heavy and warm, as Jason gently dropped his forehead to Tim’s.
Tim leaned his forehead into Jason's and sunk both his hands into the silky curls at the nape of his neck. Jason let out a low, rumbling hum of appreciation as Tim's fingertips pushed up into his hair. Jason's satisfaction settled in his own chest, warm and heavy and pleased. Tim pressed his nose into Jason’s and gently scratched his nails down the back of his neck, coaxing a light shiver out of him.
Tim hummed as Jason's strong shoulders flexed and shuddered under his hands, as heat coiled low in his belly, as his breath ghosted over Tim's cheek.
He arched up, inhaling softly, as Jason’s warm hand slipped over the small of his bare back. Jason pulled him in, tugging him to the edge of the stool and even closer into Jason’s space. Tim arched into Jason's bare chest and felt Jason's heartbeat hit like it was his own.
Tim tugged Jason in by the back of the neck for it and turned in, pressing the bridge of his nose into the strong side of Jason’s in a desperate attempt to get even closer. Tim’s skin prickled where Jason’s warm breath ghosted against it. High under his chest, Tim's heart thrummed hot as his lips brushed against the corner of Jason’s mouth, the barest suggestion of a kiss.
And then Tim sucked in a sharp inhale again, less pleasurable than the first. Jason yanked his hand off of the tender bruise over Tim’s hip like it burned—like it hurt him as much as it hurt Tim.
“Sorry,” Jason whispered, breath soft. He started to stand. Tim caught him by the back of the neck before he could go far.
“Don’t be sorry,” Tim told him. Jason was close enough that Tim could pick out the blues from the greens under his dark lashes. He brushed his thumb over the light stubble and reminded, “Part of the gig.”
Jason’s eyes never wavered from Tim’s. He nodded slightly and echoed, “Part of the gig.” Tim felt Jason’s nerves settle, both under his hands and under his own skin. Tim nodded with him and let him go so he could stand up.
Tim turned back to the mirror and was once again greeted with the sight of Jason's bare skin. He glanced up from the obvious strength over Jason's chest and shoulders to his face and found his dark eyebrows pinched in thought. Tim wanted to smooth the tension away again, he wanted to kiss him the way he was meant to. His skin prickled with want.
"What?" Tim asked quietly.
"I have some Arnicare somewhere in there," Jason jerked his chin at the kit, "I think that's about all I'll be able to do for you, though."
"That's plenty," Tim reassured.
Jason made a noise of disagreement, but stepped around Tim for the med kit anyway.
The band of sweatpants hung low on his waist, low enough that the hollow line of his spine showed all the way to just above his tailbone. Tim swallowed down the saliva pooling under his tongue at the sight and fought the urge to reach out and touch.
And then remembered that they had been nose to nose just moments before, and realized that maybe he could touch.
Tim hesitated, just for a second, before he brushed the back of his fingers along the muscle over his spine. Jason's skin was warm to the touch and softer than he expected. The heat low in Tim's hips simmered in an echo of his warmth. He traced around the small squares of white gauze, trailed his fingertips over the shallow knobs of his spine, lingered on a poorly healed scar. Tim stopped at the top edge of Jason's waistband and gently stroked over the warm muscles above his hip, just feeling the strength below the skin.
Jason's lower back twitched and Tim realized that Jason was statue still—realized that he didn't know how long Jason had been standing perfectly still.
Tim pulled his hand back and whispered, "Sorry."
The low noise he got in return was clearly displeased. "Don't be," Jason breathed. In the mirror, Jason's head was hung low and his eyes were closed. Tim saw the contentment on his face and found it settled in his own chest. Jason mumbled, "Can I pay you to keep doin' that?"
Tim huffed a laugh and flattened his palm back on Jason's warm back. "I'll do it for free," Tim told him, pleased with Jason's pleasure.
"I'm gonna hold you to that," Jason drawled. He pulled his head up and blinked at Tim in the mirror. Tim couldn't help grin at him, at his handsome face and warm expression. After another slow blink, Jason asked quietly, "Your turn?"
"Sure," Tim said easily, like his desperation for Jason's touch wasn't a physical ache under his skin.
Jason stepped back behind Tim and clicked the gel bottle open. His contentment slipped off his features at the sight of Tim's back. Before Tim could say anything about it, Jason glanced up at the mirror and met Tim's eyes.
Their reflection showed their matching wounds—the white gauze at the front of Jason's left shoulder and the angry red bruise at the front of Tim's. Jason's few injuries visible from the front had an exact pair on Tim's arm. He knew that from the back, they would be undoubtedly identifiable as soulmates.
They only knew they belonged to each other because of Jason and his blade. They were only touching because of Jason and his spikes. If a bit of pain was the price of getting closer to his soul, then Tim would pay it, willingly and happily.
But Tim didn't have it in him to say, I would hurt like this every day if it means I get to touch you, so he didn't. He gave Jason a small, reassuring nod and tried to settle his heart enough that Jason could feel it. Tried to resist the urge to lean back into his bare chest.
After a long beat of quiet, Jason echoed his small nod and put his gaze back on Tim's shoulders.
Tim's fingers twitched with anxious nerves just before Jason's knuckles brushed against the top of his shoulder blade, the gentlest of gentle touches. The muscles in Tim’s back shuddered, and his skin prickled with cold the moment Jason's hand lifted. Tim's face had never been hotter. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet.
"I'm gonna start up here, same place you did," Jason whispered, "And we'll go from there."
Tim had never trusted his voice less. He hummed in quiet affirmation instead of speaking.
The first swipe of gel over his shoulder was cold in comparison to Jason's warm touch. Tim dropped his head down and to the right, baring his left side for Jason's administrations.
Jason's fingertips ghosted over the top of Tim's spine as brushed the ends of his hair off his neck and over his right shoulder. His skin shuddered under the barely-there touch, under the feeling of Jason's fingers in his hair, under the softness of the gesture.
"Sorry," Jason breathed. He repeated the gentle swipe, stoking over the sensitive nape of Tim's neck.
Tim used every bit of willpower he had to hold down the moan threating to escape him. He whispered, "Don't be."
Jason's calloused thumb started to work slow, hesitant circles into his bruised shoulder. His overly gentle touch was warm and firm and slick with the gel. The barest ache of pain was nothing in comparison to the pleasure of having Jason’s hand on him. Hands, Tim corrected, as Jason steadied his dry palm over Tim's bicep.
Tim swallowed down the ocean of saliva that had pooled under his tongue. He fought every instinct to lean back into his touch, to moan and ask for more.
"Okay?" Jason whispered.
Tim hummed in affirmation. He sounded dumb to his own ears.
Jason's soft chuckle tickled the shell of Tim's ear, and every nerve between his skull and the base of his spine fluttered under his skin.
The cool gel gave reason to the soft, sweeping motions of Jason's hands. Tim almost wished the gel wasn't in the way—he wanted to feel Jason's warm hands as they were, he wanted nothing but skin. Jason's fingers gentled and lingered over the meaner bruises of the bunch. Tim would have been able to recall the placement of the deepest spikes if his head wasn't so simultaneously pleasantly empty and full of pillow-soft fuzz.
Instead, he got to relearn every tender ache as Jason's warm hands worked over them. His skin prickled with want in the moments before Jason's warm hands moved to their next destination, and the nerves under his skin were settled the moment Jason's touch brushed over them. The gel left a cool, soothing wake behind as he moved from bruise to bruise.
Jason flattened his palm in the middle of Tim's back and added the slightest hint of pressure. Tim took the gentle suggestion and leaned forwards, baring his lower back for ease of access. Jason's hand lingered over his spine and, despite the already notable size of his hands, Tim couldn't help but wish they were bigger, just so Jason could touch more of him at once.
"You wanna stand?" Jason's voice was soft and gentle like his hands. He sounded like he was trying to coax Tim awake, "I wanna check your leg."
Tim blinked his dry eyes open and realized that maybe Jason sounded like that because Tim needed to be coaxed awake.
The back of his neck was tight and his head felt twice as heavy as he dragged it up. The bathroom fluorescents made for harsher light than he remembered enduring, and Jason's expression was softer than he had ever seen before.
Tim wanted to turn around and kiss him. He wanted him so bad he could practically taste him.
He stood, spine and knees protesting after their stillness. "I can do it," Tim remembered aloud, voice dry, "I can reach my own leg."
Jason rolled up to his full height and gave Tim an sweet look in the mirror. "I'm happy to do it," Jason told him.
Tim's mouth worked before his brain. "You just want to take my pants off," Tim teasingly accused.
Jason broke into the lopsided grin that Tim had grown to know and love. "That too," Jason said lightly, eyes warm.
To know and love.
The thought caught him off guard.
Tim looked at him in the mirror, really looked, and found the same high cheekbones and loose curls that he'd grown used to. Found the same pretty mouth and strong throat and broad shoulders. He met Jason's eyes and found them already looking at him.
They had almost kissed. They had been nose to nose and nearly lips to lips. Tim knew what his dark hair felt like between his fingers, he knew what Jason's broad shoulders felt like under his palms. He knew how gentle and kind Jason's scarred hands could feel on his skin. He knew what Jason's thinking face looked like and what his real laugh sounded like and what his hands felt like. Tim knew him.
And he loved him. The way he was supposed to, the way he was always meant to.
Jason cocked his head in the mirror and made a questioning face. "Okay?" Jason asked quietly.
"Yeah," Tim whispered. He turned around and looked up him. "Come here."
He didn't know what he was asking for, not really. Jason's eyes softened and his gel-cool hand gently cupped the side of Tim's jaw. It wasn't until Jason tilted his chin up, leaned down, and brushed his nose against Tim's that Tim knew exactly what he was asking for.
Tim's heart stumbled over it's self in his effort to finally, finally, kiss him.
Jason's mouth fit against his perfectly, like they were made for each other in all the ways the universe promised they would be. Tim's blood warmed as Jason's lips moved in tandem with his hand, sinking deeper and deeper into Tim's hair. Jason's shoulders were hot and strong under his hands, Tim's own shoulder ached as he caught a sheet of white gauze over Jason's delt. Tim brushed the tip of his tongue against Jason's lips and liked the soft noise that escaped him, liked that he felt it against his mouth and in his veins and under his ribs.
Jason dropped one hand to the back of Tim's thigh and tugged. Tim got the hint and helped himself onto the bathroom counter without ever taking his hand out Jason's hair or his tongue out of Jason's mouth. The discomfort on the back of his tender leg was a small price for the pleasure of having Jason so close.
He fit between Tim's legs like he belonged there—curled in around Tim, all big hands and thick arms and warm chest. Tim was finally allowed to touch the way he wanted and couldn't help himself. He dug his fingers into the thick muscle of Jason's traps and pushed his hands over his plush chest and smoothed his palms over the thick of his shoulders. He was so warm, Tim wanted to bury himself in Jason's arms and never leave.
The way Jason was wrapped around him would imply that he felt the same.
Jason's lips worked down to the sensitive edge of Tim's jaw. Tim dropped his head back to give Jason's warm mouth free access to his throat. Jason whispered against his skin, "Can I be honest?"
Tim sucked in a shallow inhale and breathed, "Of course."
Jason pulled off of Tim's neck to look him in the eye. He lost his chance to be honest as Tim lost to his base instincts and put his mouth back on Jason's.
The blood in his veins thrummed warmer as Jason’s hand on his hip tightened. Jason carded his fingers through Tim’s hair and tugged lightly, sending prickles of pleasure down his spine. Tim nipped at Jason’s bottom lip for it, and got his hair tugged in response.
Jason pulled back just far enough to whisper against Tim’s lips, "I don't think he got it wrong."
Tim paused. Jason's mouth stilled in answer. Tim leaned back just a hair and whispered, "What?"
"I don't think he got it wrong," Jason said again, even quieter. "Fate or god or whatever," he clarified.
The bathroom fluorescents behind Tim threw harsh shadows on the high edges of Jason's face, highlighting his lashes and hollowing his cheeks even further. Tim looked at him and tried to imagine how anything about him could be wrong. He thumbed over Jason's prickly jaw and racked his brain for the right thing to say.
The corners of Jason's eyes twitched down. He swallowed and asked, "Do you?"
"What?" Tim's voice caught in his throat.
Jason's voice wavered, "Do you think he got it wrong?"
"No," Tim whispered. He tangled his fingers in the soft curls behind Jason's ear and admitted quietly, "I didn't- I thought you didn't want me."
Jason's face fell and Tim felt the hurt under his ribs. "Who on God's green earth wouldn't want you?"
The corners of Tim's eyes stung, threatening him with tears. He blinked them back and whispered, "You."
"No," Jason shook his head "No, no. I-" Jason rough palm brushed across Tim's cheek as he cradled his face, "I've always-" his voice caught.
Tim smoothed his hands over Jason's bare shoulders, catching on taped gauze, in an attempt to sooth both of them. He rubbed his thumb over Jason’s collarbone and stumbled quietly, "You didn't- I couldn't- You kept your distance. You avoided me-"
“I came every time you called,” Jason reminded quietly, “Every single time.”
It was true, he had come every time Tim had called. He answered the phone and showed up where he was told and played by the rules. “Yeah, but,” Tim leaned his head into Jason’s hand and whispered, “You never stayed.”
Jason’s mouth twitched down. He stroked his thumb along the sensitive skin behind Tim’s ear and swallowed down the same guilt that was crawling up the back of Tim’s throat. He admitted softly, “No, I didn’t. I should have. I didn’t- You didn’t seem-” he swallowed again. Tim wanted to put his lips on the strong line of his throat. “I couldn't tell if you hated me or not. And-"
"Never," Tim interrupted quietly, honestly.
Jason pushed on, "And I didn’t wanna force myself on you, you know? Not if you didn't want anything to do with me.”
Tim dragged his palm over the thick of Jason trap and tried to make sense of the thought, of the idea that his soulmate could force himself on Tim, the idea that Tim wouldn't want everything to do with him. “What?”
“What what?” Jason echoed. His rough callouses ghosted over the shell of Tim’s ear, tickling the sensitive nerves.
“Force yourself?” Tim asked.
Jason's short nails scratched at the sensitive nape of Tim's neck. The nerves spanning down his neck and over his shoulders lit up with pleasantly prickly tingles. "Yeah," Jason's voice was soft, "Just cause the big man decided we're a pair doesn't mean that I'm gonna force myself on you. We've still got a choice in this shit. You should- you don’t have to be stuck with me if you don't wanna be."
Something sour and anxious tightened around the base of Tim’s throat. He tried to sooth the feeling by gently stroking along the sharp lines of Jason's face. The stubbled edge of Jason's jaw was rough under Tim's thumb when he admitted softly, honestly, "I do."
Jason’s pretty green eyes lit up. He cupped the back of Tim’s neck like he was going to pull him in. “Yeah?” Jason asked.
Tim’s heart fluttered, tickling the backside of his ribs. His cheeks twitched up against his will. “Yeah,” Tim whispered. He swallowed down his nerves and got out half the question, “Do-” before his throat caught.
Jason tugged him in by the hip and the neck and kissed him like he meant it, like he had something to say, like he had nothing he’d rather be doing. Jason’s curls were soft between his fingers, and Jason’s lips were warm against his own, and Jason’s chest was hot and firm against is skin, Jason-
“Tim,” Jason whispered against his lips, “There ain’t a world where I don’t want you.” Jason kissed the hollow of his cheek and breathed, “Of course I want you.” Tim shivered as Jason nipped at the edge of his jaw. “How couldn’t I?” Jason asked against his skin, “How could I ever not want you?”
A tension Tim had never been able to name seeped out of his shoulders. Relief flooded through him, heavy and freeing. He dropped his head to the crook of Jason’s neck and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
Jason’s fingers sunk into his hair as he cradled the back of Tim’s head. “Of course I want you,” Jason whispered into his hair, “Of course I want you. How could anyone not want you?” His hand was warm in the center of Tim’s bare back. Tim's skin ached where Jason pressed on the bruising just to get him closer. He dug his fingers into Jason's muscular shoulders, keeping him close, with little regard for the tight pain it put in his own shoulders. Tim buried his nose into the crook of Jason's neck and found it just as warm as the rest of him.
"Stay the night," Jason's lips brushed over Tim's temple, "Please."
Tim nuzzled his nose into the side of Jason's neck and whispered, "Just the night?"
Jason's soft huff was warm against the shell of his ear. "More than the night, then," Jason said softly, "Just-," he pressed a dry kiss to the space between Tim's brows and whispered, "Stay."
———
"Morning, gorgeous."
Tim groaned petulantly into Jason's pillow. Jason's chuckle brushed warm air over his bare shoulder and Tim found the feeling just as pleasant as he did the night before, even if it was dragging him back into consciousness.
Jason pressed a wet kiss to the back of his neck. He brushed a warm hand over Tim's sensitive ribs, tickling the tingly nerves under his skin. His lips ghosted over Tim's spine as he whispered, "I gotta head out, you don't need to get up though."
Tim let out a muffled, displeased groan. Jason grinned against the back of his neck and Tim felt it against his skin as much as he felt it under his ribs, right next to his heart.
"I made you coffee," Jason whispered apologetically, "And I'll be back in like half an hour."
"Too long," Tim muttered. He shifted out from under Jason's hand and regretted it the moment his bare chest hit cold air. He scowled at nothing and pushed to a sit so he could lean against the headboard. Jason's bedhead curls and sweet grin fluttered under Tim's ribs and made it hard to hold his scowl. He pursed his lips in a half pout, felt childish for it, and held his hand out for the steaming mug.
Instead of giving him the requested coffee, Jason slipped his pointer finger under Tim's hand and raised it up while he leaned down. His dark lashes fluttered closed as he pressed his lips to the back of Tim's knuckles.
Tim's heart stuttered under his chest at the kindness, like it was still a surprise. His cheeks prickled with warmth, like a kiss to the back of his knuckles was the most scandalous thing they'd ever done. He left his fingers under Jason's lips instead of sinking them into his hair and dragging him up for the morning greeting Tim always wanted.
Jason pulled back only to replace his lips with the warm coffee mug. Tim could tell from the color alone that it was made just the way he liked it.
Before he took a sip, Tim tilted his chin up in a silent request for a kiss, got what he wanted, and whispered against Jason's lips, "Thank you for the coffee."
Jason gave him a content hum in response. He cupped the back of Tim's head and trailed soft kisses along Tim's jaw, over the shell of his ear, up to his hairline. Tim let his head fall heavy in Jason's palm as he did as whatever he pleased, and Tim enjoyed every second of it. Each of his kisses soothed the nerves under his skin and settled in his chest, the way they always did.
The coffee mug was warm between his palms and Jason's lips were warm against his temple. Tim's heart clenched under his chest, tight and full of warmth and entirely Jason's, as Jason whispered, "Thank you for staying."