Mysteries (Tim, Bernard, G, Robin)
Title: Mysteries
Author: Mimic
Characters/Pairings: Tim, Bernard
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't play for keeps. DC owns them.
Notes: I want to call this a bit of an exercise, just a snip of school life for one Tim Drake.
Feedback: Love it.
Word Count: 600
“Hello, Timothy.”
His shoulders stiffen on reflex, and Bernard smiles at him for a long moment before Tim forces himself to relax.
Bernard has been, since the day he forced himself into Tim’s life, one of the few civilians with the capability to sneak up on him without him noticing. He has yet to decide whether this is due to any of Bernard’s talents, or merely the fact that Tim’s subconscious does not recognize him as a threat until he is, quite literally, in his face.
He gives Bernard what he hopes is an impassive stare. Bernard returns it with one of his more calculating assessments. “Were you going to sit?” he finally asks.
Bernard smiles, more of a smirk this time, though, if Tim is being honest, and sits down across from him.
“Really, darling. If you’re going to wear red at least go for a short sleeve.”
Tim looks down at his shirt, not realizing until he looks back up that’s exactly what Bernard wanted him to do. His entire game is throwing those around him off balance.
Perhaps it’s the daylight that conflicts with Tim’s ability to correctly read situations.
“I don’t have anything with short sleeves,” he replies.
He doesn’t actually count his costume when answering.
Bernard stares, before shaking his head sadly, like Tim is a horrible unrefined child making a mess of things.
“There’s so much wrong with that…” he trails off, “Anyway. Tim, man, I need your help.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”
Bernard smirks. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m on the run from the law,” he says so airily Tim wants to believe him. “No, I have a project. Localized history. You’re going to be providing pictures.”
His eyebrow goes even higher, and when Bernard casually steals a handful of his potato chips the other joins it.
“Why would I do that? After all, you just insulted me, stole my food, and demanded I help you.”
He deftly hits Bernard’s hand away when he reaches for more chips, and tries to ignore the burn of his dark eyes staring into Tim’s own for a fleeting second before he returns to scanning the lunch room.
“Because as soon as I show you my horrid attempts at photography you’ll have an aneurism, and we both want to avoid that.” Bernard steals his zesti this time, and Tim debates internally for half a minute before letting it pass.
He wants to say he doubts Bernard will be that bad, but he’s staring at Tim again, and well, his father is beginning to worry he isn’t socializing with children of his own age group frequently enough.
Bernard tilts his chin forward, and a lock of his blond hair falls in front of his face.
Tim frowns. “Friday?”
“This afternoon. The project is due on Friday.”
“Next time,” Tim rolls his eyes, “you harass me into helping you, give me sufficient warning.”
Bernard grins. “Where would the fun be in that?”
Tim eats the last of his chips, and throws Bernard another level stare, eyes narrowing on the sunglasses that have switched from his left hand to his head and back several times now. “I’m sure you’d think of something.”
“Justly so, darling.” Bernard stands, waving as if to dismiss Tim from his presence. “After class.”
Noted, he doesn’t say.
He wonders, quietly to himself, when did things become so he was no longer the mysterious one in their friendship.
Author: Mimic
Characters/Pairings: Tim, Bernard
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't play for keeps. DC owns them.
Notes: I want to call this a bit of an exercise, just a snip of school life for one Tim Drake.
Feedback: Love it.
Word Count: 600
“Hello, Timothy.”
His shoulders stiffen on reflex, and Bernard smiles at him for a long moment before Tim forces himself to relax.
Bernard has been, since the day he forced himself into Tim’s life, one of the few civilians with the capability to sneak up on him without him noticing. He has yet to decide whether this is due to any of Bernard’s talents, or merely the fact that Tim’s subconscious does not recognize him as a threat until he is, quite literally, in his face.
He gives Bernard what he hopes is an impassive stare. Bernard returns it with one of his more calculating assessments. “Were you going to sit?” he finally asks.
Bernard smiles, more of a smirk this time, though, if Tim is being honest, and sits down across from him.
“Really, darling. If you’re going to wear red at least go for a short sleeve.”
Tim looks down at his shirt, not realizing until he looks back up that’s exactly what Bernard wanted him to do. His entire game is throwing those around him off balance.
Perhaps it’s the daylight that conflicts with Tim’s ability to correctly read situations.
“I don’t have anything with short sleeves,” he replies.
He doesn’t actually count his costume when answering.
Bernard stares, before shaking his head sadly, like Tim is a horrible unrefined child making a mess of things.
“There’s so much wrong with that…” he trails off, “Anyway. Tim, man, I need your help.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”
Bernard smirks. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m on the run from the law,” he says so airily Tim wants to believe him. “No, I have a project. Localized history. You’re going to be providing pictures.”
His eyebrow goes even higher, and when Bernard casually steals a handful of his potato chips the other joins it.
“Why would I do that? After all, you just insulted me, stole my food, and demanded I help you.”
He deftly hits Bernard’s hand away when he reaches for more chips, and tries to ignore the burn of his dark eyes staring into Tim’s own for a fleeting second before he returns to scanning the lunch room.
“Because as soon as I show you my horrid attempts at photography you’ll have an aneurism, and we both want to avoid that.” Bernard steals his zesti this time, and Tim debates internally for half a minute before letting it pass.
He wants to say he doubts Bernard will be that bad, but he’s staring at Tim again, and well, his father is beginning to worry he isn’t socializing with children of his own age group frequently enough.
Bernard tilts his chin forward, and a lock of his blond hair falls in front of his face.
Tim frowns. “Friday?”
“This afternoon. The project is due on Friday.”
“Next time,” Tim rolls his eyes, “you harass me into helping you, give me sufficient warning.”
Bernard grins. “Where would the fun be in that?”
Tim eats the last of his chips, and throws Bernard another level stare, eyes narrowing on the sunglasses that have switched from his left hand to his head and back several times now. “I’m sure you’d think of something.”
“Justly so, darling.” Bernard stands, waving as if to dismiss Tim from his presence. “After class.”
Noted, he doesn’t say.
He wonders, quietly to himself, when did things become so he was no longer the mysterious one in their friendship.