Fic: Permanent Fixtures; Tim/Bernard; PG-13
Title: Permanent Fixtures
Author: Aravis Tarkheena
Pairing: Bernard/Tim
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst like a motherfucker >:( I probably shouldn't swear so much. :(
Disclaimer: Not mine
Word Count: 2,100 or so
Author's Notes: Beta-ed by felonazcorp. She gives me Timmy in a skirt and I repay her with angst. I'm TERRIBLE.
Permanent Fixtures
Tim tripped through the bedroom window sometime after four in the morning. He was trying to be as quiet as possible, but he walked with a pronounced limp and Bernard could hear how much pain he was in by Tim’s hitched and labored breathing.
Sitting up in bed, Bernard flicked on the lamp that was set up on his nightstand. Tim whirled around to face him, or at least he tried to. All he really managed was an aborted twist of his hips and a dramatic wince. He gasped slightly in pain and bit his bottom lip.
“Rough night?” Bernard asked, trying to keep his voice even.
Tim just nodded shortly and limped into the bathroom. The light flicked on and Tim awkwardly shut the door behind him. Bernard could hear him fumbling under the sink for the first aid kit.
He climbed out of bed and padded he way over to the bathroom door. He pulled it back open and gestured for Tim to get out of the way as he reached for the kit himself. Tim stood stiffly and watched as Bernard flicked open the buckle of the tackle box that contained all of Tim’s serious first aid items.
“I think-“ Tim started to say, but his voice was low and raspy, like he had strep throat or post nasal drip. Only he didn’t have either of those things and Bernard tried not to think too hard about it. Tim cleared his throat and tried again. “I think I just want some pain killers now. I want to rinse off before I bandage anything. I’m pretty filthy.”
Bernard nodded in understanding and flipped open the bottle of pain killers that Tim motioned to. He spilled two into his palm and handed them to Tim.
Tim downed them dry and started to unbuckle his uniform. It was ripped and torn in several places and Tim was missing a gauntlet. Bernard reached to turn on the water for the shower while the individual pieces of Tim’s uniform hit the floor. Bernard turned the water up, as hot as it would go. Tim liked his showers practically scalding and Bernard knew he would be reassured and comforted by the familiarity of the prickling hot water and the smell of the soap Tim had used for years.
Bernard wished he didn’t know these things so well. He wished he didn’t exactly how Tim liked his broken fingers taped, or how many layers of gauze he thought were too many and how many he thought weren’t enough. Bernard wished that he didn’t know the specific brand of antiseptic that Tim used or know by heart the familiar scent of the bruise cream.
When Tim was finally naked and in his shower, Bernard tried not to think about how he had gotten all those cuts and bruises. He tried not to think about why Tim’s throat would be raw and bruised the way it was. He tried not to think about the awkward way Tim was holding his left shoulder or what caused those little burns down the back of Tim’s left arm.
Bernard tried hard to keep his mind blank as he picked up the scattered pieces of Tim’s suit and hauled them back into the bedroom. He opened the closet and pushed all of Tim’s expensive suits to the left to reveal the safe door and key pad. Bernard keyed opened the lock and waited for the retina scan to go through before pulling open the heavy safe door and grabbing one of the large bags inside.
It was basically a Bat-trash bag. When Tim ruined a suit, which was far more often than Bernard cared to think about, it got tied up in these dark black bags and carted off to the Bat Cave.
Bernard loaded all the gear into the bag and tossed it back into the safe. He shut the door and rearmed the lock before pushing back the suits and shutting the closet door. He then moved across the bedroom to Tim’s wardrobe and pulled out a pair of Tim’s sweats and an old T-shirt that said ‘Haley’s Circus’ across the front.
It was Tim’s favorite sleep shirt. Tim told him once that he had stolen it from Dick’s apartment when he was twelve or so. It had been huge on him then. Now it was threadbare and too tight around the shoulders and arms. That didn’t stop Tim from wearing it like a talisman, though.
Bernard swallowed hard and collected himself before walking back into the bathroom. Tim was just turning off the water when Bernard walked in the room. Tim flicked open the shower curtain and reached for his towel. He winced sharply as something pulled and drew his arm back abruptly.
Bernard grabbed the towel himself and stepped in close to the tub, he used the soft terry cloth to gently pat Tim dry carefully around the injuries. When they had first moved in together, Bernard wondered why Tim had so adamantly refused to buy the Sunburst Yellow towels that had appealed to Bernard. They were bright and pretty and the name amused Bernard to no end. So he had bought them in spite of Tim’s opinion.
Three weeks into their lease, Bernard learned why Tim didn’t like them.
Blood showed up a hell of a lot more on Sunburst Yellow than it did on Midnight Blue.
“What’s the worst of it?” Bernard asked, trying hard to keep his voice even. The water at Tim’s feet that was slowly draining from the tub was a light pink color and it made Bernard feel more than a little dizzy around the eyes.
At first he thought he would get used to this. Tim told him it got easier after a while. Bernard was starting to suspect that would not be true for him.
“I’m just stiff and ache a lot, that’s all,” Tim said in his rough voice. “The cuts aren’t so bad.”
Bernard nodded and stepped back as Tim climbed out of the tub and sat down on the seat of the toilet.
Bernard knelt down on the bathroom floor next to Tim, methodically picking through the tackle box for just the right bandages and wound cream. He worked steadily from the bottom up, determinedly not thinking about Tim’s blood on his fingers and clothes.
Bernard was reaching for a set of butterfly stitches when Tim’s hands came down and cupped his face. Bernard turned, startled, to look up at Tim.
Tim was gazing down at him with serious and apologetic eyes. His mouth was in the slight frown it took on when Tim was feeling some serious regret.
“I’m sorry,” he husked and bent his neck to press his forehead to Bernard’s.
“Why is your voice hoarse?” Bernard asked, hating himself for asking but tired of never knowing what exactly Tim was getting into. Reality had to be better than his imagination, right?
Tim took a deep shuddering breath and exhaled long and low. His breath smelled like blood and spit.
“I was strangled,” Tim said softly, as if the tone of his voice could make his words any less jarring.
Bernard looked abruptly away from Tim, unaccountably unable to look him in the eye. Tim dropped his hands to his lap and swallowed hard.
Bernard wasn’t sure how Tim’s little revelation made him feel. It had been what he had suspected. Was knowing really better than not knowing?
Bernard reflected back to the time when he and Tim had an unspoken agreement not to talk about Tim’s little hobby, as Bernard had come to call it.
Bernard had his suspicions for years, and it had, admittedly, been easier on their relationship after Tim had come clean about working with Batman.
Perhaps knowing was only better in some cases.
Bernard knew Tim hadn’t told him sooner because Tim was trying to protect both Bernard and himself. Bernard had respected that. He had understood. He hadn’t liked it by any stretch of the imagination, but he conceded the necessity.
Maybe Tim didn’t tell him about the cuts, the bruises, the broken bones and burns because Tim was still trying to protect him in his own infinitely fucked up Tim-way.
“Hey, Bernard?” Tim called him, his voice still as soft as he could make it through the choked rasp. He sounded worried.
Bernard looked back up at Tim. Tim didn’t just looked worried, he looked scared. His bright blue eyes were wide open and Bernard could see Tim’s pulse beating hard in his neck. His breathing was coming fast and raggedly and Bernard suspected it wasn’t just from pain.
“Bernard?” the tone of Tim’s voice snapped Bernard out of whatever daze he had fallen into when Tim skulked through their bedroom window limping and bleeding. Tim’s voice was low, and terrified. It was infused with such a profound sense of loneliness and resignation that Bernard felt himself propelled forward.
He wrapped his arms around Tim, pulled him down off of the toilet, pressing him close. Bernard held Tim as tightly as he could, wishing that he could use every ounce of his strength to wash the loneliness and fear from Tim’s mind.
“I love you,” Bernard whispered into Tim’s wet hair, his voice ragged from emotion. He reached over with one hand to cup Tim’s jaw and draw Tim’s face to his own. “I love you so much. You’re the most important thing in my life and when you come home all cut and covered in bruises it terrifies me,” Bernard took a deep breath and continued, his voice still thick with emotion. “I’m afraid to ask what happened, and I’m afraid of your answers. I’m afraid to yell at you because I know this is who you are and I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get you to stop or chose between your work and me because I’m not, Tim.”
Bernard felt tears welling in his eyes as he spoke. Tim bit his lip and blinked rapidly.
“I’m scared and I love you and I’m not really sure how to express these things without breaking the thin ice that our relationship rests on,” Bernard swallowed. “Do you get what I’m saying or am I making no sense at all?”
Tim reached up and palmed one of Bernard’s cheeks. “Bernard, our relationship isn’t resting on thin ice. I sure as hell wouldn’t have let you into things this far if I thought it was. You’re a part of my life. You feel like a permanent fixture. You don’t need to be afraid of pissing me off. I’m not going to leave.”
Then everything came crashing down on Bernard all at once. Years and years of tending to this relationship on tenterhooks had made Bernard think that this type of confrontation would spell the end to what had once been a tenuous relationship. But it wasn’t tenuous anymore. It wasn’t temporary
This was real. This was serious. This was forever. This was love.
Bernard felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. He took a deep breath and smiled down at Tim. He hugged him close for a moment before pressing a quick kiss to his forehead and picking them both up off the ground.
Tim watched him speculatively as Bernard lead Tim into the bedroom, squared both their shoulders and took two steps back from him.
“Stop getting strangled you, nitwit!” Bernard shouted suddenly in his best serious voice, gesticulating wildly with his hands.
Tim looked equal parts nonplussed and amused as Bernard proceeded to chew him out for being so inconsiderate as to go off and get himself hurt. This went on for about twenty minutes, by which time both Bernard’s angry demands and Tim’s defensive placations deteriorated into laughing fits.
They ended up in a heap on the floor with Tim’s head pillowed on Bernard’s stomach and Bernard’s fingers gently threading through Tim’s hair.
“Permanent Fixture, huh?” Bernard asked, still slightly breathless from laughter. “Now is that Permanent Fixture like a new sink, or Permanent Fixture like a spouse?”
Tim titled his head to eye Bernard speculatively. “Would the sink come with a garbage disposal?” Tim asked teasingly.
Bernard grinned down at him. “No, but the spouse’ll come with an extensive knowledge of Show Tunes. So I’d watch it if I were you.”
Tim sat up quickly a look of horror on his face. “Dear God, anything but that!” he exlaimed plaintively.
Bernard smirked. “That’s what I thought. Now about my ring, Rich Boy…”
Author: Aravis Tarkheena
Pairing: Bernard/Tim
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst like a motherfucker >:( I probably shouldn't swear so much. :(
Disclaimer: Not mine
Word Count: 2,100 or so
Author's Notes: Beta-ed by felonazcorp. She gives me Timmy in a skirt and I repay her with angst. I'm TERRIBLE.
Permanent Fixtures
Tim tripped through the bedroom window sometime after four in the morning. He was trying to be as quiet as possible, but he walked with a pronounced limp and Bernard could hear how much pain he was in by Tim’s hitched and labored breathing.
Sitting up in bed, Bernard flicked on the lamp that was set up on his nightstand. Tim whirled around to face him, or at least he tried to. All he really managed was an aborted twist of his hips and a dramatic wince. He gasped slightly in pain and bit his bottom lip.
“Rough night?” Bernard asked, trying to keep his voice even.
Tim just nodded shortly and limped into the bathroom. The light flicked on and Tim awkwardly shut the door behind him. Bernard could hear him fumbling under the sink for the first aid kit.
He climbed out of bed and padded he way over to the bathroom door. He pulled it back open and gestured for Tim to get out of the way as he reached for the kit himself. Tim stood stiffly and watched as Bernard flicked open the buckle of the tackle box that contained all of Tim’s serious first aid items.
“I think-“ Tim started to say, but his voice was low and raspy, like he had strep throat or post nasal drip. Only he didn’t have either of those things and Bernard tried not to think too hard about it. Tim cleared his throat and tried again. “I think I just want some pain killers now. I want to rinse off before I bandage anything. I’m pretty filthy.”
Bernard nodded in understanding and flipped open the bottle of pain killers that Tim motioned to. He spilled two into his palm and handed them to Tim.
Tim downed them dry and started to unbuckle his uniform. It was ripped and torn in several places and Tim was missing a gauntlet. Bernard reached to turn on the water for the shower while the individual pieces of Tim’s uniform hit the floor. Bernard turned the water up, as hot as it would go. Tim liked his showers practically scalding and Bernard knew he would be reassured and comforted by the familiarity of the prickling hot water and the smell of the soap Tim had used for years.
Bernard wished he didn’t know these things so well. He wished he didn’t exactly how Tim liked his broken fingers taped, or how many layers of gauze he thought were too many and how many he thought weren’t enough. Bernard wished that he didn’t know the specific brand of antiseptic that Tim used or know by heart the familiar scent of the bruise cream.
When Tim was finally naked and in his shower, Bernard tried not to think about how he had gotten all those cuts and bruises. He tried not to think about why Tim’s throat would be raw and bruised the way it was. He tried not to think about the awkward way Tim was holding his left shoulder or what caused those little burns down the back of Tim’s left arm.
Bernard tried hard to keep his mind blank as he picked up the scattered pieces of Tim’s suit and hauled them back into the bedroom. He opened the closet and pushed all of Tim’s expensive suits to the left to reveal the safe door and key pad. Bernard keyed opened the lock and waited for the retina scan to go through before pulling open the heavy safe door and grabbing one of the large bags inside.
It was basically a Bat-trash bag. When Tim ruined a suit, which was far more often than Bernard cared to think about, it got tied up in these dark black bags and carted off to the Bat Cave.
Bernard loaded all the gear into the bag and tossed it back into the safe. He shut the door and rearmed the lock before pushing back the suits and shutting the closet door. He then moved across the bedroom to Tim’s wardrobe and pulled out a pair of Tim’s sweats and an old T-shirt that said ‘Haley’s Circus’ across the front.
It was Tim’s favorite sleep shirt. Tim told him once that he had stolen it from Dick’s apartment when he was twelve or so. It had been huge on him then. Now it was threadbare and too tight around the shoulders and arms. That didn’t stop Tim from wearing it like a talisman, though.
Bernard swallowed hard and collected himself before walking back into the bathroom. Tim was just turning off the water when Bernard walked in the room. Tim flicked open the shower curtain and reached for his towel. He winced sharply as something pulled and drew his arm back abruptly.
Bernard grabbed the towel himself and stepped in close to the tub, he used the soft terry cloth to gently pat Tim dry carefully around the injuries. When they had first moved in together, Bernard wondered why Tim had so adamantly refused to buy the Sunburst Yellow towels that had appealed to Bernard. They were bright and pretty and the name amused Bernard to no end. So he had bought them in spite of Tim’s opinion.
Three weeks into their lease, Bernard learned why Tim didn’t like them.
Blood showed up a hell of a lot more on Sunburst Yellow than it did on Midnight Blue.
“What’s the worst of it?” Bernard asked, trying hard to keep his voice even. The water at Tim’s feet that was slowly draining from the tub was a light pink color and it made Bernard feel more than a little dizzy around the eyes.
At first he thought he would get used to this. Tim told him it got easier after a while. Bernard was starting to suspect that would not be true for him.
“I’m just stiff and ache a lot, that’s all,” Tim said in his rough voice. “The cuts aren’t so bad.”
Bernard nodded and stepped back as Tim climbed out of the tub and sat down on the seat of the toilet.
Bernard knelt down on the bathroom floor next to Tim, methodically picking through the tackle box for just the right bandages and wound cream. He worked steadily from the bottom up, determinedly not thinking about Tim’s blood on his fingers and clothes.
Bernard was reaching for a set of butterfly stitches when Tim’s hands came down and cupped his face. Bernard turned, startled, to look up at Tim.
Tim was gazing down at him with serious and apologetic eyes. His mouth was in the slight frown it took on when Tim was feeling some serious regret.
“I’m sorry,” he husked and bent his neck to press his forehead to Bernard’s.
“Why is your voice hoarse?” Bernard asked, hating himself for asking but tired of never knowing what exactly Tim was getting into. Reality had to be better than his imagination, right?
Tim took a deep shuddering breath and exhaled long and low. His breath smelled like blood and spit.
“I was strangled,” Tim said softly, as if the tone of his voice could make his words any less jarring.
Bernard looked abruptly away from Tim, unaccountably unable to look him in the eye. Tim dropped his hands to his lap and swallowed hard.
Bernard wasn’t sure how Tim’s little revelation made him feel. It had been what he had suspected. Was knowing really better than not knowing?
Bernard reflected back to the time when he and Tim had an unspoken agreement not to talk about Tim’s little hobby, as Bernard had come to call it.
Bernard had his suspicions for years, and it had, admittedly, been easier on their relationship after Tim had come clean about working with Batman.
Perhaps knowing was only better in some cases.
Bernard knew Tim hadn’t told him sooner because Tim was trying to protect both Bernard and himself. Bernard had respected that. He had understood. He hadn’t liked it by any stretch of the imagination, but he conceded the necessity.
Maybe Tim didn’t tell him about the cuts, the bruises, the broken bones and burns because Tim was still trying to protect him in his own infinitely fucked up Tim-way.
“Hey, Bernard?” Tim called him, his voice still as soft as he could make it through the choked rasp. He sounded worried.
Bernard looked back up at Tim. Tim didn’t just looked worried, he looked scared. His bright blue eyes were wide open and Bernard could see Tim’s pulse beating hard in his neck. His breathing was coming fast and raggedly and Bernard suspected it wasn’t just from pain.
“Bernard?” the tone of Tim’s voice snapped Bernard out of whatever daze he had fallen into when Tim skulked through their bedroom window limping and bleeding. Tim’s voice was low, and terrified. It was infused with such a profound sense of loneliness and resignation that Bernard felt himself propelled forward.
He wrapped his arms around Tim, pulled him down off of the toilet, pressing him close. Bernard held Tim as tightly as he could, wishing that he could use every ounce of his strength to wash the loneliness and fear from Tim’s mind.
“I love you,” Bernard whispered into Tim’s wet hair, his voice ragged from emotion. He reached over with one hand to cup Tim’s jaw and draw Tim’s face to his own. “I love you so much. You’re the most important thing in my life and when you come home all cut and covered in bruises it terrifies me,” Bernard took a deep breath and continued, his voice still thick with emotion. “I’m afraid to ask what happened, and I’m afraid of your answers. I’m afraid to yell at you because I know this is who you are and I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get you to stop or chose between your work and me because I’m not, Tim.”
Bernard felt tears welling in his eyes as he spoke. Tim bit his lip and blinked rapidly.
“I’m scared and I love you and I’m not really sure how to express these things without breaking the thin ice that our relationship rests on,” Bernard swallowed. “Do you get what I’m saying or am I making no sense at all?”
Tim reached up and palmed one of Bernard’s cheeks. “Bernard, our relationship isn’t resting on thin ice. I sure as hell wouldn’t have let you into things this far if I thought it was. You’re a part of my life. You feel like a permanent fixture. You don’t need to be afraid of pissing me off. I’m not going to leave.”
Then everything came crashing down on Bernard all at once. Years and years of tending to this relationship on tenterhooks had made Bernard think that this type of confrontation would spell the end to what had once been a tenuous relationship. But it wasn’t tenuous anymore. It wasn’t temporary
This was real. This was serious. This was forever. This was love.
Bernard felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. He took a deep breath and smiled down at Tim. He hugged him close for a moment before pressing a quick kiss to his forehead and picking them both up off the ground.
Tim watched him speculatively as Bernard lead Tim into the bedroom, squared both their shoulders and took two steps back from him.
“Stop getting strangled you, nitwit!” Bernard shouted suddenly in his best serious voice, gesticulating wildly with his hands.
Tim looked equal parts nonplussed and amused as Bernard proceeded to chew him out for being so inconsiderate as to go off and get himself hurt. This went on for about twenty minutes, by which time both Bernard’s angry demands and Tim’s defensive placations deteriorated into laughing fits.
They ended up in a heap on the floor with Tim’s head pillowed on Bernard’s stomach and Bernard’s fingers gently threading through Tim’s hair.
“Permanent Fixture, huh?” Bernard asked, still slightly breathless from laughter. “Now is that Permanent Fixture like a new sink, or Permanent Fixture like a spouse?”
Tim titled his head to eye Bernard speculatively. “Would the sink come with a garbage disposal?” Tim asked teasingly.
Bernard grinned down at him. “No, but the spouse’ll come with an extensive knowledge of Show Tunes. So I’d watch it if I were you.”
Tim sat up quickly a look of horror on his face. “Dear God, anything but that!” he exlaimed plaintively.
Bernard smirked. “That’s what I thought. Now about my ring, Rich Boy…”