Fic: After the Dust Settles: 8/8; Tim/Jaime; R
Title: After the Dust Settles
Author: Araivs Tarkheena
Pairing: Tim/Jaime
Rating: R
Warnings: Does anyone CARE?
Disclaimer: Not mine, everyone's legal
Word Count: 3,000
Table of Contents
Chapter 7
Chapter Eight
He had arrived at Tim’s apartment building almost ten minutes ago only to find the front door locked. He had fumbled out his work phone and stared at it for a few moments trying to figure out what to say when Tim picked up, when an older woman had begun to walk up the stairs to the building.
Hey Tim, I’m outside your building like a stalker. Want to watch a movie?
Jaime wasn’t entirely sure that would go over well.
“You must be friends with that nice boy who lives in apartment B. I’m Mrs. St. Claire,” she told him in her quavering old lady voice. Jaime nodded and offered her a hand to help her up the last few stairs.
“He’s a good boy. He picks up my groceries for me every Tuesday,” she informed Jaime cheerfully then lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “He lives alone, poor boy. Parents are dead.” She shook her head sadly as she reached into her large handbag for a set of keys.
Jaime nodded dully, unsure what to say. He knew Tim’s father was dead, but he had never really stopped to think about where his mother was. Something twisted in his chest as he realized that he didn’t, actually, know too much about Tim as a person.
He knew that he lived alone. He knew that he spoiled his hamsters. He knew that he liked to eat yogurt for breakfast and wear sweat pants to bed and that he took the train. However, in the grand scheme of things, those little facets of information were nothing compared to what he didn’t know about Tim.
He didn’t know what had happened to his parents. He didn’t know why he had become Robin. He didn’t know where he went to school or what he wanted to do when he grew up. Or why he lived alone instead of finding someone to move in with.
Jaime suddenly felt very disheartened, like maybe this Get To Know Tim Trip had been a mistake.
Mrs. St. Claire was chattering away about her favorite niece as he helped her up the stairs, but he Jaime wasn’t listening. A sudden dull dread settled into the pit of his stomach as he thought about knocking on Tim’s door.
In the week since they had taken out the band of thieves that had been terrorizing El Paso galleries and museums, Jaime had thought a lot about the morning after. He had thought about how cute Tim had looked when he slept, with his hair mussed and his t-shirt rucked up over his stomach.
Well, Jaime preferred the term ‘lindo’ because it sounded a lot less girly in Spanish.
He had thought a lot about Tim’s empty apartment and how attached he was to his hamsters. He thought about how all the photos on his walls were of Gotham City and none were of people.
Jaime thought about how Tim had looked naked. Wet and startled with is mouth slightly opened looking inquisitive and curious as Jaime spoke to him. He thought about Tim’s flushed skin and the pale scars that seemed to run over every part of his body. He thought about the bruises and the cuts and the brush burns. He thought about how he wanted to kiss each one and make the pain go away as he held Tim tightly in his arms.
But mostly, Jaime thought about Tim’s name.
Timothy Jackson Drake.
He had repeated it endlessly to himself over the past eight days. He spoke it when he woke up each morning, reveling in the fact that he knew it. He would say it and let the syllables flow over his tongue like melting ice cream. He would think it as he walked the halls in school, drowning out all the chatter and background noise with three perfect words. The thought about the way it sounded. He thought about the way it felt. He imagined himself calling Tim by name and having Tim smile up at him when he did.
But every time he thought about Tim’s name he came back to the moment Tim told it to him.
“My father’s name was Jack,” Tim had told Jaime. “Hence, Jackson.”
Tim’s eyes had lost their humor when he explained his name to Jaime.
“He died a few years ago,” Tim’s voice had been flat, inflectionless and emotionless.
His mouth had tightened when he mentioned his father and he looked away from Jaime but not before Jaime had the chance to see the dull hopeless pain in his eyes.
The same pain that he saw so often in Brenda’s.
It had hurt to see him look like that. It had made Jaime wish, for half a minute, that Tim was still wearing his mask. If Tim had been Robin in that moment, rather than Tim, then Jaime wouldn’t have spent the last week with a tightening knot in the pit of his stomach but he had been Tim in that moment and now Jaime knew.
Tim was just like Brenda.
That thought terrified Jaime.
He couldn’t help but remember every time he had seen Brenda cry since her father died. All the screams and the sobs and broken sound of her voice as he she told Jaime things he never wanted to hear. Those memories were burned into his brain and he was sure he would never forget them. Paco wouldn’t either. They never spoke about it afterwards but he knew those moments effected Paco just as much as they did him.
Jaime had wondered, as he thoughtlessly shoveled yogurt into his mouth, who held Tim when he cried like that. He wonder who Tim clung to when he shouted and raged.
He wondered if Tim had anyone at all.
Cassie had told Jaime once, back was Tim was just Robin and Robin was kind of a scary person, that Tim needed time to internalize and think about things before he reacted or made decisions. She said it was why he was quiet so often. He was thinking.
Jaime delivered Mrs. St. Claire, safely and successfully, to apartment C and she handed him a box of cookies for helping her up the stairs. He accepted them gratefully, promising to share them with Tim before he bid her goodnight.
He took a deep, shaky breath as the door closed behind her and turned to face the stair well. Tim’s apartment was the floor below Mrs. St. Claire’s. They had walked past it on their way up to her door and Jaime had pointedly not looked at it.
Jaime felt the dull pressure of a tension headache beginning at the base of his skull but he made himself walk down the flight of stairs to apartment B. Jaime shifted the DVD he had brought and the box of cookies from Mrs. St. Claire from hand to hand as he stood hesitantly in front of the door, trying to work up the nerve to knock.
It was ridiculous. He had seen the guy naked. He could knock on his door.
Jaime took a deep breath and knocked. Tim pulled it opened several seconds later with a scowl on his face and a hand to his mouth. He looked distracted and angry about something and Jaime began to seriously reconsider his plan.
“Mrs. St. Claire let me in. Is this a bad time?” he asked.
Tim nodded him into the apartment as he replied.
“No, I just burnt my mouth on a piece of broccoli,” Tim informed him and the tone of his voice sounded so much like Milagro’s when she was pouting about something that Jaime couldn’t help but laugh.
The anxiety he had been feeling seemed to melt away and he couldn’t even bring himself to stop when Tim shot him a glare.
Tim was private. Tim was reticent. Tim was Robin. But he was also human.
Human, Jaime could handle.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Tim snapped and walked back over to the bar as Jaime toed off his shoes.
When Jaime followed he saw that papers were scattered in a semi-circle around Tim’s lap top. A bowl of broccoli was on the counter next to it. Tim had surrounded the bowl with several pencils and pens like a barricade. Leoglas and Gimli were huddled a slight distance away from the bowl, eyeing up the pens.
“Gim’s plotting to steal my dinner,” Tim explained when he caught Jaime watching the hamsters. He grabbed his napkin and draped it across the top of the bowl. Gimli twitched.
“So, what did you need, Jaime?” he asked, sitting on one of the stools in front of the bar.
Jaime held up the DVD. “I brought Lord of the Rings. I figured Gimli and Legolas would like to see the guys they were named after in action. Also, cookies,” he held up the box of cookies.
“I don’t know, I don’t want them to get any ideas. My vegetables will never be safe again,” Tim eyed his hamsters warily.
Jaime laughed and Tim looked back up at him.
“You that bored, man?” he asked as he watched Jaime consideringly.
“Paco’s at his Tia Terese’s and Brenda’s writing an English paper,” he lied and hoped Tim wouldn’t catch on.
Tim shrugged. “I’ve got to patrol around ten, but we can watch a movie until then.”
Jaime looked around Tim’s sparse apartment.
“Uh, do you even have a TV?” he asked.
Tim hopped off of the stool and made his way over to the book shelf by the door. There was a cabinet underneath and Tim opened it up. There was a dusty television and DVD player inside as well as two different game consuls.
“Hey man, you’re into video games?” Jaime asked as Tim took the DVD from him plugged in the TV.
“Yeah, my brother, Nightwing, he and I used to play together a lot. My friend Ives comes over sometimes, too. He’s really good at them. Better than me,” Tim told him.
“Nightwing’s your brother?” Jaime asked, trying to casual and not really sure he got it.
Tim shrugged. “Sort of. It’s complicated.”
“How is it complicated? No matter how often I re-check our birth certificates, Milagro and I definitely have the same parents. Even though, I’m convinced she’s some kind of alien,” Jaime confided.
Tim snorted a laugh. “There’s bean bag chairs in the closet, nab them?”
Jaime walked across the small room to the door near the foot of Tim’s bed and pulled it opened.
“So what? Nightwing’s an alien?” Jaime asked, not wanting to change the subject.
“Well, he used to be in the circus. So, close enough,” Tim told him.
The small closet was half full of neatly hung clothing. Tim had about six or seven expensive looking suits and more than a few jackets. There was a small safe in the back wall and another set of shelves to Jaime’s left that were filled with cameras.
“The circus?” Jaime asked and turned around to look at Tim. “Are you kidding?”
“Not at all,” Tim said and plugged something into the wall.
“So what’s the deal with you guys, then. Were you in the circus too?”
“No, we were both adopted. That’s how we’re brothers. The bean bag chairs are to your right,” Tim told him and Jaime heard the television come on.
He grabbed the two bean bag chairs, one red and the other yellow, and shut the door behind himself.
Now Jaime was even more curious than he had been.
“Who adopted you guys then?”
“Batman,” Tim told him shortly as Jaime walked back over to him. Tim’s face was tight and he looked like he really wanted to change the subject.
“Dude, you have more suits than my dad,” Jaime told him and tossed the chairs on the floor in front of the TV. “And what’s with all the cameras?”
Tim smiled distractedly and grabbed a remote. “I like to take pictures. I don’t do it much anymore, but I used to a lot.”
Jaime nodded and watched Tim as he pressed a button on the remote and the movie came on. Jaime plopped into the yellow chair.
Tim walked back over to the bar and grabbed the hamsters. Gimli had managed to break though the baracade and was looking at the napkin consideringly when Tim scooped him and Legolas up. Then Tim grabbed three pieces of broccoli from his bowl. He ate one himself before walking back over to Jaime. He set both the hamsters and the broccoli on the floor in front of the two of them before settling into the red chair.
The movie began to play, Tim was paying pretty close attention to it, but Jaime couldn’t concentrate on the story. He ended up watching Gim and Leg attack their pieces of broccoli as he thought about Tim.
Batman had adopted Tim, but Batman was gone now. No one really knew where he was or what, specifically, had happened. Jaime had the understanding that most people thought he was dead. It had been months since anyone had seen or heard from him.
Why didn’t Tim try to find another person to adopt him? Nightwing was in his twenties at least. He could have gone with him.
Frodo had just woken up in Rivendale when Jaime finally broke their silence.
“Tim?”
Tim made an interrogative noise, his focus still on the movie.
“I’m sorry about your dad and Batman.”
Tim stiffened for a moment before leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling.
“Me too,” he said in a low voice.
They both sat there for a few minutes as the movie played in the background.
“What happened?” Jaime heard himself asking and half wished he hadn’t.
“Well, my dad was murdered,” Tim told him dully and he closed his eyes. They both went quiet again as Gimli’s namesake shouted about something in the background and the hams milled around looking for more broccoli.
“I knew he was dead before I found him. I knew it. I walked through the door and I could just smell it,” Tim’s voice was tight and he spoke fast as if he just wanted to get the words out and not think too hard about what he was saying.
“Batman literally picked me up out of a pool of my father’s blood and took me home. Now’s he’s gone too and I don’t know what to do anymore,” Tim’s face was tight and voice was low and full of pain.
“It’s like I’m in a desert with no discernible landmarks and I don’t know where I am, but I just keep walking because I figure if I just keep at it I have to end up somewhere, eventually.” Jaime could hear the dull edge of panic in Tim’s voice and it scared him.
“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” Tim’s voice broke and Jaime found himself out of his chair and kneeling next to Tim’s.
He grabbed Tim by the shoulders and pulled him into his arms. He didn’t know what to say to Tim, just like he hadn’t known what to say to Brenda. But Jaime channeled his feeling of helpless impotence and held Tim as tight as he could. Just like he had held Brenda when she needed him
Brenda had seemed to relax into Jaime’s hugs, but Tim didn’t. Tim tensed into them. His whole body went taunt and he fisted his hands in the back of Jaime’s shirt.
“I’m just so tired of all of this,” he whispered harshly. “Do you know how long it took before I was even close to being over my mother being dead? Four years. Four years. My father’s been gone less than two. Kon’s been gone just a little less than that and Bart’s been less than a year and Batman? He’s been gone for just a few weeks. I can’t do this again.”
Tim pressed his face into Jaime’s shoulder and Jaime stroked the hair on the back of Tim’s head.
“And people just keep dying,” he said, his voice muffled by Jaime’s shirt.
Then Tim’s shoulders shook and he began to cry. He sobbed and shook and kept telling Jaime over and over again that he just couldn’t keep doing this. That it was too much. He couldn’t keep losing people and being left behind. That he was tired of being left behind.
Jaime wasn’t sure how long Tim cried, or how long he held him, but it seemed like a million years later when Tim lifted his head from Jaime’s shoulder.
“I bet you wish you’d gone to Paco’s Tia’s,” Tim said in a rough voice full of self deprecation.
Jaime smiled. “Not really.”
Tim snorted in disbelief and Jaime hugged tighter for a minute.
“I’m sorry I cried on you like a fourteen year old girl,” Tim apologized and he sounded a little embarrassed.
“Dude, you’ve got nothing on a fourteen year old girl, trust me. Brenda in middle school makes you look like the Dali Lama,” Jaime assured Tim with a shudder.
Tim laughed and looked up at him.
His face was wet and flushed. His eyes were a startlingly blue, deep and clear. The sadness was still there and the pain but right now they were drowned out slightly by the affection I his gaze. Tim was smiling gently at him and sniffing adorably. No, not adorably.
“Que lindo,” Jaime murmured and lifted a hand to wipe some of the tears from Tim’s face.
“What?” Tim asked, clearly confused and Jaime kissed him.
Tim’s mouth was soft and he tasted like tears. His body had relaxed into Jaime after the crying jag hand ended and he felt warm and pliable in Jaime’s arms. He smelled like soap and wood shavings and Tim.
Then Tim kissed him back and everything was perfect.
~The End~
A/N: For the record, Legolas and Gimli did not enjoy the movie. They thought it was too loud and were relieved when Tim put them back in their cage and went back to snuggle Jaime some more. They forgave Tim, though, because he gave them another piece of broccoli before he left.
Coincidentally, I burnt my mouth on some broccoli yesterday. It was awful. I've never burnt my mouth on broccoli before. :(
It was karma for not posting yesterday like I said I would.
There's going to be a sequel. A one shot. I swear to God.
Expect it after I finish posting Story of a Killa.
SEQUEL: At the End of the Tunnel
Author: Araivs Tarkheena
Pairing: Tim/Jaime
Rating: R
Warnings: Does anyone CARE?
Disclaimer: Not mine, everyone's legal
Word Count: 3,000
Table of Contents
Chapter 7
Chapter Eight
He had arrived at Tim’s apartment building almost ten minutes ago only to find the front door locked. He had fumbled out his work phone and stared at it for a few moments trying to figure out what to say when Tim picked up, when an older woman had begun to walk up the stairs to the building.
Hey Tim, I’m outside your building like a stalker. Want to watch a movie?
Jaime wasn’t entirely sure that would go over well.
“You must be friends with that nice boy who lives in apartment B. I’m Mrs. St. Claire,” she told him in her quavering old lady voice. Jaime nodded and offered her a hand to help her up the last few stairs.
“He’s a good boy. He picks up my groceries for me every Tuesday,” she informed Jaime cheerfully then lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “He lives alone, poor boy. Parents are dead.” She shook her head sadly as she reached into her large handbag for a set of keys.
Jaime nodded dully, unsure what to say. He knew Tim’s father was dead, but he had never really stopped to think about where his mother was. Something twisted in his chest as he realized that he didn’t, actually, know too much about Tim as a person.
He knew that he lived alone. He knew that he spoiled his hamsters. He knew that he liked to eat yogurt for breakfast and wear sweat pants to bed and that he took the train. However, in the grand scheme of things, those little facets of information were nothing compared to what he didn’t know about Tim.
He didn’t know what had happened to his parents. He didn’t know why he had become Robin. He didn’t know where he went to school or what he wanted to do when he grew up. Or why he lived alone instead of finding someone to move in with.
Jaime suddenly felt very disheartened, like maybe this Get To Know Tim Trip had been a mistake.
Mrs. St. Claire was chattering away about her favorite niece as he helped her up the stairs, but he Jaime wasn’t listening. A sudden dull dread settled into the pit of his stomach as he thought about knocking on Tim’s door.
In the week since they had taken out the band of thieves that had been terrorizing El Paso galleries and museums, Jaime had thought a lot about the morning after. He had thought about how cute Tim had looked when he slept, with his hair mussed and his t-shirt rucked up over his stomach.
Well, Jaime preferred the term ‘lindo’ because it sounded a lot less girly in Spanish.
He had thought a lot about Tim’s empty apartment and how attached he was to his hamsters. He thought about how all the photos on his walls were of Gotham City and none were of people.
Jaime thought about how Tim had looked naked. Wet and startled with is mouth slightly opened looking inquisitive and curious as Jaime spoke to him. He thought about Tim’s flushed skin and the pale scars that seemed to run over every part of his body. He thought about the bruises and the cuts and the brush burns. He thought about how he wanted to kiss each one and make the pain go away as he held Tim tightly in his arms.
But mostly, Jaime thought about Tim’s name.
Timothy Jackson Drake.
He had repeated it endlessly to himself over the past eight days. He spoke it when he woke up each morning, reveling in the fact that he knew it. He would say it and let the syllables flow over his tongue like melting ice cream. He would think it as he walked the halls in school, drowning out all the chatter and background noise with three perfect words. The thought about the way it sounded. He thought about the way it felt. He imagined himself calling Tim by name and having Tim smile up at him when he did.
But every time he thought about Tim’s name he came back to the moment Tim told it to him.
“My father’s name was Jack,” Tim had told Jaime. “Hence, Jackson.”
Tim’s eyes had lost their humor when he explained his name to Jaime.
“He died a few years ago,” Tim’s voice had been flat, inflectionless and emotionless.
His mouth had tightened when he mentioned his father and he looked away from Jaime but not before Jaime had the chance to see the dull hopeless pain in his eyes.
The same pain that he saw so often in Brenda’s.
It had hurt to see him look like that. It had made Jaime wish, for half a minute, that Tim was still wearing his mask. If Tim had been Robin in that moment, rather than Tim, then Jaime wouldn’t have spent the last week with a tightening knot in the pit of his stomach but he had been Tim in that moment and now Jaime knew.
Tim was just like Brenda.
That thought terrified Jaime.
He couldn’t help but remember every time he had seen Brenda cry since her father died. All the screams and the sobs and broken sound of her voice as he she told Jaime things he never wanted to hear. Those memories were burned into his brain and he was sure he would never forget them. Paco wouldn’t either. They never spoke about it afterwards but he knew those moments effected Paco just as much as they did him.
Jaime had wondered, as he thoughtlessly shoveled yogurt into his mouth, who held Tim when he cried like that. He wonder who Tim clung to when he shouted and raged.
He wondered if Tim had anyone at all.
Cassie had told Jaime once, back was Tim was just Robin and Robin was kind of a scary person, that Tim needed time to internalize and think about things before he reacted or made decisions. She said it was why he was quiet so often. He was thinking.
Jaime delivered Mrs. St. Claire, safely and successfully, to apartment C and she handed him a box of cookies for helping her up the stairs. He accepted them gratefully, promising to share them with Tim before he bid her goodnight.
He took a deep, shaky breath as the door closed behind her and turned to face the stair well. Tim’s apartment was the floor below Mrs. St. Claire’s. They had walked past it on their way up to her door and Jaime had pointedly not looked at it.
Jaime felt the dull pressure of a tension headache beginning at the base of his skull but he made himself walk down the flight of stairs to apartment B. Jaime shifted the DVD he had brought and the box of cookies from Mrs. St. Claire from hand to hand as he stood hesitantly in front of the door, trying to work up the nerve to knock.
It was ridiculous. He had seen the guy naked. He could knock on his door.
Jaime took a deep breath and knocked. Tim pulled it opened several seconds later with a scowl on his face and a hand to his mouth. He looked distracted and angry about something and Jaime began to seriously reconsider his plan.
“Mrs. St. Claire let me in. Is this a bad time?” he asked.
Tim nodded him into the apartment as he replied.
“No, I just burnt my mouth on a piece of broccoli,” Tim informed him and the tone of his voice sounded so much like Milagro’s when she was pouting about something that Jaime couldn’t help but laugh.
The anxiety he had been feeling seemed to melt away and he couldn’t even bring himself to stop when Tim shot him a glare.
Tim was private. Tim was reticent. Tim was Robin. But he was also human.
Human, Jaime could handle.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Tim snapped and walked back over to the bar as Jaime toed off his shoes.
When Jaime followed he saw that papers were scattered in a semi-circle around Tim’s lap top. A bowl of broccoli was on the counter next to it. Tim had surrounded the bowl with several pencils and pens like a barricade. Leoglas and Gimli were huddled a slight distance away from the bowl, eyeing up the pens.
“Gim’s plotting to steal my dinner,” Tim explained when he caught Jaime watching the hamsters. He grabbed his napkin and draped it across the top of the bowl. Gimli twitched.
“So, what did you need, Jaime?” he asked, sitting on one of the stools in front of the bar.
Jaime held up the DVD. “I brought Lord of the Rings. I figured Gimli and Legolas would like to see the guys they were named after in action. Also, cookies,” he held up the box of cookies.
“I don’t know, I don’t want them to get any ideas. My vegetables will never be safe again,” Tim eyed his hamsters warily.
Jaime laughed and Tim looked back up at him.
“You that bored, man?” he asked as he watched Jaime consideringly.
“Paco’s at his Tia Terese’s and Brenda’s writing an English paper,” he lied and hoped Tim wouldn’t catch on.
Tim shrugged. “I’ve got to patrol around ten, but we can watch a movie until then.”
Jaime looked around Tim’s sparse apartment.
“Uh, do you even have a TV?” he asked.
Tim hopped off of the stool and made his way over to the book shelf by the door. There was a cabinet underneath and Tim opened it up. There was a dusty television and DVD player inside as well as two different game consuls.
“Hey man, you’re into video games?” Jaime asked as Tim took the DVD from him plugged in the TV.
“Yeah, my brother, Nightwing, he and I used to play together a lot. My friend Ives comes over sometimes, too. He’s really good at them. Better than me,” Tim told him.
“Nightwing’s your brother?” Jaime asked, trying to casual and not really sure he got it.
Tim shrugged. “Sort of. It’s complicated.”
“How is it complicated? No matter how often I re-check our birth certificates, Milagro and I definitely have the same parents. Even though, I’m convinced she’s some kind of alien,” Jaime confided.
Tim snorted a laugh. “There’s bean bag chairs in the closet, nab them?”
Jaime walked across the small room to the door near the foot of Tim’s bed and pulled it opened.
“So what? Nightwing’s an alien?” Jaime asked, not wanting to change the subject.
“Well, he used to be in the circus. So, close enough,” Tim told him.
The small closet was half full of neatly hung clothing. Tim had about six or seven expensive looking suits and more than a few jackets. There was a small safe in the back wall and another set of shelves to Jaime’s left that were filled with cameras.
“The circus?” Jaime asked and turned around to look at Tim. “Are you kidding?”
“Not at all,” Tim said and plugged something into the wall.
“So what’s the deal with you guys, then. Were you in the circus too?”
“No, we were both adopted. That’s how we’re brothers. The bean bag chairs are to your right,” Tim told him and Jaime heard the television come on.
He grabbed the two bean bag chairs, one red and the other yellow, and shut the door behind himself.
Now Jaime was even more curious than he had been.
“Who adopted you guys then?”
“Batman,” Tim told him shortly as Jaime walked back over to him. Tim’s face was tight and he looked like he really wanted to change the subject.
“Dude, you have more suits than my dad,” Jaime told him and tossed the chairs on the floor in front of the TV. “And what’s with all the cameras?”
Tim smiled distractedly and grabbed a remote. “I like to take pictures. I don’t do it much anymore, but I used to a lot.”
Jaime nodded and watched Tim as he pressed a button on the remote and the movie came on. Jaime plopped into the yellow chair.
Tim walked back over to the bar and grabbed the hamsters. Gimli had managed to break though the baracade and was looking at the napkin consideringly when Tim scooped him and Legolas up. Then Tim grabbed three pieces of broccoli from his bowl. He ate one himself before walking back over to Jaime. He set both the hamsters and the broccoli on the floor in front of the two of them before settling into the red chair.
The movie began to play, Tim was paying pretty close attention to it, but Jaime couldn’t concentrate on the story. He ended up watching Gim and Leg attack their pieces of broccoli as he thought about Tim.
Batman had adopted Tim, but Batman was gone now. No one really knew where he was or what, specifically, had happened. Jaime had the understanding that most people thought he was dead. It had been months since anyone had seen or heard from him.
Why didn’t Tim try to find another person to adopt him? Nightwing was in his twenties at least. He could have gone with him.
Frodo had just woken up in Rivendale when Jaime finally broke their silence.
“Tim?”
Tim made an interrogative noise, his focus still on the movie.
“I’m sorry about your dad and Batman.”
Tim stiffened for a moment before leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling.
“Me too,” he said in a low voice.
They both sat there for a few minutes as the movie played in the background.
“What happened?” Jaime heard himself asking and half wished he hadn’t.
“Well, my dad was murdered,” Tim told him dully and he closed his eyes. They both went quiet again as Gimli’s namesake shouted about something in the background and the hams milled around looking for more broccoli.
“I knew he was dead before I found him. I knew it. I walked through the door and I could just smell it,” Tim’s voice was tight and he spoke fast as if he just wanted to get the words out and not think too hard about what he was saying.
“Batman literally picked me up out of a pool of my father’s blood and took me home. Now’s he’s gone too and I don’t know what to do anymore,” Tim’s face was tight and voice was low and full of pain.
“It’s like I’m in a desert with no discernible landmarks and I don’t know where I am, but I just keep walking because I figure if I just keep at it I have to end up somewhere, eventually.” Jaime could hear the dull edge of panic in Tim’s voice and it scared him.
“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” Tim’s voice broke and Jaime found himself out of his chair and kneeling next to Tim’s.
He grabbed Tim by the shoulders and pulled him into his arms. He didn’t know what to say to Tim, just like he hadn’t known what to say to Brenda. But Jaime channeled his feeling of helpless impotence and held Tim as tight as he could. Just like he had held Brenda when she needed him
Brenda had seemed to relax into Jaime’s hugs, but Tim didn’t. Tim tensed into them. His whole body went taunt and he fisted his hands in the back of Jaime’s shirt.
“I’m just so tired of all of this,” he whispered harshly. “Do you know how long it took before I was even close to being over my mother being dead? Four years. Four years. My father’s been gone less than two. Kon’s been gone just a little less than that and Bart’s been less than a year and Batman? He’s been gone for just a few weeks. I can’t do this again.”
Tim pressed his face into Jaime’s shoulder and Jaime stroked the hair on the back of Tim’s head.
“And people just keep dying,” he said, his voice muffled by Jaime’s shirt.
Then Tim’s shoulders shook and he began to cry. He sobbed and shook and kept telling Jaime over and over again that he just couldn’t keep doing this. That it was too much. He couldn’t keep losing people and being left behind. That he was tired of being left behind.
Jaime wasn’t sure how long Tim cried, or how long he held him, but it seemed like a million years later when Tim lifted his head from Jaime’s shoulder.
“I bet you wish you’d gone to Paco’s Tia’s,” Tim said in a rough voice full of self deprecation.
Jaime smiled. “Not really.”
Tim snorted in disbelief and Jaime hugged tighter for a minute.
“I’m sorry I cried on you like a fourteen year old girl,” Tim apologized and he sounded a little embarrassed.
“Dude, you’ve got nothing on a fourteen year old girl, trust me. Brenda in middle school makes you look like the Dali Lama,” Jaime assured Tim with a shudder.
Tim laughed and looked up at him.
His face was wet and flushed. His eyes were a startlingly blue, deep and clear. The sadness was still there and the pain but right now they were drowned out slightly by the affection I his gaze. Tim was smiling gently at him and sniffing adorably. No, not adorably.
“Que lindo,” Jaime murmured and lifted a hand to wipe some of the tears from Tim’s face.
“What?” Tim asked, clearly confused and Jaime kissed him.
Tim’s mouth was soft and he tasted like tears. His body had relaxed into Jaime after the crying jag hand ended and he felt warm and pliable in Jaime’s arms. He smelled like soap and wood shavings and Tim.
Then Tim kissed him back and everything was perfect.
~The End~
A/N: For the record, Legolas and Gimli did not enjoy the movie. They thought it was too loud and were relieved when Tim put them back in their cage and went back to snuggle Jaime some more. They forgave Tim, though, because he gave them another piece of broccoli before he left.
Coincidentally, I burnt my mouth on some broccoli yesterday. It was awful. I've never burnt my mouth on broccoli before. :(
It was karma for not posting yesterday like I said I would.
There's going to be a sequel. A one shot. I swear to God.
Expect it after I finish posting Story of a Killa.
SEQUEL: At the End of the Tunnel