fic: Colors run prime (2/?)
Title: Colors run prime (2/?)
Author:ayzilia
Fandom: DCU
Paring: Tim/Kon
Rating: R, for language
Word Count: 1,769
Summary: In the wake of the Wayne-Kryptonian Treaty, Tim and Kon struggle to adjust their dreams, prejudices, and expectations to fit into the scope of their new life together. A/N: This follows My kind is not your kind. Read that first for clarity’s sake. For sanity’s sake? Also, title from the song “Whirring” by The Joy Formidable. Disclaimer: Not mine. All belongs to DC Comics.
Part 1
Tim frowned at the suit jacket hung neatly over the back of his desk chair, debating. He didn’t want to insult anyone by showing up overdressed, but at the same time-Tim snatched up the jacket and tugged it on-he needed something to hold him together, to hold him in. And he didn’t have his cape to tuck around himself. Tim hurriedly buttoned the jacket closed and smoothed his hands down his front. At least his physical state could resemble someone calm, put-together, and organized, even if he couldn’t stop the unsettling chaos storming though his mind. He took in a calming breath and took out the palm-sized custom-built (by him) computer that served as his PDA, cell phone, and MP3 player to type in the correct series of commands to disable the door’s defenses temporarily. They would reset when the door closed behind him.
The bar on his screen turned green and Tim reached for the doorknob. One turn, one pull, two steps, and his (relatively) safe haven was behind him. The door shut with a soft click and the bar on the screen turned red. Tim stared, eyes unfocused, at the screen for a long extended moment. He could do this. Just had to stay calm. He tucked his mini-computer inside his jacket and straightened his golden tie with a (not so) steady hand.
His family had trained him to take on anything as Robin: psychotic metas, a rioting city, corrupt politicians and CEOs, vast criminal organizations, drunken or drugged-out street level offenders, or any other conceivable threat to the people of Gotham… but he wasn’t in Gotham and he didn’t have Bruce and Dick on a comm-link in his ear and he wasn’t Robin any longer. Just Tim Drake-Wayne. Now Kon-El’s husband. Apparently, treaty bargaining chip and currently mopey teenager. Tim scowled at himself inside his head.
He could do this. He could go to dinner and act civil and make sure this treaty worked out and stabilized Gotham a bit more and Bruce and Dick would be proud of him. Bruce told him this was as important a duty as Robin ever was.
He’d been skirting that duty the past few days and, frankly, that was unacceptable. Tim walked towards the light and noise at the end of the hallway.
Intimidating noise. Happy noise. Laughter mostly, cut with the soft murmur of (apparently) amusing comments. A sputtering Tim knew came from Kon. A rich chuckle that could only emanate from Superman. A peal of high clear notes tapering into staccato giggles-probably Kara, taking into account what he’d heard through his door after Kon tried to open it-mixed with counternotes of snickering Tim suspected to be from Lois Lane. Tim grimaced a bit at the idea of sitting down with Mrs. Lane. She might be another human in the room, but she’d stuck by her then-boyfriend-now-husband when he’d revealed his alien origin to the world and she remained steadfast. From her file on the Bat-computer (which Tim had studied and added to extensively) complete with news clips and sound bites, he knew Lois Lane had no patience with “Wayne’s suspicious nature” and the “Gothamite mindset” and humankind’s xenophobia.
In a series of editorial articles published in the weeks after the riots started, she’d written “prejudice is crippling this country” and ordered people to “get over fears rooted in ignorance” and in general used every last ounce of her influence as a celebrated journalist to attempt to convince the world to allow the Kryptonians the chance to show their colors one way or another. She remained confident most would follow Superman’s example and leadership to become valued citizens. Those who caused trouble… well, every society had their bad eggs. Just look at the state of our prisons, she argued.
Shortly after that the Kryptonians were granted a status similar to the American Indians and Metropolis became the first “reservation” established. However, the riots across the country continued. Soon the federal government fell apart as most major cities (with Gotham leading the charge) demanded the right to enact their own policies regarding Kryptonians. Tim vividly remembered his first night at Wayne Manor watching a news broadcast of a second wave of Kryptonian ships landing in the fields around Smallville and effectively ending any debate. The federal government still existed after that night, but mostly to mediate conflict. The city-states were in charge.
Tim paused at the threshold of the open main room. What had once served as the bullpin for The Daily Planet’s top reporters had been converted into a spacious living and dining area with floor to ceiling windows letting in the glittering light of the surrounding city. Tim frowned at the skyline, automatically searching out good rooftops to land on, to take a breather on, or to survey from and marking landmarks in his vault of a memory for easy orientation.
So much brighter than Gotham. Even after a week here, Tim’s eyes (and heart and mind) seemed to have trouble adjusting.
Kon noticed his presence first.
“Tim!” He bounded up from his chair beaming, “Wow.”
Tim shifted at the glowing attention, self-conscious and confused. Kon wasn’t mad about earlier? Jason or Damian would be swearing sweet revenge, probably focusing the majority of the threats towards Tim’s physical well-being. Even Dick would be grinning evilly, though he preferred embarrassing Tim to doling out colorful new bruises. But Kon just looked… honest and honestly happy to see Tim, even though Tim had blown the guy through a wall half an hour ago and then arrived late and in a suit when everyone else wore jeans and t-shirts (or in Clark’s case flannel). Yah, Robin training didn’t exactly cover this.
When in doubt, go for neutrality. Tim kept his face impassive and tucked a hand casually in his pants pocket. Lois raised both eyebrows and threw a biscuit across the table. It smacked Kon directly on his left temple. Kon just grinned brighter as he turned to look at her.
“Stop acting like a dunce and grab the boy a chair,” Lois instructed with an expectant expression. Clark just chuckled again.
The younger two members of the little family snapped to, Kon flying across the room to produce another chair from somewhere while Kara shifted dishes and place-settings to clear a space. Kon slid the chair into the newly-made vacancy between him and his cousin and then disappeared through a door that (judging from the sounds Kon made as he most likely opened and closed cabinets and drawers) led to the kitchen.
Meanwhile Kara smiled and patted the seat of the empty chair next to her, “Come on down Tim.”
When Tim remained hesitant, Clark also grinned and beckoned.
“Glad you could join us Tim,” He insisted jovially.
Slowly, cautiously, Tim moved forward and around the table to the extra chair. Still silent, still excruciatingly aware of everyone watching. However intended, the Supers’ smiles unsettled Tim, rather than comforting or calming him at all.
He sat down and scooted his chair up to the table, his eyes moving restlessly from Kara next to him to Clark and Lois across from him, his ears continuing to track Kon clanging around in the kitchen.
“So Tim,” Lois broke the awkward bubble as she planted her elbows on the table and leaned in with a quirked eyebrow and a barely buried aggressive spark in her eyes, “Kon and Kara were just regaling us with their adventure with your door.”
Kara knocked her elbow gently against Tim’s arm and gave what he suspected she intended to be a grin of cheerful camaraderie.
Tim understood her even less than Kon.
But his more immediate concern… He could only frown at Lois. He honestly didn’t know what she expected him to say to that other than “No Comment”.
Lois simply smirked at his silence and leaned back to continue, “How’s your week been holed away in your room? Productive?”
“Now Lois,” Clark covered her hand on the table, gave it a tender squeeze, then turned to Tim with a smile, “You know Tim if you ever feel cooped up, there’s a gym with anything you might need just one floor down. Dick approved all the equipment himself.”
Tim nodded politely, his face neutral once more, “Thank you Mr. Kent. I’ll be sure to check it out.”
“Please, call me Clark.”
Tim just nodded again.
“I’ve never seen a human work out before,” Kara confided, “Especially with all the gymnastics stuff you Bats are supposed to be able to do. Can I maybe, um, watch?”
“Ah, it’s just routine stuff. Not that exciting.” Tim glanced at Kon, who looked disturbingly eager as he set a placemat, plate, glass, and cutlery in front of Tim before dropping into his own seat.
Kara just blinked at him, waiting for more. Totally expecting Tim to acquiesce.
“Ok?” Tim offered feebly. Kara had seemed nice enough so far. No need to isolate himself farther by pushing her away, but for all that he had spent a majority of his life watching others (Batman and Robin and Dick and Jason and Bruce), Tim didn’t appreciate being openly observed by strangers. Bruce, Babs, and the other Bats, sure. Surveillance constituted an expression of... care (love) within the family. Dick or Jason watched him train all the time-calling out corrections, instructions, teaching-but here… Tim just felt a bit weirded out.
“Is it cool if I come too?” Kon grinned between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes.
“Ah, sure…” Tim figured he might as well. Maybe he could talk Kara or Kon into sparring with him. That way he could observe in person the capabilities of Kryptonians as strong as the Supers. And figure if any of the strategies Dick and Bruce had drilled into him would yield any success in practice.
From what he’d read in Bruce and Babs’ files he sort of doubted it. Without some variety of Kryptonite or a floodlight with a red filter, there wasn’t much a non-powered human could do against a Kryptonian. Which is what fueled the fear, of course. The bottom line in this entire conflict. No one liked to be powerless. No one liked the possibility of an entire race of super-beings who could crush or fry humanity if they have a bad enough day.
Tim poked with his fork at the fried chicken Kara plopped on his plate, suddenly quite nauseous, excruciatingly aware of the danger embodied in the beings surrounding him.
He couldn’t keep any Kryptonite. The treaty forbade it.
And tugging around a floodlight wasn’t exactly subtle.
Next Part
Author:ayzilia
Fandom: DCU
Paring: Tim/Kon
Rating: R, for language
Word Count: 1,769
Summary: In the wake of the Wayne-Kryptonian Treaty, Tim and Kon struggle to adjust their dreams, prejudices, and expectations to fit into the scope of their new life together. A/N: This follows My kind is not your kind. Read that first for clarity’s sake. For sanity’s sake? Also, title from the song “Whirring” by The Joy Formidable. Disclaimer: Not mine. All belongs to DC Comics.
Part 1
Tim frowned at the suit jacket hung neatly over the back of his desk chair, debating. He didn’t want to insult anyone by showing up overdressed, but at the same time-Tim snatched up the jacket and tugged it on-he needed something to hold him together, to hold him in. And he didn’t have his cape to tuck around himself. Tim hurriedly buttoned the jacket closed and smoothed his hands down his front. At least his physical state could resemble someone calm, put-together, and organized, even if he couldn’t stop the unsettling chaos storming though his mind. He took in a calming breath and took out the palm-sized custom-built (by him) computer that served as his PDA, cell phone, and MP3 player to type in the correct series of commands to disable the door’s defenses temporarily. They would reset when the door closed behind him.
The bar on his screen turned green and Tim reached for the doorknob. One turn, one pull, two steps, and his (relatively) safe haven was behind him. The door shut with a soft click and the bar on the screen turned red. Tim stared, eyes unfocused, at the screen for a long extended moment. He could do this. Just had to stay calm. He tucked his mini-computer inside his jacket and straightened his golden tie with a (not so) steady hand.
His family had trained him to take on anything as Robin: psychotic metas, a rioting city, corrupt politicians and CEOs, vast criminal organizations, drunken or drugged-out street level offenders, or any other conceivable threat to the people of Gotham… but he wasn’t in Gotham and he didn’t have Bruce and Dick on a comm-link in his ear and he wasn’t Robin any longer. Just Tim Drake-Wayne. Now Kon-El’s husband. Apparently, treaty bargaining chip and currently mopey teenager. Tim scowled at himself inside his head.
He could do this. He could go to dinner and act civil and make sure this treaty worked out and stabilized Gotham a bit more and Bruce and Dick would be proud of him. Bruce told him this was as important a duty as Robin ever was.
He’d been skirting that duty the past few days and, frankly, that was unacceptable. Tim walked towards the light and noise at the end of the hallway.
Intimidating noise. Happy noise. Laughter mostly, cut with the soft murmur of (apparently) amusing comments. A sputtering Tim knew came from Kon. A rich chuckle that could only emanate from Superman. A peal of high clear notes tapering into staccato giggles-probably Kara, taking into account what he’d heard through his door after Kon tried to open it-mixed with counternotes of snickering Tim suspected to be from Lois Lane. Tim grimaced a bit at the idea of sitting down with Mrs. Lane. She might be another human in the room, but she’d stuck by her then-boyfriend-now-husband when he’d revealed his alien origin to the world and she remained steadfast. From her file on the Bat-computer (which Tim had studied and added to extensively) complete with news clips and sound bites, he knew Lois Lane had no patience with “Wayne’s suspicious nature” and the “Gothamite mindset” and humankind’s xenophobia.
In a series of editorial articles published in the weeks after the riots started, she’d written “prejudice is crippling this country” and ordered people to “get over fears rooted in ignorance” and in general used every last ounce of her influence as a celebrated journalist to attempt to convince the world to allow the Kryptonians the chance to show their colors one way or another. She remained confident most would follow Superman’s example and leadership to become valued citizens. Those who caused trouble… well, every society had their bad eggs. Just look at the state of our prisons, she argued.
Shortly after that the Kryptonians were granted a status similar to the American Indians and Metropolis became the first “reservation” established. However, the riots across the country continued. Soon the federal government fell apart as most major cities (with Gotham leading the charge) demanded the right to enact their own policies regarding Kryptonians. Tim vividly remembered his first night at Wayne Manor watching a news broadcast of a second wave of Kryptonian ships landing in the fields around Smallville and effectively ending any debate. The federal government still existed after that night, but mostly to mediate conflict. The city-states were in charge.
Tim paused at the threshold of the open main room. What had once served as the bullpin for The Daily Planet’s top reporters had been converted into a spacious living and dining area with floor to ceiling windows letting in the glittering light of the surrounding city. Tim frowned at the skyline, automatically searching out good rooftops to land on, to take a breather on, or to survey from and marking landmarks in his vault of a memory for easy orientation.
So much brighter than Gotham. Even after a week here, Tim’s eyes (and heart and mind) seemed to have trouble adjusting.
Kon noticed his presence first.
“Tim!” He bounded up from his chair beaming, “Wow.”
Tim shifted at the glowing attention, self-conscious and confused. Kon wasn’t mad about earlier? Jason or Damian would be swearing sweet revenge, probably focusing the majority of the threats towards Tim’s physical well-being. Even Dick would be grinning evilly, though he preferred embarrassing Tim to doling out colorful new bruises. But Kon just looked… honest and honestly happy to see Tim, even though Tim had blown the guy through a wall half an hour ago and then arrived late and in a suit when everyone else wore jeans and t-shirts (or in Clark’s case flannel). Yah, Robin training didn’t exactly cover this.
When in doubt, go for neutrality. Tim kept his face impassive and tucked a hand casually in his pants pocket. Lois raised both eyebrows and threw a biscuit across the table. It smacked Kon directly on his left temple. Kon just grinned brighter as he turned to look at her.
“Stop acting like a dunce and grab the boy a chair,” Lois instructed with an expectant expression. Clark just chuckled again.
The younger two members of the little family snapped to, Kon flying across the room to produce another chair from somewhere while Kara shifted dishes and place-settings to clear a space. Kon slid the chair into the newly-made vacancy between him and his cousin and then disappeared through a door that (judging from the sounds Kon made as he most likely opened and closed cabinets and drawers) led to the kitchen.
Meanwhile Kara smiled and patted the seat of the empty chair next to her, “Come on down Tim.”
When Tim remained hesitant, Clark also grinned and beckoned.
“Glad you could join us Tim,” He insisted jovially.
Slowly, cautiously, Tim moved forward and around the table to the extra chair. Still silent, still excruciatingly aware of everyone watching. However intended, the Supers’ smiles unsettled Tim, rather than comforting or calming him at all.
He sat down and scooted his chair up to the table, his eyes moving restlessly from Kara next to him to Clark and Lois across from him, his ears continuing to track Kon clanging around in the kitchen.
“So Tim,” Lois broke the awkward bubble as she planted her elbows on the table and leaned in with a quirked eyebrow and a barely buried aggressive spark in her eyes, “Kon and Kara were just regaling us with their adventure with your door.”
Kara knocked her elbow gently against Tim’s arm and gave what he suspected she intended to be a grin of cheerful camaraderie.
Tim understood her even less than Kon.
But his more immediate concern… He could only frown at Lois. He honestly didn’t know what she expected him to say to that other than “No Comment”.
Lois simply smirked at his silence and leaned back to continue, “How’s your week been holed away in your room? Productive?”
“Now Lois,” Clark covered her hand on the table, gave it a tender squeeze, then turned to Tim with a smile, “You know Tim if you ever feel cooped up, there’s a gym with anything you might need just one floor down. Dick approved all the equipment himself.”
Tim nodded politely, his face neutral once more, “Thank you Mr. Kent. I’ll be sure to check it out.”
“Please, call me Clark.”
Tim just nodded again.
“I’ve never seen a human work out before,” Kara confided, “Especially with all the gymnastics stuff you Bats are supposed to be able to do. Can I maybe, um, watch?”
“Ah, it’s just routine stuff. Not that exciting.” Tim glanced at Kon, who looked disturbingly eager as he set a placemat, plate, glass, and cutlery in front of Tim before dropping into his own seat.
Kara just blinked at him, waiting for more. Totally expecting Tim to acquiesce.
“Ok?” Tim offered feebly. Kara had seemed nice enough so far. No need to isolate himself farther by pushing her away, but for all that he had spent a majority of his life watching others (Batman and Robin and Dick and Jason and Bruce), Tim didn’t appreciate being openly observed by strangers. Bruce, Babs, and the other Bats, sure. Surveillance constituted an expression of... care (love) within the family. Dick or Jason watched him train all the time-calling out corrections, instructions, teaching-but here… Tim just felt a bit weirded out.
“Is it cool if I come too?” Kon grinned between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes.
“Ah, sure…” Tim figured he might as well. Maybe he could talk Kara or Kon into sparring with him. That way he could observe in person the capabilities of Kryptonians as strong as the Supers. And figure if any of the strategies Dick and Bruce had drilled into him would yield any success in practice.
From what he’d read in Bruce and Babs’ files he sort of doubted it. Without some variety of Kryptonite or a floodlight with a red filter, there wasn’t much a non-powered human could do against a Kryptonian. Which is what fueled the fear, of course. The bottom line in this entire conflict. No one liked to be powerless. No one liked the possibility of an entire race of super-beings who could crush or fry humanity if they have a bad enough day.
Tim poked with his fork at the fried chicken Kara plopped on his plate, suddenly quite nauseous, excruciatingly aware of the danger embodied in the beings surrounding him.
He couldn’t keep any Kryptonite. The treaty forbade it.
And tugging around a floodlight wasn’t exactly subtle.
Next Part