[Email Log] Though I roam a minstrel lonely All through the night
Slices of life--hour by hour through the nights, Tim copes and Dick loves.
Midnight, Thursday
Even in the dead of night on Tabula Rasa the air was hot and heavy. A late shower had caught Tim out and his hair was dripping streams of water down the tight collar of his uniform. He resisted the urge to shake his head as he swung through the window into his very empty room and just grabbed a towel from the hamper, scrubbing it over his hair. Without so much as glancing at his bed, made up tidily, untouched, he stripped out of his uniform, hung it neatly to dry and pulled on old clothes, stretched out, comfortable and most importantly, dry. He skipped shoes and proceeded on bare feet to the treehouse's small kitchen area. He wasn't hungry but sleep was out of the question.
Dick didn't sleep for forty-eight hours when he arrived, but he'd come in off the battle with Trigon's sons, Raven going witchy, and been dropped right into the middle of the minefield of him and Babs and of Tim and his Titans. Roy's actually trying to sleep when Tim gets back from patrol, but Dick's wide awake, listening for the fifteen years-familiar sound of Roy's nightmares, especially those less familiar but more potent, about failing to save Lian. The hugging Roy gives but mocks during the day, he can't sleep without if his little girl starts screaming in his head.
His hearing's keyed too for the unfamiliar sounds of Bart's nightmares, and the heart-wrenching whimper of Tim's, but Bart's been tossing and Tim...Dick consults his internal clock...should've been out of the kitchen and into bed fifteen minutes ago. He sits up, arms around his knees and listens a few minutes longer, and when Tim doesn't go to bed, Dick gets up and pads barefoot and bare-chested into the kitchen. "How was patrol?" Nice neutral question, since it's only Tim's tone and posture that matters.
Tim looked up from where he was pretending to be interested in his food. His plate was half-full but only because that's the way it had started out, not because he'd eaten anything. Eating, like sleep, had suffered recently, "Same as usual. Totally uneventful." His eyes were caught deep in shadow, or maybe that was just lack of sleep. "It's very wrong of me to wish for a mugging. Or maybe a robbery, if there was anything on this island worth stealing."
He hasn't eaten - the food on his plate is untouched and he isn't doing anything with his mouth but talking. Talking and not saying anything. He has shadows under his eyes, like he hasn't slept but he has cried. Knowing Tim, the first is true, the second hasn't happened, but should. Dick reaches out to tousle his hair, but rests his hand on Tim's shoulder instead. "Roy and I can stage a mugging for you tomorrow." Tomorrow, he and Roy will start building a team again, and Roy will be all right. Sad, but all right. Tim...Dick's not sure what it's going to take for him. Whatever it is, Dick's got it covered. "Get some sleep, Tim."
Tim's mouth quirked in assent, almost a smile, tired though it was. It didn't look forced even though he felt nothing behind it. "Yes, big brother," Tim lied, giving him exactly what he expected to hear. It was perfect, formed by years of lying to everyone, including Dick and Bruce. In this case, Tim didn't expect Dick to believe it--there was too much evidence against, after all--he just wanted to assure him that Tim was still okay enough to do this.
1 am, Friday
Twenty-four hours later, Tim's still lying to them both. Still not eating the midnight snack he fixed an hour ago. Dick heard him set it down on the counter and hears his feet marking time in the living room, mapping the length of the wall between his own room and the kitchen. One hand in his hair, Dick sits with his back against the wall, listening and waiting for some sign he's needed. Roy's much easier, punch him in the shoulder, wait for him to talk, hug him, get called a girl for it, and they both feel better. It won't work for Tim, but he's not doing either of them any good in here.
Just like he did last night, Dick pushes off the bed and pads into the kitchen. He takes Tim's plate off the counter and carries it to the common room, drops to the couch and starts to eat. "You mind? I'm hungry. Trained hard with Monet."
Tim actually jumped when Dick came into the room, so keyed up was he. Bart was awake, Bart was always awake when Tim got back from patrol. And he didn't need to be in the room to know that Bart was lying in bed, failing to get back to sleep. Like Tim, his nights had been regimented for a long time. He habitually woke when Tim got back from patrol, always there to welcome him back. It would be unreasonable to expect that either of them would just...get over it.
Tim realized he was just staring back at Dick and shook his head, "Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out." Belatedly he realized that he should have teased. Asked if that's what Dick was calling it these days. He shrugged and let it go.
When Tim doesn't tease him about training with Monet, Dick knows he's worse off than it even seems. Tim's not just trying to outrun the grief of a breakup, he's treading dark waters, trying to stay afloat. Tim could use a life raft, a good long cry, or both. Dick's here for either, but Tim's not ready yet. So unless Dick wants to beat it out of him like he did at the Lazarus pit, his choices are to wait...or to wait.
He eats a slice of mango off his fingers and watches Tim stand there staring. "I haven't slept with her yet, in case you're curious." A soft shrug as he sinks down into the couch, comfortable, and then, "I haven't had sex since I got here." It's only as he says it that Dick thinks to wonder why.
He was ready for it this time and managed to return the volley, "That must be some kind of record for you. Are you feeling well? I'm a doctor, you can tell me." The tone wasn't quite right but the words were and that was a start. Tim paced back toward Dick, letting the energy pent up inside him move his feet. "Or is it revenge from God for dressing like a priest?"
Because he's been thinking it since he said it, Dick actually has an answer, and not a quippy one. He doesn't give it right away. Just eats another slice of mango, which he doesn't even like, but he wants Tim to settle before he says it. After a minute, he glances up at Tim and shrugs. "I can't really do casual right now. Too raw to open up to a stranger like I do for sex." That last part he doesn't have to explain. It used to be creepy, but now it's kind of comforting to know Tim's not only watched but taken pictures of him having sex for years.
For Tim, Monet would still be a stranger at this stage. He'd keep her at arm's length for months at minimum. But Tim wasn't Dick. He could connect with someone faster than Tim could even begin to understand and when that person was his teammate? Tim folded his arms across his chest. "Is this because of your girlfriend?"
Dick blinks. Girlfr--oh. He wants to kick himself for that, but he doesn't feel as guilty as he should. "No." He shakes his head. Stretching forward, he sets down the plate, then pushes a hand through his hair trying to figure out how to explain. "There are people I could be with if I wanted something fast, physical, love for an hour because the connection was there. But I need more than an hour, and Monet's..." A soft smile at the thought of her, new teammate, new sweetheart though she'd kick his ass for calling her that. "Too close for casual and not close enough for what I need with everything...you, Babs, Roy, Bart, Jill, even Monet, lots pulling on me." There's a brief flicker of Roy in his thoughts, but it's been years since they were together like that.
Tim couldn't stop the wince, at being a burden, being someone that was a weight on Dick, not a help. It was worse still because he knew that right now there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't have the reserves to call on that would enable him to be support instead of needing support. He turned away instead, pacing the other direction, back to the kitchen where he poured himself a cup of juice. "So what are you going to do?"
The guilt he doesn't feel over Deb, he definitely feels for Tim's wince. He's got to remember this Tim doesn't know that they depend on each other and it's fine for Dick to carry the weight right now. "Pour me some?" he asks, because Tim will have to come close enough for him to touch to give it to him. When Tim looks up again, he smiles easily, exhaling slow. "Wait. The right time, right person, right place will happen, or things will settle down and 'right' won't be as important as 'right now'."
Tim poured more juice into the cup he was already using and brought that to Dick, holding it out loosely, "I don't really understand it. Before..." Before Bart. Before New Years. "I don't know that I believe in right time, right person, right place. Is that what it's like? For you?"
"Not always," Dick answers, reaching for the cup and letting his fingers curl around Tim's wrist. "Come sit for a few minutes?" Tim won't say no to him, he knows, so he scoots over a little to make room. What Tim needs is to be cuddled to sleep but he's pretty sure Tim won't let him do that. He's not five today. "Sometimes," he continues, "It's just interest and opportunity with someone who doesn't need more than the connection in the right now. But, yeah. Most of the time it's someone important to me and we both want to right then, wherever we are." He grins briefly at the memory of a few entirely too public wherever we ares.
Tim frowned at Dick's hand on his wrist. He didn't want to sit. He wanted to move. Needed to walk and think and not think. He sat anyway on the very edge of the couch, tense and distracted, like he was going to leap up again any second. Dick would have let go if he asked, the hold was not a restraining one. When he needed to get up again, Dick would allow it. It was a safety net of a strange sort, an open door on the bird cage. "It's that easy for you?"
Tim sits like he can't stay, has to be somewhere else, can't believe he's letting himself be detained. They're opposites like that. The only time Dick's really still - except when Bruce stands behind him - is when he's broken inside. Like all of his energy goes to healing those shattered parts. He chafes the inside of Tim's wrist with his thumb, willing him to settle or at least absorb some tiny comfort from his touch. "Except when it's not," Dick answers after a long sip of juice. "When other things get in the way. Otherwise it's simple. Why?" He knows why, but maybe if Tim articulates it, it'll help loosen the knots he's tied himself in.
"I don't understand that. Casual...anything. Especially being who we are and doing what we do. Our lives are complicated. Involved. With as much work as it takes just having someone be trustworthy enough, how can it be simple?" Or the reverse, which is what Tim's really asking, how do you recover when you've tangled yourself up that much in another person. How do you let go? How do you say goodbye?
If he could make this easier for Tim, he would. But how you explain to a boy who has to think to breathe that love is like breathing is beyond him. Dick releases Tim's wrist to tousle his hair, but finds his fingers pulling softly through it instead. It's a lot longer than it was at home and softer. Feels incredibly...good...between his fingers. He lets that happen for a minute, because it's as good an answer as any. "It isn't always easy. It can get messy. Look at me and Babs. We've been dancing this dance for half my life. We're never really going to be finished, no matter what decisions we make about being together. But it is simple. When you care about someone, you just do. The rest is only as complicated as you want to make it."
2 am, Saturday
Tonight he was pacing less, trying to stay quiet so he wouldn't disturb Dick for the third night in a row. He still couldn't bear to be in his room. Couldn't face the silvery moonlight on a bed too cold and empty after patrol. Food was still uninteresting to him but he forced himself to eat, dried mangoes and a bit of meat for energy and protein. He hoped that Bart was sleeping at least. Maybe he should check in on him, just to be sure.
He'd taken two steps towards Bart's room before he realized that a terrible idea that was and turned abruptly the other direction, heel hitting the floor harder than he intended and sending shivers up his spine. He cursed into the dark and leaned against a wall until the vibrating pain stopped.
Somewhere around two, Tim hisses a curse under his breath. Dick's out of bed and in the living room before his shoulder hits the wall. Quick look, eyes already adjusted to the dark because he's been sitting up in it - no danger to Tim except Tim. Going on three days without sleep... it's a miracle he hasn't shattered yet...if he doesn't get at least an hour or two tonight, he's going to start hallucinating.
Dick passes him deliberately on the way to the couch. Runs his hand over Tim's hair and down his back without saying a word. While he's still willing to give Tim mental space, he's done restraining his impulses when it comes to taking care of him. He drops to the couch, settled in the corner with his legs stretched out. After glancing significantly to the space beside his hip, he looks up at Tim. "Come here."
So much for being considerate of his house guest. But Tim was too tired to fight it this time, crossing the open space between them without a word and sinking down into the place Dick had made for him. "I didn't mean to wake you." Don't tell me that you were awake is the unspoken request, lie to me and let me believe that I'm not hurting anyone but me.
"It's okay." It has the virtue of being true and not making an issue of the fact he hasn't been to sleep and won't until he's spent this time with Tim. Chat with Roy before bed. Go to bed and sit up until Tim needs him. Spend some time with Tim. Then he'll sleep and hopefully Tim will too. He curls a hand around Tim's neck. "Talk about it?"
"I don't know what to say about it. It is what it is." His neck is tense under Dick's fingers, not from the touch but from everything else. The only time he wasn't keyed up anymore was training with Morgan and even she thought little of his silence on this. You cannot run from your own thoughts, Timothy. Not even you can partition your mind that completely, and you should not. Which he knew but he wasn't ready to tell her yet. He wasn't very good at admitting his mistakes, even after he'd started to correct them.
Thumb and forefinger pressing up under the base of Tim's skull to release some of that tension, Dick draws him gently closer. Tim's body's vibrating with tension. He's going to snap in half if he doesn't relax. "That's a good start." It doesn't actually matter what he says at this point. Probably. It is Tim. He'll be thinking when they--he never stops thinking. "Sometimes trying to put words around what 'it' is helps unravel it a little."
The pressure point gave him no choice but to exhale and relax minutely so that it was less like Dick was tugging on a particularly warm statue. It broke down a little of the block he'd put around the topic as well. Haltingly, Tim tried to put words to at least some of his thoughts. "When Arianna and I broke up...she dumped me, I guess but I'd been planning on... because there was..." Spoiler...Stephanie...Steph. "Someone else."
He skipped on, "It wasn't this confusing. First relationship and all that, we just drifted apart. When... the times that... there were so many other things happening. I'd quit being Robin and we just stopped talking. I don't know if it even counts as breaking up." And then she was gone. They'd never had a chance to reconcile and he'd never stopped loving her. "I've just never had to go through this when this is the major issue. I'm working on it."
Stephanie. Spoiler. Tim doesn't have to say her name for Dick to hear it. In a lot of ways, it's all he's been saying since Dick got here. Stephanie. And when it's not Stephanie, it's Jack Drake. That's part of the problem. Most of this isn't about Bart at all. Tim just tried to staunch the bleeding with a Bart-shaped bandage. It worked for awhile, but between his training with Morgan and Dick's appearance, the fragile scab tore right off. Now he's trying not to choke on his own blood.
"Saying goodbye to people you love hurts." Tim knows that. He was there, witnessed, when Dick said his goodbye to Bruce. "It hurts afterwards. Eventually it hurts a little less." He smoothes his hand over Tim's hair. "But you've got to admit it hurts first."
Like teacher, like big brother. Everyone wanted him to talk about it and Tim could hardly imagine anything he'd rather do less. He shook his head, "Not yet. I can't yet." But he stayed where he was, willing for now to allow Dick to muss his hair and to allow himself to take some comfort in it. This late at night even they had to forgo the masks.
3 am, Sunday
Up and down, around and around, Tim hasn't stopped moving since last night when he got up from the couch. No way he could, or he'd collapse. Dick's been sitting here since they both got back from patrols and shower, just waiting for Tim's body to give out. He's not sure what time it is, later than last night, when he gives up. Maybe Tim's not ready to collapse, but he is. He's tired, he's going to bed, and so's Tim.
Dick sets his feet on the ground, clearly dragging, since he pushes off, hands on his thighs, to stand. Once he's halfway across the common room to his bedroom, he looks back over his shoulder. "You coming?" If Tim thinks that's a request, he's got another think coming. Not a problem, since Tim's got plenty of them.
Tim was tired enough that he didn't hear the order in Dick's tone and just shook his head instead, fidgeting with the same piece of fruit he'd being failing to eat for the last hour. "Nah. I think I'm going to read for a while. You go ahead."
Hm. Let's try that again. Dick stops at the door, puts his arm up against the frame and leans heavily. He watches Tim for almost a full minute, gaze as heavy as his body. "The book will be there tomorrow. You coming?" He puts a little more Bat in it this time and a little more eyebrow.
That got through Tim's exhausted haze and the effect was visible: Tim's spine went straighter, shoulders squaring even as he lifted his chin and looked over at Dick, mouth tightening. His gaze flickered over to his doorway; the flinch around his eyes was small but there. Not answering seemed safer.
One more time, then. Arm coming down, the other meets it across his chest. His hips square, body drawing up like someone pulled the string attached to his spine. Relaxed, confident, authoritative. Don't make me order you to do this, Tim. "I said, you coming?" he asks, meets Tim's gaze for a second, then pivots into his room without looking back. If he has to go out there to get Tim, he will.
Tim followed a couple of steps, wavered and only then realized Dick meant 'coming' as in to his room, not going to bed at all. It was puzzlement more than anything that started his feet moving again, uneven steps that hesitated at the threshold to Dick's room. "You think I can't be alone?" he asked, not defensively, just confused.
Dick considers a Bruce-like grunt in response, but that's as good as a 'yes'. Instead, he drops down to his bed, pulls back the cover, and glances to the other pillow. "You don't have to be." It's an answer in Dick-logic. If you don't have to be and you don't want to be, then don't. And since Tim hasn't been alone in his own room after dark since breaking up with Bart, he assumes part two of that logic chain is as valid as part one.
In some ways, it was just like two nights ago when Tim had sat next to Dick on the couch, nervous and strained. He'd only been able to manage that for an hour then he'd had to move again. Last night had been better, less stressful and stressed. He felt a bit like an abused animal being coaxed in, day by day, tamed to hand. The comparison didn't make him happy. His legs bumped against the edge of Dick's bed, arms crossed over his chest like they wanted to clutch instead. "If I don't sleep, will you?"
"I guess we'll find out." Chances are, the answer's yes. Exhaustion's creeping in, blurring his vision already, making his limbs and eyelids heavy. But if he tells Tim that, he gives him an excuse not to try. Years with Bruce have taught him you use whatever you have. Guilt's a powerful motivator with Tim and he needs sleep enough Dick doesn't feel, well, guilty, using it. He rolls his head on his pillow to look at Tim. Forces himself not to cringe at the brittle, wound-tight posture when he runs his fingers along the ridge of Tim's spine. "At least lie down."
4 am, Monday
He'd lain down the previous night, but not slept. Had stayed away in the darkness and listened as Dick's breathing had slowed, steadied, softened. Tonight, there hadn't been a discussion about it after patrol. Hadn't been a struggle. When Dick had said "You coming?" this time, Tim had just nodded and followed, found his place at Dick's side on the bed. He was still awake--his internal clock said it was almost 4 am Monday...or maybe it was Tuesday now. He'd noticed his hands shaking today and knew that he'd pushed himself way, way past anything that was sane or acceptable. Into the quiet room, he sighed.
Dick feels it in the seconds before it happens. Tim gathers himself, maybe not even aware he's doing it, probably not, now, as tired as he is. His whole body lifts just a fraction, like he's adjusting for a jump. Then he sighs. It's the first time he's actually heard Tim exhale since he let go of him on Wednesday afternoon.
Fingertips stretching across the mattress, he finds Tim's wrist in the dark. Flattens his palm and runs it up Tim's arm to his shoulder, then hooks his fingers behind it. He could put Tim in screaming pain with as tense as he is. Just a millimeter out toward the cap of his shoulder. His fingers slide farther from the pressure point instead, rubbing gently at the edge of the blade. "At least your feet aren't blocks of ice this time." Translation: We've been here before. It's okay to need me.
"Bite me, we slept in boots." And had been too tired to do anything but think about the job. Stitch up the latest wound. It was strange now to think of that as a simpler time, when Gotham had been a city of ruins with no rescue in sight. For much of it, Dick had been gone, off on the rock in the middle of the bay. But there had been times like this, when one or both were past their breaking point and it was okay to just curl into each other, for the warmth if not the comfort.
That's what Tim was thinking when he rolled toward Dick, putting himself in the circle of his arm. When it had been worse, this had been okay. The island wasn't the same sort of no man's land but there was just as little hope of rescue. "Promise me this is okay?"
"Tell me your feet weren't blocks of ice in the boots," Dick answers the first, curling his arm around Tim and sliding his fingers into his hair. They'd slept like this, curled tight together, for physical and emotional warmth in the chill of Gotham's no man land. He remembers the smell of smoke, ash, and cold. Tim smells cold now, sort of. He feels hurt, his body tense in strange patterns and places, like he's been protecting a wound.
Soft push to get Tim to settle against Dick's shoulder, then Dick turns his head and presses a kiss to the crown of Tim's. "I promise. Tim, it's fine." It's so much more than fine. But effusion will only scare him off.
Tim's eyes closed, and made himself release the tension in his shoulders and back. He shivered with the rush of blood back in and sighed again. He stirred slightly, trying to figure out how to word this. "Dick, I..." As though it wasn't bad enough that he couldn't bear to be alone. He changed his mind. "thanks. For being here."
5 am, Tuesday
Morning came early on Monday with only an hour and a half of sleep, but Tim comes to bed willingly on Monday night. Willingly and early, right after patrol, with only the tilt of Dick's head to encourage him. He curls in right away, too. By the third pass of Dick's hand down Tim's back, they're both sound asleep.
Dick wakes Tuesday morning wrapped around Tim. Sleep-sticky warmth, and his thigh thrown over Tim's. He's half on top of Tim and Tim's arms are wound around him, fingers splayed against Dick's back. His shoulder's cramped and stiff from the angle, and it's possible the reason Tim's hair is stuck to his mouth is because he drooled in his sleep. He's hard, not just because it's morning, and because he still hasn't had sex since he got here, but because it's Tim and he loves him. He's willing to bet Tim's hard too, but his hip and thigh are numb so he can't tell. While he wouldn't mind at all, Tim would probably lose it if Dick slipped his hand between them to find out.
Since Tim will bitch if he doesn't wake him, Dick smiles and dips his head to nuzzle Tim's cheek with his nose. "And Kory says I'm an octopus." Obviously, it runs in the Bat-family.
Tim's face scrunched up and he mumbled sleepily, eyes opening slowly, clouded and blue. He was usually a fairly light sleep and normally he woke quickly but after the first real night of sleep that he'd had in a week, he was lagging badly, fogged by exhaustion and the poisons of finally being able to relax. "...don wan swimmin, tired." He snuggled in closer and tightened his arms, tilting his head back a little, cheek sliding against Dick's.
Tim's cheek slides against his. His mouth and his throat are right there. Right person hits him with startling clarity. Abruptly he's not just hard but painfully hard. It's amazing how bad morning breath isn't without chemically processed food and when you take as good care with your bodies as he and Tim do. Dick squeezes his eyes shut and resists the urge to kiss Tim. Right person, right place - his bed...wrong time. Even though his body and his heart are shouting right time right time right time! He pulls his fingers through Tim's sleep tangled hair and murmurs, "No swimming, my little octopus. You can even sleep in if you want. Won't kill you."
Something in Dick's tone drew Tim further out of sleep, wading through the dregs of it. He swallowed and shifted back a bit, automatically regaining distance as he woke. "What'd are you talkin bout?" he asked, blinking at Dick a few times then frowned a little as he lifted his head and surveyed their situation. "Octopus?"
How has he never seen this before, this adorably sweet sleepy version of Tim? He can't stop smiling and his fingers won't stop petting Tim's hair. His arm tightens around Tim's waist, keeping him close for a few minutes longer before Tim freaks out and realizes this is a hell of a lot more than snuggling for comfort he's doing. "Octopus. You know, eight tentacles with suction cups on them. Uses them to anchor itself. Kinda like you're doing." And like he is, but he'll leave that one to Tim to figure out.
Tim was finally somewhere near proper consciousness, still sleepy, but no longer sleep-fogged. "Dick, you're talking nonsense." He pulled his arms back, slowly, unwinding himself from Dick. He hadn't missed that Dick was treating him sort of like a very large teddy bear. "We have training to get to."
"There's nothing nonsensical about octopi. Especially on an island where there are unicorns I'll never see." He sighs without bothering to disguise it. Tim will probably assume it's for him being too serious instead of because he's losing Tim's warmth and the intimacy of the moment. "Kory used to say I was an octopus." Even with Roy here, there's a tight pang in his chest at the thought of Kory, because it leads to thoughts of Donna, Wally, Vic, Gar, and Raven. "Anyway, you have training to get to. Someone thought I should run for council. So I have constituents to meet." Because he doesn't want Tim to leave, he stretches full length against him then tucks his arms behind his head.
"You're just trying to get out of wind sprints." Tim quirked a grin at him as he sat up, stretching his back until it popped. "Admit it. Councilman Grayson has a certain ring to it. You'll shake the hands of pretty girls and kiss pretty babies. Or the reverse. And you'll love it. I know you." He felt so much better this morning it was almost astonishing. He could attribute it to a full night's sleep without interruption by nightmares. But that would deny the large debt he now owed to Dick.
"Yeah, well. I have to write a speech first. And get elected. So hold off on the self-congratulation, little brother." There's a quip about shaken babies and criminal offenses that he bypasses as too cynical for first thing in the morning. Instead, he smiles, bright and brilliant, happy to see Tim rested, if not entirely healed. Then he shoots out a hand to muss Tim's already messy hair. "Bedhead's a good look on you. Not so good for striking fear in the hearts of men and team, but seriously cute."
Tim's face went carefully blank for three endless seconds then his smile came back a little less sincere than before. "I've been meaning to cut it," he replied and got up, out of arm's reach almost immediately, shrugging his shoulders to settle his t-shirt into place. "I'm going to get going. I'll see you later."
Dick shakes his head once but doesn't say anything more about the hair. Since he got here, he's been screwing with it. A lot more than usual. Right person explains the why he hadn't actually figured out yet. He sighs and runs a hand through his own, letting it slide back into place. "Let's try to make it another early night." Nightwing translation: I expect you back in this bed as soon as we're both done with patrol. Be here. Dick wants the company and Tim still needs the sleep.
Midnight, Thursday
Even in the dead of night on Tabula Rasa the air was hot and heavy. A late shower had caught Tim out and his hair was dripping streams of water down the tight collar of his uniform. He resisted the urge to shake his head as he swung through the window into his very empty room and just grabbed a towel from the hamper, scrubbing it over his hair. Without so much as glancing at his bed, made up tidily, untouched, he stripped out of his uniform, hung it neatly to dry and pulled on old clothes, stretched out, comfortable and most importantly, dry. He skipped shoes and proceeded on bare feet to the treehouse's small kitchen area. He wasn't hungry but sleep was out of the question.
Dick didn't sleep for forty-eight hours when he arrived, but he'd come in off the battle with Trigon's sons, Raven going witchy, and been dropped right into the middle of the minefield of him and Babs and of Tim and his Titans. Roy's actually trying to sleep when Tim gets back from patrol, but Dick's wide awake, listening for the fifteen years-familiar sound of Roy's nightmares, especially those less familiar but more potent, about failing to save Lian. The hugging Roy gives but mocks during the day, he can't sleep without if his little girl starts screaming in his head.
His hearing's keyed too for the unfamiliar sounds of Bart's nightmares, and the heart-wrenching whimper of Tim's, but Bart's been tossing and Tim...Dick consults his internal clock...should've been out of the kitchen and into bed fifteen minutes ago. He sits up, arms around his knees and listens a few minutes longer, and when Tim doesn't go to bed, Dick gets up and pads barefoot and bare-chested into the kitchen. "How was patrol?" Nice neutral question, since it's only Tim's tone and posture that matters.
Tim looked up from where he was pretending to be interested in his food. His plate was half-full but only because that's the way it had started out, not because he'd eaten anything. Eating, like sleep, had suffered recently, "Same as usual. Totally uneventful." His eyes were caught deep in shadow, or maybe that was just lack of sleep. "It's very wrong of me to wish for a mugging. Or maybe a robbery, if there was anything on this island worth stealing."
He hasn't eaten - the food on his plate is untouched and he isn't doing anything with his mouth but talking. Talking and not saying anything. He has shadows under his eyes, like he hasn't slept but he has cried. Knowing Tim, the first is true, the second hasn't happened, but should. Dick reaches out to tousle his hair, but rests his hand on Tim's shoulder instead. "Roy and I can stage a mugging for you tomorrow." Tomorrow, he and Roy will start building a team again, and Roy will be all right. Sad, but all right. Tim...Dick's not sure what it's going to take for him. Whatever it is, Dick's got it covered. "Get some sleep, Tim."
Tim's mouth quirked in assent, almost a smile, tired though it was. It didn't look forced even though he felt nothing behind it. "Yes, big brother," Tim lied, giving him exactly what he expected to hear. It was perfect, formed by years of lying to everyone, including Dick and Bruce. In this case, Tim didn't expect Dick to believe it--there was too much evidence against, after all--he just wanted to assure him that Tim was still okay enough to do this.
1 am, Friday
Twenty-four hours later, Tim's still lying to them both. Still not eating the midnight snack he fixed an hour ago. Dick heard him set it down on the counter and hears his feet marking time in the living room, mapping the length of the wall between his own room and the kitchen. One hand in his hair, Dick sits with his back against the wall, listening and waiting for some sign he's needed. Roy's much easier, punch him in the shoulder, wait for him to talk, hug him, get called a girl for it, and they both feel better. It won't work for Tim, but he's not doing either of them any good in here.
Just like he did last night, Dick pushes off the bed and pads into the kitchen. He takes Tim's plate off the counter and carries it to the common room, drops to the couch and starts to eat. "You mind? I'm hungry. Trained hard with Monet."
Tim actually jumped when Dick came into the room, so keyed up was he. Bart was awake, Bart was always awake when Tim got back from patrol. And he didn't need to be in the room to know that Bart was lying in bed, failing to get back to sleep. Like Tim, his nights had been regimented for a long time. He habitually woke when Tim got back from patrol, always there to welcome him back. It would be unreasonable to expect that either of them would just...get over it.
Tim realized he was just staring back at Dick and shook his head, "Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out." Belatedly he realized that he should have teased. Asked if that's what Dick was calling it these days. He shrugged and let it go.
When Tim doesn't tease him about training with Monet, Dick knows he's worse off than it even seems. Tim's not just trying to outrun the grief of a breakup, he's treading dark waters, trying to stay afloat. Tim could use a life raft, a good long cry, or both. Dick's here for either, but Tim's not ready yet. So unless Dick wants to beat it out of him like he did at the Lazarus pit, his choices are to wait...or to wait.
He eats a slice of mango off his fingers and watches Tim stand there staring. "I haven't slept with her yet, in case you're curious." A soft shrug as he sinks down into the couch, comfortable, and then, "I haven't had sex since I got here." It's only as he says it that Dick thinks to wonder why.
He was ready for it this time and managed to return the volley, "That must be some kind of record for you. Are you feeling well? I'm a doctor, you can tell me." The tone wasn't quite right but the words were and that was a start. Tim paced back toward Dick, letting the energy pent up inside him move his feet. "Or is it revenge from God for dressing like a priest?"
Because he's been thinking it since he said it, Dick actually has an answer, and not a quippy one. He doesn't give it right away. Just eats another slice of mango, which he doesn't even like, but he wants Tim to settle before he says it. After a minute, he glances up at Tim and shrugs. "I can't really do casual right now. Too raw to open up to a stranger like I do for sex." That last part he doesn't have to explain. It used to be creepy, but now it's kind of comforting to know Tim's not only watched but taken pictures of him having sex for years.
For Tim, Monet would still be a stranger at this stage. He'd keep her at arm's length for months at minimum. But Tim wasn't Dick. He could connect with someone faster than Tim could even begin to understand and when that person was his teammate? Tim folded his arms across his chest. "Is this because of your girlfriend?"
Dick blinks. Girlfr--oh. He wants to kick himself for that, but he doesn't feel as guilty as he should. "No." He shakes his head. Stretching forward, he sets down the plate, then pushes a hand through his hair trying to figure out how to explain. "There are people I could be with if I wanted something fast, physical, love for an hour because the connection was there. But I need more than an hour, and Monet's..." A soft smile at the thought of her, new teammate, new sweetheart though she'd kick his ass for calling her that. "Too close for casual and not close enough for what I need with everything...you, Babs, Roy, Bart, Jill, even Monet, lots pulling on me." There's a brief flicker of Roy in his thoughts, but it's been years since they were together like that.
Tim couldn't stop the wince, at being a burden, being someone that was a weight on Dick, not a help. It was worse still because he knew that right now there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't have the reserves to call on that would enable him to be support instead of needing support. He turned away instead, pacing the other direction, back to the kitchen where he poured himself a cup of juice. "So what are you going to do?"
The guilt he doesn't feel over Deb, he definitely feels for Tim's wince. He's got to remember this Tim doesn't know that they depend on each other and it's fine for Dick to carry the weight right now. "Pour me some?" he asks, because Tim will have to come close enough for him to touch to give it to him. When Tim looks up again, he smiles easily, exhaling slow. "Wait. The right time, right person, right place will happen, or things will settle down and 'right' won't be as important as 'right now'."
Tim poured more juice into the cup he was already using and brought that to Dick, holding it out loosely, "I don't really understand it. Before..." Before Bart. Before New Years. "I don't know that I believe in right time, right person, right place. Is that what it's like? For you?"
"Not always," Dick answers, reaching for the cup and letting his fingers curl around Tim's wrist. "Come sit for a few minutes?" Tim won't say no to him, he knows, so he scoots over a little to make room. What Tim needs is to be cuddled to sleep but he's pretty sure Tim won't let him do that. He's not five today. "Sometimes," he continues, "It's just interest and opportunity with someone who doesn't need more than the connection in the right now. But, yeah. Most of the time it's someone important to me and we both want to right then, wherever we are." He grins briefly at the memory of a few entirely too public wherever we ares.
Tim frowned at Dick's hand on his wrist. He didn't want to sit. He wanted to move. Needed to walk and think and not think. He sat anyway on the very edge of the couch, tense and distracted, like he was going to leap up again any second. Dick would have let go if he asked, the hold was not a restraining one. When he needed to get up again, Dick would allow it. It was a safety net of a strange sort, an open door on the bird cage. "It's that easy for you?"
Tim sits like he can't stay, has to be somewhere else, can't believe he's letting himself be detained. They're opposites like that. The only time Dick's really still - except when Bruce stands behind him - is when he's broken inside. Like all of his energy goes to healing those shattered parts. He chafes the inside of Tim's wrist with his thumb, willing him to settle or at least absorb some tiny comfort from his touch. "Except when it's not," Dick answers after a long sip of juice. "When other things get in the way. Otherwise it's simple. Why?" He knows why, but maybe if Tim articulates it, it'll help loosen the knots he's tied himself in.
"I don't understand that. Casual...anything. Especially being who we are and doing what we do. Our lives are complicated. Involved. With as much work as it takes just having someone be trustworthy enough, how can it be simple?" Or the reverse, which is what Tim's really asking, how do you recover when you've tangled yourself up that much in another person. How do you let go? How do you say goodbye?
If he could make this easier for Tim, he would. But how you explain to a boy who has to think to breathe that love is like breathing is beyond him. Dick releases Tim's wrist to tousle his hair, but finds his fingers pulling softly through it instead. It's a lot longer than it was at home and softer. Feels incredibly...good...between his fingers. He lets that happen for a minute, because it's as good an answer as any. "It isn't always easy. It can get messy. Look at me and Babs. We've been dancing this dance for half my life. We're never really going to be finished, no matter what decisions we make about being together. But it is simple. When you care about someone, you just do. The rest is only as complicated as you want to make it."
2 am, Saturday
Tonight he was pacing less, trying to stay quiet so he wouldn't disturb Dick for the third night in a row. He still couldn't bear to be in his room. Couldn't face the silvery moonlight on a bed too cold and empty after patrol. Food was still uninteresting to him but he forced himself to eat, dried mangoes and a bit of meat for energy and protein. He hoped that Bart was sleeping at least. Maybe he should check in on him, just to be sure.
He'd taken two steps towards Bart's room before he realized that a terrible idea that was and turned abruptly the other direction, heel hitting the floor harder than he intended and sending shivers up his spine. He cursed into the dark and leaned against a wall until the vibrating pain stopped.
Somewhere around two, Tim hisses a curse under his breath. Dick's out of bed and in the living room before his shoulder hits the wall. Quick look, eyes already adjusted to the dark because he's been sitting up in it - no danger to Tim except Tim. Going on three days without sleep... it's a miracle he hasn't shattered yet...if he doesn't get at least an hour or two tonight, he's going to start hallucinating.
Dick passes him deliberately on the way to the couch. Runs his hand over Tim's hair and down his back without saying a word. While he's still willing to give Tim mental space, he's done restraining his impulses when it comes to taking care of him. He drops to the couch, settled in the corner with his legs stretched out. After glancing significantly to the space beside his hip, he looks up at Tim. "Come here."
So much for being considerate of his house guest. But Tim was too tired to fight it this time, crossing the open space between them without a word and sinking down into the place Dick had made for him. "I didn't mean to wake you." Don't tell me that you were awake is the unspoken request, lie to me and let me believe that I'm not hurting anyone but me.
"It's okay." It has the virtue of being true and not making an issue of the fact he hasn't been to sleep and won't until he's spent this time with Tim. Chat with Roy before bed. Go to bed and sit up until Tim needs him. Spend some time with Tim. Then he'll sleep and hopefully Tim will too. He curls a hand around Tim's neck. "Talk about it?"
"I don't know what to say about it. It is what it is." His neck is tense under Dick's fingers, not from the touch but from everything else. The only time he wasn't keyed up anymore was training with Morgan and even she thought little of his silence on this. You cannot run from your own thoughts, Timothy. Not even you can partition your mind that completely, and you should not. Which he knew but he wasn't ready to tell her yet. He wasn't very good at admitting his mistakes, even after he'd started to correct them.
Thumb and forefinger pressing up under the base of Tim's skull to release some of that tension, Dick draws him gently closer. Tim's body's vibrating with tension. He's going to snap in half if he doesn't relax. "That's a good start." It doesn't actually matter what he says at this point. Probably. It is Tim. He'll be thinking when they--he never stops thinking. "Sometimes trying to put words around what 'it' is helps unravel it a little."
The pressure point gave him no choice but to exhale and relax minutely so that it was less like Dick was tugging on a particularly warm statue. It broke down a little of the block he'd put around the topic as well. Haltingly, Tim tried to put words to at least some of his thoughts. "When Arianna and I broke up...she dumped me, I guess but I'd been planning on... because there was..." Spoiler...Stephanie...Steph. "Someone else."
He skipped on, "It wasn't this confusing. First relationship and all that, we just drifted apart. When... the times that... there were so many other things happening. I'd quit being Robin and we just stopped talking. I don't know if it even counts as breaking up." And then she was gone. They'd never had a chance to reconcile and he'd never stopped loving her. "I've just never had to go through this when this is the major issue. I'm working on it."
Stephanie. Spoiler. Tim doesn't have to say her name for Dick to hear it. In a lot of ways, it's all he's been saying since Dick got here. Stephanie. And when it's not Stephanie, it's Jack Drake. That's part of the problem. Most of this isn't about Bart at all. Tim just tried to staunch the bleeding with a Bart-shaped bandage. It worked for awhile, but between his training with Morgan and Dick's appearance, the fragile scab tore right off. Now he's trying not to choke on his own blood.
"Saying goodbye to people you love hurts." Tim knows that. He was there, witnessed, when Dick said his goodbye to Bruce. "It hurts afterwards. Eventually it hurts a little less." He smoothes his hand over Tim's hair. "But you've got to admit it hurts first."
Like teacher, like big brother. Everyone wanted him to talk about it and Tim could hardly imagine anything he'd rather do less. He shook his head, "Not yet. I can't yet." But he stayed where he was, willing for now to allow Dick to muss his hair and to allow himself to take some comfort in it. This late at night even they had to forgo the masks.
3 am, Sunday
Up and down, around and around, Tim hasn't stopped moving since last night when he got up from the couch. No way he could, or he'd collapse. Dick's been sitting here since they both got back from patrols and shower, just waiting for Tim's body to give out. He's not sure what time it is, later than last night, when he gives up. Maybe Tim's not ready to collapse, but he is. He's tired, he's going to bed, and so's Tim.
Dick sets his feet on the ground, clearly dragging, since he pushes off, hands on his thighs, to stand. Once he's halfway across the common room to his bedroom, he looks back over his shoulder. "You coming?" If Tim thinks that's a request, he's got another think coming. Not a problem, since Tim's got plenty of them.
Tim was tired enough that he didn't hear the order in Dick's tone and just shook his head instead, fidgeting with the same piece of fruit he'd being failing to eat for the last hour. "Nah. I think I'm going to read for a while. You go ahead."
Hm. Let's try that again. Dick stops at the door, puts his arm up against the frame and leans heavily. He watches Tim for almost a full minute, gaze as heavy as his body. "The book will be there tomorrow. You coming?" He puts a little more Bat in it this time and a little more eyebrow.
That got through Tim's exhausted haze and the effect was visible: Tim's spine went straighter, shoulders squaring even as he lifted his chin and looked over at Dick, mouth tightening. His gaze flickered over to his doorway; the flinch around his eyes was small but there. Not answering seemed safer.
One more time, then. Arm coming down, the other meets it across his chest. His hips square, body drawing up like someone pulled the string attached to his spine. Relaxed, confident, authoritative. Don't make me order you to do this, Tim. "I said, you coming?" he asks, meets Tim's gaze for a second, then pivots into his room without looking back. If he has to go out there to get Tim, he will.
Tim followed a couple of steps, wavered and only then realized Dick meant 'coming' as in to his room, not going to bed at all. It was puzzlement more than anything that started his feet moving again, uneven steps that hesitated at the threshold to Dick's room. "You think I can't be alone?" he asked, not defensively, just confused.
Dick considers a Bruce-like grunt in response, but that's as good as a 'yes'. Instead, he drops down to his bed, pulls back the cover, and glances to the other pillow. "You don't have to be." It's an answer in Dick-logic. If you don't have to be and you don't want to be, then don't. And since Tim hasn't been alone in his own room after dark since breaking up with Bart, he assumes part two of that logic chain is as valid as part one.
In some ways, it was just like two nights ago when Tim had sat next to Dick on the couch, nervous and strained. He'd only been able to manage that for an hour then he'd had to move again. Last night had been better, less stressful and stressed. He felt a bit like an abused animal being coaxed in, day by day, tamed to hand. The comparison didn't make him happy. His legs bumped against the edge of Dick's bed, arms crossed over his chest like they wanted to clutch instead. "If I don't sleep, will you?"
"I guess we'll find out." Chances are, the answer's yes. Exhaustion's creeping in, blurring his vision already, making his limbs and eyelids heavy. But if he tells Tim that, he gives him an excuse not to try. Years with Bruce have taught him you use whatever you have. Guilt's a powerful motivator with Tim and he needs sleep enough Dick doesn't feel, well, guilty, using it. He rolls his head on his pillow to look at Tim. Forces himself not to cringe at the brittle, wound-tight posture when he runs his fingers along the ridge of Tim's spine. "At least lie down."
4 am, Monday
He'd lain down the previous night, but not slept. Had stayed away in the darkness and listened as Dick's breathing had slowed, steadied, softened. Tonight, there hadn't been a discussion about it after patrol. Hadn't been a struggle. When Dick had said "You coming?" this time, Tim had just nodded and followed, found his place at Dick's side on the bed. He was still awake--his internal clock said it was almost 4 am Monday...or maybe it was Tuesday now. He'd noticed his hands shaking today and knew that he'd pushed himself way, way past anything that was sane or acceptable. Into the quiet room, he sighed.
Dick feels it in the seconds before it happens. Tim gathers himself, maybe not even aware he's doing it, probably not, now, as tired as he is. His whole body lifts just a fraction, like he's adjusting for a jump. Then he sighs. It's the first time he's actually heard Tim exhale since he let go of him on Wednesday afternoon.
Fingertips stretching across the mattress, he finds Tim's wrist in the dark. Flattens his palm and runs it up Tim's arm to his shoulder, then hooks his fingers behind it. He could put Tim in screaming pain with as tense as he is. Just a millimeter out toward the cap of his shoulder. His fingers slide farther from the pressure point instead, rubbing gently at the edge of the blade. "At least your feet aren't blocks of ice this time." Translation: We've been here before. It's okay to need me.
"Bite me, we slept in boots." And had been too tired to do anything but think about the job. Stitch up the latest wound. It was strange now to think of that as a simpler time, when Gotham had been a city of ruins with no rescue in sight. For much of it, Dick had been gone, off on the rock in the middle of the bay. But there had been times like this, when one or both were past their breaking point and it was okay to just curl into each other, for the warmth if not the comfort.
That's what Tim was thinking when he rolled toward Dick, putting himself in the circle of his arm. When it had been worse, this had been okay. The island wasn't the same sort of no man's land but there was just as little hope of rescue. "Promise me this is okay?"
"Tell me your feet weren't blocks of ice in the boots," Dick answers the first, curling his arm around Tim and sliding his fingers into his hair. They'd slept like this, curled tight together, for physical and emotional warmth in the chill of Gotham's no man land. He remembers the smell of smoke, ash, and cold. Tim smells cold now, sort of. He feels hurt, his body tense in strange patterns and places, like he's been protecting a wound.
Soft push to get Tim to settle against Dick's shoulder, then Dick turns his head and presses a kiss to the crown of Tim's. "I promise. Tim, it's fine." It's so much more than fine. But effusion will only scare him off.
Tim's eyes closed, and made himself release the tension in his shoulders and back. He shivered with the rush of blood back in and sighed again. He stirred slightly, trying to figure out how to word this. "Dick, I..." As though it wasn't bad enough that he couldn't bear to be alone. He changed his mind. "thanks. For being here."
5 am, Tuesday
Morning came early on Monday with only an hour and a half of sleep, but Tim comes to bed willingly on Monday night. Willingly and early, right after patrol, with only the tilt of Dick's head to encourage him. He curls in right away, too. By the third pass of Dick's hand down Tim's back, they're both sound asleep.
Dick wakes Tuesday morning wrapped around Tim. Sleep-sticky warmth, and his thigh thrown over Tim's. He's half on top of Tim and Tim's arms are wound around him, fingers splayed against Dick's back. His shoulder's cramped and stiff from the angle, and it's possible the reason Tim's hair is stuck to his mouth is because he drooled in his sleep. He's hard, not just because it's morning, and because he still hasn't had sex since he got here, but because it's Tim and he loves him. He's willing to bet Tim's hard too, but his hip and thigh are numb so he can't tell. While he wouldn't mind at all, Tim would probably lose it if Dick slipped his hand between them to find out.
Since Tim will bitch if he doesn't wake him, Dick smiles and dips his head to nuzzle Tim's cheek with his nose. "And Kory says I'm an octopus." Obviously, it runs in the Bat-family.
Tim's face scrunched up and he mumbled sleepily, eyes opening slowly, clouded and blue. He was usually a fairly light sleep and normally he woke quickly but after the first real night of sleep that he'd had in a week, he was lagging badly, fogged by exhaustion and the poisons of finally being able to relax. "...don wan swimmin, tired." He snuggled in closer and tightened his arms, tilting his head back a little, cheek sliding against Dick's.
Tim's cheek slides against his. His mouth and his throat are right there. Right person hits him with startling clarity. Abruptly he's not just hard but painfully hard. It's amazing how bad morning breath isn't without chemically processed food and when you take as good care with your bodies as he and Tim do. Dick squeezes his eyes shut and resists the urge to kiss Tim. Right person, right place - his bed...wrong time. Even though his body and his heart are shouting right time right time right time! He pulls his fingers through Tim's sleep tangled hair and murmurs, "No swimming, my little octopus. You can even sleep in if you want. Won't kill you."
Something in Dick's tone drew Tim further out of sleep, wading through the dregs of it. He swallowed and shifted back a bit, automatically regaining distance as he woke. "What'd are you talkin bout?" he asked, blinking at Dick a few times then frowned a little as he lifted his head and surveyed their situation. "Octopus?"
How has he never seen this before, this adorably sweet sleepy version of Tim? He can't stop smiling and his fingers won't stop petting Tim's hair. His arm tightens around Tim's waist, keeping him close for a few minutes longer before Tim freaks out and realizes this is a hell of a lot more than snuggling for comfort he's doing. "Octopus. You know, eight tentacles with suction cups on them. Uses them to anchor itself. Kinda like you're doing." And like he is, but he'll leave that one to Tim to figure out.
Tim was finally somewhere near proper consciousness, still sleepy, but no longer sleep-fogged. "Dick, you're talking nonsense." He pulled his arms back, slowly, unwinding himself from Dick. He hadn't missed that Dick was treating him sort of like a very large teddy bear. "We have training to get to."
"There's nothing nonsensical about octopi. Especially on an island where there are unicorns I'll never see." He sighs without bothering to disguise it. Tim will probably assume it's for him being too serious instead of because he's losing Tim's warmth and the intimacy of the moment. "Kory used to say I was an octopus." Even with Roy here, there's a tight pang in his chest at the thought of Kory, because it leads to thoughts of Donna, Wally, Vic, Gar, and Raven. "Anyway, you have training to get to. Someone thought I should run for council. So I have constituents to meet." Because he doesn't want Tim to leave, he stretches full length against him then tucks his arms behind his head.
"You're just trying to get out of wind sprints." Tim quirked a grin at him as he sat up, stretching his back until it popped. "Admit it. Councilman Grayson has a certain ring to it. You'll shake the hands of pretty girls and kiss pretty babies. Or the reverse. And you'll love it. I know you." He felt so much better this morning it was almost astonishing. He could attribute it to a full night's sleep without interruption by nightmares. But that would deny the large debt he now owed to Dick.
"Yeah, well. I have to write a speech first. And get elected. So hold off on the self-congratulation, little brother." There's a quip about shaken babies and criminal offenses that he bypasses as too cynical for first thing in the morning. Instead, he smiles, bright and brilliant, happy to see Tim rested, if not entirely healed. Then he shoots out a hand to muss Tim's already messy hair. "Bedhead's a good look on you. Not so good for striking fear in the hearts of men and team, but seriously cute."
Tim's face went carefully blank for three endless seconds then his smile came back a little less sincere than before. "I've been meaning to cut it," he replied and got up, out of arm's reach almost immediately, shrugging his shoulders to settle his t-shirt into place. "I'm going to get going. I'll see you later."
Dick shakes his head once but doesn't say anything more about the hair. Since he got here, he's been screwing with it. A lot more than usual. Right person explains the why he hadn't actually figured out yet. He sighs and runs a hand through his own, letting it slide back into place. "Let's try to make it another early night." Nightwing translation: I expect you back in this bed as soon as we're both done with patrol. Be here. Dick wants the company and Tim still needs the sleep.