Fic: Five Days Gone 4/8 [DCU--Tim/Cissie]
Title: Five Days Gone
Authors: lady_sarai, zoe_chan
Continuity: Future AU.
Word Count: Total length: 31,500 This chapter: 3,200
Pairing/Characters: Tim/Cissie, Bruce, Dick, Kon, Bart
Rating/Warnings: Teen for language
Disclaimer: We do not own anything or anyone. We promise.
Note: As stated--this takes place in the future. Bart and Kon are alive (it's very handwavey as to how), Tim and Cissie are married. Tim has given up Robin and become Kestrel.
Summary: Cissie gets kidnapped.
Chapter 4: October 18th
When Cissie came to, it was dark. She couldn’t tell if that was because it was night, or if she was somewhere without windows. If she ignored the throbbing ache at the base of her skull-God, her head hurt, everything hurt-she could focus better on her surroundings. Which were unfamiliar. With a sinking feeling of despair, she realized that they had moved-again. That made this the third location they had taken her to.
Cissie tried not to think about how much this complicated her chances of a rescue. Or how three failed escape attempts made a fourth exponentially more difficult.
Of course, before she could try to escape-again-she needed to be able to move. She shifted restlessly in the chair she was tied to. Her ankles were secured to the chair legs tightly enough that she wasn't completely sure she could feel her feet. Her arms were once again tied behind the chair. Her shoulders, like the rest of her, ached. She wiggled her fingers, just to be sure that she could.
Cissie dropped her chin to her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut-she was not going to cry; it wouldn't do any good. She felt shaky, and was beginning to regret continually turning down the food John kept bringing her.
There was a noise from somewhere behind her, and she snapped her head up and eyes open in time to hear a door open. She winced as a light turned on overhead and she heard footsteps on stairs-now that there was light, she could see that she was in some kind of cellar. Her heart sank-that would make an escape all the more difficult.
A tray clattered onto the table next to her, and John's scowling face came into her field of vision. "Three attempts. In two days. Are you trying to piss them off?"
Cissie didn't even bother turning her head to glare at him. Instead, she looked at the food he'd brought-when she got home, she was never eating a TV dinner again. She made a noise low in her throat instead, waiting for him to remove the duct tape covering her mouth.
He pulled off the tape unceremoniously. "I'm not going to have to fight food into you tonight, right?" he asked crossly, still scowling.
She made a face, working the stiffness out of her jaw. "You're in a good mood," she muttered peevishly.
"No, I'm not," he snapped. He glared off into the middle distance for a few moments before shaking his head sharply. "You should eat."
"I can't exactly feed myself," she snapped back, hating the way her voice shook.
He stabbed at the colorless meatloaf and lifted the fork to her mouth. "Here."
She eyed it warily, unsure if eating it would make her feel more nauseous than she already did. He shoved the fork at her impatiently and she ate it, making a face as she chewed. She was not going to let any of them see her cry. She swallowed, grimacing. "That's disgusting."
He made a sympathetic face. "It looks pretty disgusting. I'm sorry about that. I think it got overcooked." He offered her a forkful of the mushy peas instead. "These might be a little better."
Cissie wrinkled her nose, but ate them anyway. "They're not," she said shortly. She shifted, trying to relieve the strain on her shoulders even a little. "I don't get it."
"Don't get what?" he asked, scooping up another bite of meatloaf.
She ate it, chewing slowly to give herself time to think about what she was going to say. She had a feeling she needed to tread carefully; this was the only plan she could think of. "Why are you nice to me?"
He shrugged. "No reason not to be," he said shortly.
"The others aren't."
"I'm not them."
Cissie snorted and didn't answer, eating the next forkful of rubbery meatloaf slowly. "Sure you're not."
"I'm not," he repeated, stabbing at the peas with a little more force than was necessary, and causing a couple of them to spill onto the table.
Cissie watched the peas roll and ate the ones he offered her mutely. After she swallowed, she said in a low voice, "You kidnapped me. You're helping them." She shrugged. "So I don't get why you're nice to me."
He shrugged uncomfortably. "Because this probably sucks for you, and I'd like to see you get back to your family in one piece."
Cissie clamped her mouth shut, biting the inside of her cheek. She blinked rapidly. She needed to remain in control-she was getting somewhere, and losing her composure because John mentioned her family wasn't going to help her. "Sure. Whatever you say." Maybe it wasn't terrible that she wasn't able to keep her voice from shaking a little.
He frowned. "Look, I'm sorry I mentioned it. It's just that I saw your husband and his dad on the news, and they seemed like good people-I just want to make sure you get back to them."
She looked up sharply. "You saw Tim?"
"Uh, yeah," he said, shifting uncomfortably and scooping up another bite of meatloaf.
"What was he-Did he-" She stopped, pressing her mouth shut and closing her eyes tightly. She had to regain control. If she could make this work, she would see Tim herself before too long.
"It was a press conference. They keep rerunning clips from it on CNN." He brought the bite of food up to her mouth. "Come on-open up."
She felt sick-or sicker, maybe. "I'm not hungry," she murmured.
He set the fork down with a frown. "All right. Some water, then." He offered her a water bottle with a straw sticking out of the top.
"I'm not thirsty, either."
"Don't make me force the issue," he warned.
She sighed. "Why do you even care? I ate the food."
"You need fluids, too-it's important."
"I don't want fluids," she grumbled with an unhappy sigh.
"Don't be childish," he snapped.
"Childish?" she repeated, staring at him incredulously. "Don't be childish?" She made an exasperated noise and struggled, pulling against the ropes with enough force to rock the chair. "I can't move, damn it! My arms are killing me, I can't feel my toes, I've been wearing the same clothes for days now and I hurt-I don’t want your fucking water, I want my husband, I want to go home."
"Look, I get that," John said, pushing one hand through his hair in frustration. "But the only way that's gonna happen is if you cooperate with us, so come on."
Cissie squirmed again, frustrated with her inability to move. "Why would I want to cooperate with the people who kidnapped me?"
"Because if you don't, some of the people who kidnapped you might decide you're too much trouble to keep around, and I won't be able to stop them," he snapped.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat and watched him for a moment. She had a sinking feeling she was ruining the one and only plan she currently had. "Maybe," she began slowly, "maybe you don't have to stop them." She added quickly, "I mean, I know that's what you've been doing and you have been nice to me-" Oh, she was blowing it. "You could help me."
"I am helping you."
Cissie struggled, hunching her shoulders forward as far as she could. Her voice shook. She refused to let herself think that this might not work. "I know. I mean-you don't have to do this. You said you're not like them, so-don't be like them! Don't keep helping them." He was starting to look annoyed and began to shake his head. "Wait," she said, fighting back a wave of panic. "You don't-you don't have to do anything, just-just untie me a little, look the other way, or-just give me a chance, please."
"Look, I can't," he said flatly. "If you slip your ropes again, they'll kill you. I'm not kidding. They'll catch you, and they'll kill you, and you'll never see your family again, and I don't want to be responsible for that, so no. They look like they're hurting enough with you missing-I'm not going to be the reason that becomes permanent. Drink the water."
She looked up at him, her heart sinking. She blinked, her vision swimming. She couldn't just… give up. "Please," she managed to choke out. She didn't even care that she was begging. "I-please?" She squeezed her eyes shut and hunched forward, as far as she could.
He shook his head again. "I can't. I'm sorry. I won't be responsible for them killing you." He offered her the water bottle again.
Cissie opened her eyes and stared blankly at the bottle for a moment. He pushed the straw at her, and she opened her mouth obediently and drank it.
~*~
Dick rubbed his eyes blearily, stumbling into the kitchen around noon. "Hi, Alfred," he muttered.
"Good afternoon, Master Dick," Alfred said, turning away from the stove and something that smelled very good to smile at him. "I trust you slept well."
Dick smiled back, sinking into one of the chairs around the kitchen table. "I crashed," he admitted. "Where's everyone else?"
Alfred turned back to the stove and began to ladle soup into two bowls. "I sent Master Timothy's friends back to bed a few hours ago-they're not getting enough sleep-and Master Bruce is still in bed, I believe. You will find Master Tim in the study, where you may take your lunch and his. Please ask him to eat it-he won't if he's left on his own."
Dick made a face, pushing himself back to his feet. "How is he?" he asked quietly, approaching Alfred at the counter, watching him plate two grilled cheese sandwiches.
"Quiet," Alfred said simply, handing Dick the tray that held the sandwiches and the soup. "Enjoy your lunch, Master Dick."
Dick sighed and gave Alfred a tired smile. "Thanks. Wish me luck."
"Luck," he said quietly as Dick left the room to find Tim.
As Alfred predicted, he found Tim in the study, sitting on a window seat with a book in his lap. Dick put the tray on the nearest table and approached him. "Hey, little brother."
Tim turned his head to regard him vaguely. "Hey," he said tonelessly.
Dick dropped a hand to Tim's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "I brought lunch-have you eaten anything today?"
"Um." He frowned. "I don't really-no. Probably not. Not really hungry."
Dick suppressed a sigh. "You have to eat, Tim," he said gently.
"I-" Tim hunched his shoulders in a slight shrug. "I guess you're right."
Dick squeezed his shoulder again. "Alfred made grilled cheese."
"All right."
Dick offered Tim a hand, pulling him up from the window seat. He clapped a hand on Tim's back, leading him to the table and pulling out a chair for him. "Have you slept?"
"A little-earlier. I'm fine, Dick," he said, taking the seat that was offered.
"Hmm." Dick sat and pulled the tray over. He handed Tim his food and kept an eye on him as he started eating his own soup. He watched Tim pick up his spoon and stir his soup listlessly. After a while, Dick said, "That's going to get cold, you know."
"Huh? Oh." Tim lifted the spoon and swallowed a mouthful of soup. "It's good," he said, setting the spoon down carefully and taking a small bite of the sandwich.
Dick swallowed and reached for his own sandwich. "Of course," he said lightly. "I think Alfred made bad soup once, but we never speak of it. Personally, I think it's an urban legend."
Tim gave him a faint smile, and continued to chew the bite of sandwich slowly. "Definitely a myth," he said after he had swallowed.
Dick finished his sandwich, wracking his brain for something to talk about to try and draw Tim out. "Talked to Roy last night," he said finally. "Lian's working on a project about Saturn-she had him take her to three craft stores for the model."
Tim nodded and took another bite of the sandwich.
"He bought the wrong color glitter first, and then Lian insisted she wanted to do papier-mâché, instead of Styrofoam balls," he continued.
"Hmm," Tim said, stirring at the soup until it became a small whirlpool, just barely contained by the edges of the bowl.
Dick watched him, raising an eyebrow. "You're playing with your food."
"Oh." Tim turned the spoon and held it in place until the swirl of soup subsided. "Sorry."
"Geez, Tim, that's not-" he stopped and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's okay. You just-need to eat."
He took another spoonful of soup and swallowed it. "Sorry," he said again.
"Don't be," Dick said. He watched Tim eat, frowning. They sat in a tense and awkward silence for several long moments until the door to the study opened.
Bruce walked in, his hand curled protectively around a cup of coffee. He nodded briefly at the two of them and took a seat at the table. "Alfred said I'd find you here. How's the soup?"
Dick smiled at him. "Tomato-tastic. As always." He nodded at the mug. "Coffee kicked in yet?"
"Getting there." Bruce eyed Tim's plate critically. "You should eat more. You've barely touched your sandwich, and Alfred says you haven't eaten since last night."
Dick watched Tim obediently reach for his sandwich and shrugged slightly at Bruce. "How'd you sleep?" he asked, changing the subject.
Bruce raised an eyebrow at Dick as Tim chewed slowly on his sandwich and stared at a point in the middle of the table. "Fine, thanks. You?"
"Well enough," Dick replied. He joined Bruce in watching Tim eat excruciatingly slowly. After a bit, he shook his head and looked back at Bruce. "So."
Bruce glanced over at him, taking another sip of coffee. "I'd like to make a sweep through the financial district tonight," he said giving Dick a thoughtful look. "It's a bit of a long shot, but perhaps they're banking on the irregularity of it to keep us and the police from finding them."
Dick suppressed a wince, watching Tim blink and glance at Bruce. He sighed. "Right. You want some back-up? I thought I'd finish up the Theatre District and head into Chinatown."
Bruce shook his head once. "No-I'll be looking through unused office space. I should be all right, and you won't be far if I need you." He shot a quick glance at Tim. "You're not finished yet, are you?"
There was almost a flash of annoyance in Tim's eyes as he picked up his spoon again, but it went away so quickly Dick barely had time to register that it was there. "No," he mumbled, poking at the soup with his spoon.
Dick watched him and shook his head. He turned back to Bruce. "So what's the plan for today?"
"Food," Bruce grimaced. "And sleep. And maybe going over some notes from last night. And seeing if we can get Tim to eat more than rabbit portions without physically tying him down and force-feeding him."
Dick snorted. "We could always put protein powder in his water."
"Oh, gross," Tim muttered, frowning at his sandwich.
Dick shrugged a shoulder. "Bruce is right, you know. You aren't eating enough."
"I'm fine," Tim said, taking a large, savage bite out of the sandwich. "Happy?" he asked, once he had swallowed.
Dick frowned and shared a worried look with Bruce. "No," he said slowly. "Tim… you're not fine."
"I'm eating. What do you want?"
"You…" Dick trailed off, running a hand through his hair. "Tim. You can't-give up."
Tim scowled at him. "Let's not have this conversation, okay?"
Dick frowned and hesitated. "Maybe… we should. You really-you can't do this to yourself."
"Can't do what, Dick?"
Dick winced at Tim's tone. "Tim," he said slowly, "you can't-you have to take care of yourself. You're not sleeping, you're not eating-you're not acting like yourself at all. You can't give up hope. We're going to find her. She wouldn't want to see you like this, you-"
"Do you think I'm stupid?" Tim interrupted, fixing Dick with a tense look. "It's been five days since she disappeared. Do you remember at all from Bat School what the odds are on finding someone who's been gone that long? And furthermore-" he said, cutting off Dick's response, while Bruce tried not to laugh at Tim's use of the words "Bat School." "We've gotten increasing demands, without any assurances that Cissie is still alive. Do these sound like the actions of people who are planning to return her in one piece? Really? Because the police don't think so-they've been dredging the harbor and the river since yesterday. And I'm pretty sure Bruce doesn't think so either." He turned his gaze on Bruce who sobered immediately. "Or did you think I hadn't noticed you've really been looking for a body the past couple of days?"
Before Bruce could respond, Dick said fiercely, "We have not been looking for a body. We've been looking for Cissie, and we're going to find her-alive, Tim. And yes, we have been getting increasing demands, which is a good sign. It means they're still interested."
"No," Tim snapped. "It means that they're stringing us along until they can get the Hell out of town. Jesus, Dick, open your damn eyes!"
Dick inhaled sharply and stared at Tim, taken aback momentarily. "We don't know that. And you've been doing this long enough that you know as well as I do that sometimes the odds don't mean a damn thing. You can't give up on her, Tim."
The muscles in Tim's face twitched and for a moment, Dick thought-hoped-he was going to cry. Then Tim shook his head sharply and set his mouth in a firm line. He pushed back from the table and stood up. "I'm not hungry anymore," he muttered, before turning and leaving the room. Dick was fairly certain they wouldn't see him again until he'd fixed his emotionless mask in place again. He was really starting to hate that mask. He had almost-almost-cracked it today.
He turned to glare at Bruce. "You weren't any help at all."
Bruce took a slow sip of his coffee, fixing Dick with a wary look. "Dick-you do know… Tim's probably right."
Dick frowned. "That's-you can't really think that."
"It's been five days," Bruce replied carefully. "Tim only spoke with her the first day. How many cases like this have we seen? When do they ever end well?"
"I-there was that time with the mayor's kid, wasn't there?"
Bruce sighed. "No, Dick. He died in the hospital from internal injuries."
"He-" Dick faltered and swore under his breath. He shot a glance toward the door that Tim had exited through. "God, Bruce-she can't be dead. It will break him."
"I know."
"And you really think…?"
Bruce took another sip of coffee to cover his hesitation. "I don't want to."
"But you do." It wasn't a question.
He sighed. "I think we need to start adjusting to the idea that she might be dead, yes."
~*~
Authors: lady_sarai, zoe_chan
Continuity: Future AU.
Word Count: Total length: 31,500 This chapter: 3,200
Pairing/Characters: Tim/Cissie, Bruce, Dick, Kon, Bart
Rating/Warnings: Teen for language
Disclaimer: We do not own anything or anyone. We promise.
Note: As stated--this takes place in the future. Bart and Kon are alive (it's very handwavey as to how), Tim and Cissie are married. Tim has given up Robin and become Kestrel.
Summary: Cissie gets kidnapped.
Chapter 4: October 18th
When Cissie came to, it was dark. She couldn’t tell if that was because it was night, or if she was somewhere without windows. If she ignored the throbbing ache at the base of her skull-God, her head hurt, everything hurt-she could focus better on her surroundings. Which were unfamiliar. With a sinking feeling of despair, she realized that they had moved-again. That made this the third location they had taken her to.
Cissie tried not to think about how much this complicated her chances of a rescue. Or how three failed escape attempts made a fourth exponentially more difficult.
Of course, before she could try to escape-again-she needed to be able to move. She shifted restlessly in the chair she was tied to. Her ankles were secured to the chair legs tightly enough that she wasn't completely sure she could feel her feet. Her arms were once again tied behind the chair. Her shoulders, like the rest of her, ached. She wiggled her fingers, just to be sure that she could.
Cissie dropped her chin to her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut-she was not going to cry; it wouldn't do any good. She felt shaky, and was beginning to regret continually turning down the food John kept bringing her.
There was a noise from somewhere behind her, and she snapped her head up and eyes open in time to hear a door open. She winced as a light turned on overhead and she heard footsteps on stairs-now that there was light, she could see that she was in some kind of cellar. Her heart sank-that would make an escape all the more difficult.
A tray clattered onto the table next to her, and John's scowling face came into her field of vision. "Three attempts. In two days. Are you trying to piss them off?"
Cissie didn't even bother turning her head to glare at him. Instead, she looked at the food he'd brought-when she got home, she was never eating a TV dinner again. She made a noise low in her throat instead, waiting for him to remove the duct tape covering her mouth.
He pulled off the tape unceremoniously. "I'm not going to have to fight food into you tonight, right?" he asked crossly, still scowling.
She made a face, working the stiffness out of her jaw. "You're in a good mood," she muttered peevishly.
"No, I'm not," he snapped. He glared off into the middle distance for a few moments before shaking his head sharply. "You should eat."
"I can't exactly feed myself," she snapped back, hating the way her voice shook.
He stabbed at the colorless meatloaf and lifted the fork to her mouth. "Here."
She eyed it warily, unsure if eating it would make her feel more nauseous than she already did. He shoved the fork at her impatiently and she ate it, making a face as she chewed. She was not going to let any of them see her cry. She swallowed, grimacing. "That's disgusting."
He made a sympathetic face. "It looks pretty disgusting. I'm sorry about that. I think it got overcooked." He offered her a forkful of the mushy peas instead. "These might be a little better."
Cissie wrinkled her nose, but ate them anyway. "They're not," she said shortly. She shifted, trying to relieve the strain on her shoulders even a little. "I don't get it."
"Don't get what?" he asked, scooping up another bite of meatloaf.
She ate it, chewing slowly to give herself time to think about what she was going to say. She had a feeling she needed to tread carefully; this was the only plan she could think of. "Why are you nice to me?"
He shrugged. "No reason not to be," he said shortly.
"The others aren't."
"I'm not them."
Cissie snorted and didn't answer, eating the next forkful of rubbery meatloaf slowly. "Sure you're not."
"I'm not," he repeated, stabbing at the peas with a little more force than was necessary, and causing a couple of them to spill onto the table.
Cissie watched the peas roll and ate the ones he offered her mutely. After she swallowed, she said in a low voice, "You kidnapped me. You're helping them." She shrugged. "So I don't get why you're nice to me."
He shrugged uncomfortably. "Because this probably sucks for you, and I'd like to see you get back to your family in one piece."
Cissie clamped her mouth shut, biting the inside of her cheek. She blinked rapidly. She needed to remain in control-she was getting somewhere, and losing her composure because John mentioned her family wasn't going to help her. "Sure. Whatever you say." Maybe it wasn't terrible that she wasn't able to keep her voice from shaking a little.
He frowned. "Look, I'm sorry I mentioned it. It's just that I saw your husband and his dad on the news, and they seemed like good people-I just want to make sure you get back to them."
She looked up sharply. "You saw Tim?"
"Uh, yeah," he said, shifting uncomfortably and scooping up another bite of meatloaf.
"What was he-Did he-" She stopped, pressing her mouth shut and closing her eyes tightly. She had to regain control. If she could make this work, she would see Tim herself before too long.
"It was a press conference. They keep rerunning clips from it on CNN." He brought the bite of food up to her mouth. "Come on-open up."
She felt sick-or sicker, maybe. "I'm not hungry," she murmured.
He set the fork down with a frown. "All right. Some water, then." He offered her a water bottle with a straw sticking out of the top.
"I'm not thirsty, either."
"Don't make me force the issue," he warned.
She sighed. "Why do you even care? I ate the food."
"You need fluids, too-it's important."
"I don't want fluids," she grumbled with an unhappy sigh.
"Don't be childish," he snapped.
"Childish?" she repeated, staring at him incredulously. "Don't be childish?" She made an exasperated noise and struggled, pulling against the ropes with enough force to rock the chair. "I can't move, damn it! My arms are killing me, I can't feel my toes, I've been wearing the same clothes for days now and I hurt-I don’t want your fucking water, I want my husband, I want to go home."
"Look, I get that," John said, pushing one hand through his hair in frustration. "But the only way that's gonna happen is if you cooperate with us, so come on."
Cissie squirmed again, frustrated with her inability to move. "Why would I want to cooperate with the people who kidnapped me?"
"Because if you don't, some of the people who kidnapped you might decide you're too much trouble to keep around, and I won't be able to stop them," he snapped.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat and watched him for a moment. She had a sinking feeling she was ruining the one and only plan she currently had. "Maybe," she began slowly, "maybe you don't have to stop them." She added quickly, "I mean, I know that's what you've been doing and you have been nice to me-" Oh, she was blowing it. "You could help me."
"I am helping you."
Cissie struggled, hunching her shoulders forward as far as she could. Her voice shook. She refused to let herself think that this might not work. "I know. I mean-you don't have to do this. You said you're not like them, so-don't be like them! Don't keep helping them." He was starting to look annoyed and began to shake his head. "Wait," she said, fighting back a wave of panic. "You don't-you don't have to do anything, just-just untie me a little, look the other way, or-just give me a chance, please."
"Look, I can't," he said flatly. "If you slip your ropes again, they'll kill you. I'm not kidding. They'll catch you, and they'll kill you, and you'll never see your family again, and I don't want to be responsible for that, so no. They look like they're hurting enough with you missing-I'm not going to be the reason that becomes permanent. Drink the water."
She looked up at him, her heart sinking. She blinked, her vision swimming. She couldn't just… give up. "Please," she managed to choke out. She didn't even care that she was begging. "I-please?" She squeezed her eyes shut and hunched forward, as far as she could.
He shook his head again. "I can't. I'm sorry. I won't be responsible for them killing you." He offered her the water bottle again.
Cissie opened her eyes and stared blankly at the bottle for a moment. He pushed the straw at her, and she opened her mouth obediently and drank it.
~*~
Dick rubbed his eyes blearily, stumbling into the kitchen around noon. "Hi, Alfred," he muttered.
"Good afternoon, Master Dick," Alfred said, turning away from the stove and something that smelled very good to smile at him. "I trust you slept well."
Dick smiled back, sinking into one of the chairs around the kitchen table. "I crashed," he admitted. "Where's everyone else?"
Alfred turned back to the stove and began to ladle soup into two bowls. "I sent Master Timothy's friends back to bed a few hours ago-they're not getting enough sleep-and Master Bruce is still in bed, I believe. You will find Master Tim in the study, where you may take your lunch and his. Please ask him to eat it-he won't if he's left on his own."
Dick made a face, pushing himself back to his feet. "How is he?" he asked quietly, approaching Alfred at the counter, watching him plate two grilled cheese sandwiches.
"Quiet," Alfred said simply, handing Dick the tray that held the sandwiches and the soup. "Enjoy your lunch, Master Dick."
Dick sighed and gave Alfred a tired smile. "Thanks. Wish me luck."
"Luck," he said quietly as Dick left the room to find Tim.
As Alfred predicted, he found Tim in the study, sitting on a window seat with a book in his lap. Dick put the tray on the nearest table and approached him. "Hey, little brother."
Tim turned his head to regard him vaguely. "Hey," he said tonelessly.
Dick dropped a hand to Tim's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "I brought lunch-have you eaten anything today?"
"Um." He frowned. "I don't really-no. Probably not. Not really hungry."
Dick suppressed a sigh. "You have to eat, Tim," he said gently.
"I-" Tim hunched his shoulders in a slight shrug. "I guess you're right."
Dick squeezed his shoulder again. "Alfred made grilled cheese."
"All right."
Dick offered Tim a hand, pulling him up from the window seat. He clapped a hand on Tim's back, leading him to the table and pulling out a chair for him. "Have you slept?"
"A little-earlier. I'm fine, Dick," he said, taking the seat that was offered.
"Hmm." Dick sat and pulled the tray over. He handed Tim his food and kept an eye on him as he started eating his own soup. He watched Tim pick up his spoon and stir his soup listlessly. After a while, Dick said, "That's going to get cold, you know."
"Huh? Oh." Tim lifted the spoon and swallowed a mouthful of soup. "It's good," he said, setting the spoon down carefully and taking a small bite of the sandwich.
Dick swallowed and reached for his own sandwich. "Of course," he said lightly. "I think Alfred made bad soup once, but we never speak of it. Personally, I think it's an urban legend."
Tim gave him a faint smile, and continued to chew the bite of sandwich slowly. "Definitely a myth," he said after he had swallowed.
Dick finished his sandwich, wracking his brain for something to talk about to try and draw Tim out. "Talked to Roy last night," he said finally. "Lian's working on a project about Saturn-she had him take her to three craft stores for the model."
Tim nodded and took another bite of the sandwich.
"He bought the wrong color glitter first, and then Lian insisted she wanted to do papier-mâché, instead of Styrofoam balls," he continued.
"Hmm," Tim said, stirring at the soup until it became a small whirlpool, just barely contained by the edges of the bowl.
Dick watched him, raising an eyebrow. "You're playing with your food."
"Oh." Tim turned the spoon and held it in place until the swirl of soup subsided. "Sorry."
"Geez, Tim, that's not-" he stopped and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's okay. You just-need to eat."
He took another spoonful of soup and swallowed it. "Sorry," he said again.
"Don't be," Dick said. He watched Tim eat, frowning. They sat in a tense and awkward silence for several long moments until the door to the study opened.
Bruce walked in, his hand curled protectively around a cup of coffee. He nodded briefly at the two of them and took a seat at the table. "Alfred said I'd find you here. How's the soup?"
Dick smiled at him. "Tomato-tastic. As always." He nodded at the mug. "Coffee kicked in yet?"
"Getting there." Bruce eyed Tim's plate critically. "You should eat more. You've barely touched your sandwich, and Alfred says you haven't eaten since last night."
Dick watched Tim obediently reach for his sandwich and shrugged slightly at Bruce. "How'd you sleep?" he asked, changing the subject.
Bruce raised an eyebrow at Dick as Tim chewed slowly on his sandwich and stared at a point in the middle of the table. "Fine, thanks. You?"
"Well enough," Dick replied. He joined Bruce in watching Tim eat excruciatingly slowly. After a bit, he shook his head and looked back at Bruce. "So."
Bruce glanced over at him, taking another sip of coffee. "I'd like to make a sweep through the financial district tonight," he said giving Dick a thoughtful look. "It's a bit of a long shot, but perhaps they're banking on the irregularity of it to keep us and the police from finding them."
Dick suppressed a wince, watching Tim blink and glance at Bruce. He sighed. "Right. You want some back-up? I thought I'd finish up the Theatre District and head into Chinatown."
Bruce shook his head once. "No-I'll be looking through unused office space. I should be all right, and you won't be far if I need you." He shot a quick glance at Tim. "You're not finished yet, are you?"
There was almost a flash of annoyance in Tim's eyes as he picked up his spoon again, but it went away so quickly Dick barely had time to register that it was there. "No," he mumbled, poking at the soup with his spoon.
Dick watched him and shook his head. He turned back to Bruce. "So what's the plan for today?"
"Food," Bruce grimaced. "And sleep. And maybe going over some notes from last night. And seeing if we can get Tim to eat more than rabbit portions without physically tying him down and force-feeding him."
Dick snorted. "We could always put protein powder in his water."
"Oh, gross," Tim muttered, frowning at his sandwich.
Dick shrugged a shoulder. "Bruce is right, you know. You aren't eating enough."
"I'm fine," Tim said, taking a large, savage bite out of the sandwich. "Happy?" he asked, once he had swallowed.
Dick frowned and shared a worried look with Bruce. "No," he said slowly. "Tim… you're not fine."
"I'm eating. What do you want?"
"You…" Dick trailed off, running a hand through his hair. "Tim. You can't-give up."
Tim scowled at him. "Let's not have this conversation, okay?"
Dick frowned and hesitated. "Maybe… we should. You really-you can't do this to yourself."
"Can't do what, Dick?"
Dick winced at Tim's tone. "Tim," he said slowly, "you can't-you have to take care of yourself. You're not sleeping, you're not eating-you're not acting like yourself at all. You can't give up hope. We're going to find her. She wouldn't want to see you like this, you-"
"Do you think I'm stupid?" Tim interrupted, fixing Dick with a tense look. "It's been five days since she disappeared. Do you remember at all from Bat School what the odds are on finding someone who's been gone that long? And furthermore-" he said, cutting off Dick's response, while Bruce tried not to laugh at Tim's use of the words "Bat School." "We've gotten increasing demands, without any assurances that Cissie is still alive. Do these sound like the actions of people who are planning to return her in one piece? Really? Because the police don't think so-they've been dredging the harbor and the river since yesterday. And I'm pretty sure Bruce doesn't think so either." He turned his gaze on Bruce who sobered immediately. "Or did you think I hadn't noticed you've really been looking for a body the past couple of days?"
Before Bruce could respond, Dick said fiercely, "We have not been looking for a body. We've been looking for Cissie, and we're going to find her-alive, Tim. And yes, we have been getting increasing demands, which is a good sign. It means they're still interested."
"No," Tim snapped. "It means that they're stringing us along until they can get the Hell out of town. Jesus, Dick, open your damn eyes!"
Dick inhaled sharply and stared at Tim, taken aback momentarily. "We don't know that. And you've been doing this long enough that you know as well as I do that sometimes the odds don't mean a damn thing. You can't give up on her, Tim."
The muscles in Tim's face twitched and for a moment, Dick thought-hoped-he was going to cry. Then Tim shook his head sharply and set his mouth in a firm line. He pushed back from the table and stood up. "I'm not hungry anymore," he muttered, before turning and leaving the room. Dick was fairly certain they wouldn't see him again until he'd fixed his emotionless mask in place again. He was really starting to hate that mask. He had almost-almost-cracked it today.
He turned to glare at Bruce. "You weren't any help at all."
Bruce took a slow sip of his coffee, fixing Dick with a wary look. "Dick-you do know… Tim's probably right."
Dick frowned. "That's-you can't really think that."
"It's been five days," Bruce replied carefully. "Tim only spoke with her the first day. How many cases like this have we seen? When do they ever end well?"
"I-there was that time with the mayor's kid, wasn't there?"
Bruce sighed. "No, Dick. He died in the hospital from internal injuries."
"He-" Dick faltered and swore under his breath. He shot a glance toward the door that Tim had exited through. "God, Bruce-she can't be dead. It will break him."
"I know."
"And you really think…?"
Bruce took another sip of coffee to cover his hesitation. "I don't want to."
"But you do." It wasn't a question.
He sighed. "I think we need to start adjusting to the idea that she might be dead, yes."
~*~