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Tim’s heart pounded in his chest. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel his pulse as it drummed underneath his skin. He swore anyone within a five meter radius could hear his heartbeat. He slowly released the handlebar, hand cramping with how tight he was holding it. He didn’t even start the engine. Silence enveloped him with the occasional interruption from his still too-loud heartbeat. He looked around. The garage at Pennyworth Manor was smaller than the one at Wayne Manor. Of course, it would be. The entire thing was considerably smaller than Wayne Manor, yet still, the silence made the four finite walls of the room stretch endlessly around him.
He wrapped his hands around the handlebars again. The engine roared to life, cutting through the suffocating silence of the manor. He didn’t grow up here. In fact, he barely had any ties to the place other than spending a handful of family dinners every odd week of every second month or something. He felt more strongly about Vandal Savage getting a hold of Wayne Manor, but it couldn’t erase the feeling of…of longing, that he was leaving something so precious behind.
Well, he was. Just a couple of moments ago, he talked to Damian. Well, the more appropriate term would be he talked to Damian’s closed door while the kid dismissed him and called him a deserter. The little shit even called him a quitter. Tim chuckled a bit at that. Even if Damian was entirely too mature for someone his age, there would always be that one moment when even Tim was reminded of how young his little brother was.
The garage door opened, revealing the inky black sky devoid of stars. There was always good ol’ Gotham pollution to thank for that. In the distance, if Tim squinted enough, he could make out Gotham’s skyline. The boathouse was a good thirty minutes away from Pennyworth Manor, and the drive would do his nerves some good. Tim’s grip tightened his grip around the handlebars and sped off into the night.
***
It had been way too long since Tim even had a semblance of a coherent sleep schedule. It still eluded him, but at least, his sleep schedule looked less like that of an insomniac vigilante and more of a college student with five different deadlines due on the same day.
The pseudo-civilian life would take time to settle in. Tim took breaks before from his nightlife. Well, one was forced onto him, but there was always that sort of safety net of coming back that loomed in the background. Even when his dad forced him to quit from Robin, there was that everpresent defiance of youth that bubbled inside him. It was funny, thinking about it in hindsight. Being Robin meant so much to him that he would’ve defied his dad’s wishes to take up the suit again, but now? Now, as the boat swayed slightly beneath his feet, he was in a limbo of his own making.
Tim poured his coffee, sipping on the hot liquid as he waited for his eggs to cook. His phone chimed in the background. No doubt, it was Bruce with his not-so-subtle method of worrying and checking in on him. He was…kind of scared how Bruce would react to the entire spiel Tim prepared, but well, again, in hindsight, he really had no reason to. When Jack confronted Bruce all those years ago, Bruce accepted Tim’s (unwilling) resignation with such grace, Tim had to take down notes. When Tim moved to Bludhaven for a year, taking Robin with him, Bruce let him with such understanding that Tim didn’t think it was possible.
What else have we been fighting for if not that?
Maybe, it was kind of unfair for Tim to think that Bruce would blow up at him for wanting a break. Well, Bruce had his moments, and fighting (verbally and physically) wasn’t exactly uncommon in the family. It wasn’t that Tim was expecting to trade punches with Bruce. He’d done that a year ago when Zur-En-Arrh came back with a vengeance. Tim plated his eggs and walked to one of the windows of the boathouse. Huh, maybe that was why Bruce agreed to the break. He needed to polish his skills so that none of his kids would beat him in a fight again.
Tim’s phone chimed again. He expected another message from Bruce, another badly disguised checking in text. Usually, he hid behind pretenses of getting lunch with Tim or one of the more memorable ones was Bruce wanting to “touch up on his chess skills.” Whatever that meant. When Tim brought this up with Dick, his brother only laughed and said something that had the words “emotionally constipated” in it.
The message, as it stood, was from Bernard. Tim caught himself too late, caught the small fond smile curving on his lips too late. The type of smile that earned him a “tt” from Damian on the rare occasion Tim brought his phone anywhere near either Bruce or him. Tim replied, the smile not disappearing from his face, and no longer than two minutes after his reply was sent, his phone rang. He chuckled to himself, answering the call after three rings instead of two just for the fun of it.
“Hey, you,” Tim greeted. “Miss me already?”
Bernard scoffed, “No, you owe me dinner, Tim. Don’t you remember?”
Tim winced. He did owe Bernard dinner after ditching him twice in the last month. The last ditch ended up with Bernard, visibly upset (more than even), in the hospital right beside Tim. Tim liked to think the skiing cover story was pretty convincing, but the raised brow of Bernard as he tried to explain why exactly he landed himself in the hospital told him otherwise. Bernard was more convinced that he was talking to a ghost rather than Tim going down a mountain on his face rather than his skis.
“Of course, I remember,” Tim laughed. “I’m a man of my word.”
“Great,” Tim could see Bernard rolling his eyes. “Glad to know that I actually do keep you around for a reason.”
“And it’s for my striking good looks, right?” Tim teased.
“You would think the amount of injuries your face has taken would say otherwise,” Bernard said. “No, actually, I keep you on for your wallet.”
Tim chuckled, “Of course, you do. What else would I have it for other than treating you dinner?”
***
The walk back to the boathouse was supposed to be romantic because believe it or not, the crime-ridden city of Gotham did possess the capability to be romantic. If Bruce and Selina can find love on the rooftops of Gotham, Tim had a pretty fair shot at setting up a romantic, scenic, and intimate walk along the streets of it. It really wasn’t too much of an ask. He asked for more as Robin, namely a quiet night or an easy fight.
Instead, what Tim got for such a simple ask was the sound of gunshots echoing in the distance. There was the hiss of a grapple being fired added into the mix, and other than the internal groan he had to suppress, his vigilante reflexes kicked in. No matter how hard he tried, even if he walked from hell and back, he’d never get rid of them; never get rid of how he moved in front of Bernard, how he scanned the immediate area around them, how he strained his ears for footsteps, more gunshots, or another firing of a grappling gun. He felt Bernard still as he held his wrist tightly. Tim’s heart sank, but he pressed on, tugging Bernard along with him.
Tim glanced back at Bernard, forcing a small smile, “Let’s go to your place instead. It’s nearer.”
Bernard gave him a short nod, and the two were off. His place was just another ten minutes out, but if they picked up their pace, they could cut it down to seven or maybe five. The gunshots got closer. Now, Tim could hear the faint thuds and grunts in the distance. He swore to himself, glancing back at Bernard as some sort of warning before picking up his pace. There was no doubt he was dragging Bernard like a ragdoll, but there was no way he was running into any vigilante right now.
“Hands in the air.”
Great. Just great. This was such a perfect turn of events that Tim would’ve jumped for absolute joy if he wasn’t gripping Bernard’s wrist like his own life depended on the contact. They both turned around, and as if on instinct, Tim shuffled forward, shielding Bernard behind him. It was just the average Gotham mugger, no one special. Tim could just use dismantle the gun—
Oh.
Robin could dismantle the gun and apprehend the guy in seconds. Tim Drake was only recently discharged from the hospital for a skiing incident and only had the most basic semblance of self-defense—the type of self-defense that his adoptive dad made him take because of that one (or two) incidents of kidnapping when he was younger. Tim Drake couldn’t throw a punch that could render someone unconscious. Tim Drake wouldn’t have a retractable bo staff in his jacket pocket. Tim Drake wouldn’t even know what to do with something like that.
Tim turned to Bernard whose own expression took him aback. Bernard wasn’t defenseless by any means. He was a Gothamite after all, but with the look on his face, Tim would’ve sworn it was him protecting Tim and not Tim protecting Bernard. He glanced back at the mugger, whose gun was still trained on the two of them. Tim looked around for anything that could be used in self-defense or “pure coincidence.” Hell, he’d take a perfectly aimed metal pipe with the cover story of a lucky shot if it meant he could have a normal end to his night for once.
“Stay back!”
A flurry of red, green, and yellow descended from who knows where, but Tim knew those colors like he knew the back of his hand. He wore those colors for half a decade. He fought for those colors, and well, he was almost killed many times because of those colors. Tim stepped back, looking for Bernard’s hand to grab before booking it out of where they were. He could handle a mugging if it was just him, but with Damian on the scene? No way. Absolutely not. He’d rather not get verbally berated on a date.
Tim took one step with Bernard’s hand in his, one step to a quiet night with his boyfriend, and for a moment, he could hear the angels singing and could feel God’s mercy on him. The moment, however, was shattered as he heard the telltale sound of a zip tie being fasted and the final grunt of a mugger after getting their ass brutally kicked by a feral traffic light.
“Are you alright?”
Tim gave credit where credit was due. Damian had grown into the Robin mantle. Sure, when his little brother started out, he couldn’t even call him his brother. When Damian first crash landed into his life, he was more than a little shit. He was a genuine devil who was a little too hellbent on being by Batman’s side. Tim received one too many broken bones for that and one too many emotional scars, too. Now, as Tim tried not to look back at Damian so as not to open the floodgates of verbal insults, he couldn’t help but feel a weird sense of pride. Sure, Damian was still a little shit, but in his first years as Robin, he wouldn’t even have asked if civilians were okay.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re okay,” Bernard answered.
Tim could kiss Bernard right now if he wasn’t too busy showing Damian the back of his head. He tugged lightly on Bernard’s hand, taking a half step forward. He did not want to stick around longer than he should, and thank goodness to Bernard for following along until he stopped.
“Hey, um, Tim, you dropped your keys,” Bernard said, untangling his hand from Tim’s.
Tim could hear his footsteps walk to where Damian was still most likely standing. He turned around, and sure enough, Damian was frozen, still as a statue, but it was not the stillness of a deer caught in headlights. No, it was the stillness that preceded someone vibrating with absolute anger streaming through their blood.
Damian raised his head and slowly met Tim’s own gaze. Through the white lenses of his domino, Tim could see the ice-melting glare of his brother. He could see the way his fists tightened, and the way his posture straightened as if he was getting ready to deck Tim right in the face. Granted, if they were both in the cave or anywhere where Bernard wasn’t, Damian would've absolutely done that.
Bernard turned and gave Tim a small smile, jingling the keys in his hand. He walked over, but not before giving Damian a small ‘thank you,’ which bless the man’s heart for remembering his manners. Damian barely acknowledged it with a stilted nod, eyes never leaving Tim, and Tim? Tim only nodded, a barely there smile curving on his own lips.
“Good luck, Robin,” Tim said before turning around, hand in hand with Bernard as they walked into the night.
***
Bernard was asleep. Well, he passed out in the middle of the movie, and Tim had to carry him to his bed. There were some mumbled protests here and there, but he was a deep sleeper. It was tempting to join him in the bed, to allow the day to wash away, to allow his chance encounter with Damian to fade into a dreamless sleep, but Tim only stood there. He watched Bernard’s chest rise and fall, watched as he turned to his side, his blonde hair falling across his face. Even as Tim smiled softly, he felt his chest tighten as if his heart mended then shattered itself.
A love you can see from the rooftops.
Tim hopped onto the fire escape, his training kicking in as he dropped silently onto the metal frame. He scaled it seamlessly, the metal barely creaking as he reached the top, the gravel crunching beneath his feet. He checked the time. Usually, there'd be another hour of patrol before he and Bruce would call it a night. Another hour of swinging around, the hiss of a grapple firing into the night, the swoosh of the wind as he swung in an arc, and the relative silence of Gotham on a normal night.
“Retirement treating you well?”
Tim turned around and met the red lenses of Jason’s domino, “I’m not retired. Just taking an LOA.”
Jason leaned on the edge beside him, “Sure. What’d you want at this hour anyway? Thought you’d be in the bedro—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Tim pointed a finger accusingly. “I should've called Dick.”
Jason chuckled, “If you texted me to talk, then yeah, you should’ve.”
Tim groaned, “Bruce should’ve dosed you with twice the fear toxin.”
“Oh, so now we’re making fun of our comorbidities, Mr. Tim “I’m missing a spleen” Drake,” Jason scoffed. “God forbid a man gets microdosed with fear toxin and has his entire adrenaline system get fucked over! Can’t have shit in Gotham.”
Tim rolled his eyes, “How—How are things for you…as of late?”
Jason huffed, “God, you really do take after him don’t you? Emotional constipation and everything.”
“Hey, so do you,” Tim said. “You got the emotionally distant and “can’t talk about emotions without doing a bit” traits.”
Jason raised his arms, “Got me there.”
The two sat in silence for a while, reveling in the white noise of a city that had never and will never know peace. A city that in every shadow, there was a bat, but in that bat’s shadow was a bird with bright red, green, and yellow on its feathers. A bird whose legacy spanned across generations. A bird who served as some sort of beacon in a city where a new Rogue debuted every month, where fear toxin attacks took place, where a plant-controlling scientist was running for mayor, and where unlikely homes were found and made.
Now, as both Jason and Tim stood by the ledge of a roof, as they both stared out into the open, where in the distance they could see the skyline of Bludhaven across the water, the two former Robins found some semblance of peace, no matter how brief. A moment of calm before Jason went back to whacking criminals with a crowbar. A moment of clarity before Tim slipped back into Bernard’s apartment.
“You still talk to your old team?” Jason asked.
Tim hummed, “We have a GC and everything.”
“How are things with you and…what’s his name? Under cut? Cool leather jacket with the spikes?”
Tim rolled his eyes, “I can’t believe you just called Superboy cool.”
Jason shrugged, “Game recognizes game, Timber.”
Another beat of silence.
“Hey, um, when Bruce dosed you with fear toxin,” Tim winced, voice trailing off. “You don’t need to answer this. I can just, um, drop it if you want.”
“Eh, we’re all trying to talk about our feelings, right?” Jason’s gaze was distant. “Go ahead.”
“You said Bruce offered you a fresh start,” Tim said. “Did you…?”
“Consider it?” Jason finished. He shrugged again, “I did, yeah. It was…Well, I’d be a liar if I say I wasn’t tempted by the offer.”
Jason’s gaze flickered to Tim before casting out into the vastness of the night, “It was like a messed up form of apology from him which I don’t even want to get into the logistics of him and Zurr-En-Arrh, and what a sincere apology actually means, but it felt like an attempt, y’know?”
Tim nodded, “But I can’t imagine you’d want that choice made for you.”
Jason hummed, “Yeah, that’s the thing. It was tempting to start over again, in another city, not being legally dead or whatever, but I still—Look, B and I don’t really see eye-to-eye.”
Tim huffed, “Understatement of the century.”
“Shut up,” Jason said with no bite to it at all. “But I got his point, and he has this whole thing where the way he shows you he cares is by giving you something he thinks you want or need.”
“Even if he’s wrong,” Tim added.
“Even if he’s wrong,” Jason repeated. “Comes with the territory of being the big man himself, I guess. I mean, if you ask me, I’m still pissed he did that. I guess I’ve kinda forgiven him but not entirely, y’know? I mean, how can anyone…how can you forgive something like that?”
Tim sighed, “Yeah, yeah, I get what you mean.”
Jason pushed himself off the ledge, “I’m glad you got to choose.”
“Jason—”
He held his hand up, “I mean it, Timmers. This life? It’s never been easy, but it’s even harder to leave all of it behind. I mean look at me. Came back from the dead and everything, yet I still chose to become who I am.”
Tim looked at Jason, a softness in his eyes which his brother received with the grace of a wet cardboard box being tossed down a flight of stairs.
“You? You chose this over and over again,” Jason continued. “And while that’s some of the bravest, stupidest, and craziest shit I’ve seen someone actively choose, I’m glad you got the guts to explore what’s out there, too, on your own volition.”
Tim nudged Jason’s shoulder, “I can try reverse engineering the shit B did to you if you want.”
Jason began walking to the opposite ledge, “I’ll think about it. Night, Timberlina.”
“Night, Jason,” Tim mock saluted. “Good luck, Red Hood.”
Jason dropped from the ledge, only to re-emerge at the arc of his swing. He waved at Tim as he disappeared over the rooftops and into the darkness of the night. Tim stayed on that roof for a while until the sun started peeking above the horizon. He took the stairs this time, going through the rooftop access door, and through the front door of Bernard’s apartment. He entered the bedroom to find Bernard still fast asleep, sprawled across the bed, taking every bit of space he possibly could.
Tim smiled, adjusting him so that he could actually have some space on the bed. He stared at the ceiling, plain, white, and boring. He shifted, now facing Bernard, eyes scanning over him, but not in the way Batman taught him to scan for injuries. He took in all of Bernard, all of his freckles, the varying shades of his hair as the sunlight leaked through the cracks in the curtains, the way his chest rose and fell, the softness of his breaths, and how…domestic all of it was.
I’m glad you got to choose.