AN: This is for JayTim week 2016, day two- confession
"I want to fuck you."
Jason stills, for just a moment, then fastens the zip tie he has wrapped around the mad scientist's wrists and straightens from his crouch on the tile floor. Stepping over the unconscious bodies of the men whose evil plans they've foiled, Jason enters the main laboratory, where Tim has been investigating just what was being cooked up. He sees Red Robin leaning against a counter full of beakers and test tubes and microscopes and other equipment. Several of the containers are shattered, broken at some point during the altercation, and strange chemicals are leaking onto the counter and down to the floor, right where Tim is standing. Tim's hands are clutching at the surface, and Jason can tell that under his mask Tim's eyes are open wide, like his mouth that's gaping in horror.
"I didn't mean to say that," Tim gasps. He seems to fight with himself, he's struggling to keep his lips pressed together, but then, "I also want you to fuck me, but I think you'd be beautiful taking it."
Jason glances behind him, as if Dick or Roy will be standing in the hall with a big poster that says, got you! But they aren't there. It's just him and Tim and the new weirdness in the air. "What the hell?"
"I can't- Hood, I'm," Tim is shaking now, and sweating more than the fight they just won warrants. "Something is wrong, I can't control… You'd be so hot, I want to see it. I want to spread you open and-" Tim slaps a hand over his mouth, a strained whine coming from behind his gloved fingers. He whirls around and at first Jason thinks he's avoiding facing Jason, but then he notices Tim searching the contents of the test tubes frantically.
Jason begins to understand what might be happening, and he moves to the counter to help, pulling up testing notes on the computer and scanning them. "I get it, Red, no worries. Just chill out, keep your mouth shut, and we'll figure this out."
Tim nods, sorting the containers filled with ominously vibrant colors of liquid, reading the severe warning labels. Unfortunately this occupies his hands, leaving his mouth unguarded. The words are ripped from him, dripping with mortification. "I want to suck your cock with my fingers in-"
"That was a nice hit you landed earlier," Jason rushes to say, talking over Tim's confession. Jason doesn't want to let Tim say it like this, and he doesn't want to hear it like this. Tim sends him a grateful, shaky nod just as something catches his eye on the monitor. Jason speed-reads through the document. "I think I got it."
"What is- I think about coming on you when I-"
This time it's Jason's hand on Tim's mouth. "Turn off your comm. so you won't talk to anyone else. Get back to the manor, go to your room, and lock yourself in. I'll warn everyone to stay away. I have the info we need to whip up an antidote."
Behind his mask Tim looks terrified, and Jason wonders what he's so afraid of. If he's afraid of Jason, what Jason might do. Or maybe Tim is scared of himself.
"Now go." Jason shoves him away and Tim runs across the room at top speed, leaps out the window into the night.
Jason hurries to gather a sample of the compound that's affecting Tim, and all of the pertinent data from the computer.
"Red Hood to cave."
"Batman here."
Jason tucks the vial and flash drive into a secure pocket and makes for the window. "Red Robin is on his way there. He's been doped up on something, sodium pentathol base."
"Acknowledged. I'll see to him when he arrives."
"No," Jason growls. "Don't go near him. Trust me on this."
Jason does not appreciate the bitter, resentful looks Bruce keeps shooting his way. They're supposed to be intimidating, Jason is sure, but at this point he's largely immune to Bruce's scowling. By now Jason sees what it really is. The man is pouting.
He wants to tell Bruce he may as well stop because it's not going to work, but acknowledging it would only make him turn up the sulk factor. Jason hopes Tim appreciates what he's putting up with for the kid.
He will. He absolutely will. No way in hell would Tim want Jason blabbing about what happened. No way would he be okay with Bruce knowing what he said.
So Jason resolutely ignores the giant brooding bat child and continues synthesising an antidote for the super enhanced truth serum that Tim inhaled. He keeps his eyes on one of the cave's many monitors, the chemical make up laid out before him, dissected and cataloged, every element labelled. The stuff is horrible, but part of Jason is still impressed with the design. It's brilliant, really, the efficiency. The way it attacks the prefrontal cortex and the Broca's area simultaneously, stripping away impulse control and emotional regulation, but only in relation to speech. It makes you say whatever you're thinking, whatever you've kept buried deep down. That it's targeting speech alone tells Jason that the people who engineered it had a very specific use for it. Interrogation, most likely. It could easily be modified to affect the whole of the prefrontal cortex, indiscriminately, and then Tim would have been doing a lot more than just saying stuff he'd rather keep hidden. This compound could completely obliterate a person's reasoning and judgment and self control.
He takes a moment to be grateful he was wearing his helmet, and that it filtered the stuff, keeping Jason from being affected.
It's fucked up. It's terrifying. No wonder Tim had looked so scared.
"I want to fuck you."
Jason's fingers stumble on the keyboard where he's mapping out the chemical equation for the antidote, and he has to backspace, re-enter one of the components. He takes a deep breath, tries to focus. Tries to not let himself be distracted. Tries.
"I think about coming on you when I-"
When he what?
Well, Jason has a pretty good idea. An idea that's turning into images, filling his head with skin and heat and sounds.
But no. That's not what he needs to be thinking about right now. Because Tim needs him to solve this and make it go away. Jason cares about Tim and he doesn't want him to have to endure this for too long. He wouldn't have wanted this for Tim even when he did hate the kid. No one deserves to have their consent and control ripped away.
The anger and disgust that come from thinking about this stuff, and what it's doing to Tim right now, and what it's done to who knows who else, is enough to keep any arousal down, casting the ideas in a sick light. Between that and the pressure of getting this work done quickly for Tim's sake, not to mention the way Bruce is still glaring at him, Jason is tense. He leans back in his rolling chair (and it shows how much he's grown, that he has his own chair here, that he's in the cave, working with the rest of them often enough to need one) and stretches his legs and arms in front of him.
"Yo, big guy," he calls to Bruce, whose attention he already had, has had since the moment he entered the cave. He pointedly glances down at his wrist (bare, but it's the gesture itself that counts). "Isn't it about time for tea and cookies? I think I heard Alfred calling for you, wouldn't want to let it go cold."
Bruce, stationed at another monitor, continues his work without any response, without a twitch to show he even heard.
Jason throws up his hands helplessly. "Okay, fine. But when Al comes down here with stale crumpets and that raised eyebrow, you'll only have yourself to blame."
With a sigh Jason curls over the keyboard again. He knew it wouldn't work, but he had to at least try to get Bruce and his petty judgment away.
He's putting the final touches on the formula when Dick's voice rings out over the comm. system. "Nightwing to cave."
Bruce taps a button and answers, "Go ahead."
"Robin and I have cleaned up any remaining traces of the compound in the lab, and are bringing back all chemical substances, along with the corresponding data from the hard drives."
"Acknowledged."
With a click Bruce ends the connection.
Jason tries to finalise the equations in front of him but something is nagging at him. He turns to Bruce. "They're bringing that stuff back for proper disposal, right?"
"It will be studied. A weapon like that needs to be understood and documented."
"Yeah, and then destroyed."
"It's a very valuable tool."
"It's sick and wrong," Jason says, willing himself not to yell. "You can't use it, Bruce. You don't know what it does."
"No. I don't." Because you won't tell me, Jason hears in the silence of the deliberate pause Bruce takes. "I know enough. I know it's function, and possible uses."
"It's function is to completely fuck you over and make you say things you never would otherwise. It's humiliating and terrifying, and. You have to trust me, okay? You don't want anything to do with it." That's twice tonight he's asked for Bruce's trust. Jason knows he's close to begging, too much pleading in his voice for how he's trying to sound firm. But if he needs to beg, so be it. He won't let Batman start injecting perps with this shit, just to get some information a little faster. There has to be lines the Batman won't cross.
And how ironic is it, that Jason would be the one to remind Bruce of that?
Bruce doesn't answer, but Jason doesn't have time to get too deep into this discussion. He's got work to do, and he can yell at Bruce all he wants after Tim is cured. He finishes the formula and then waits for the antidote to be synthesised. He leans back, tries to relax somewhat, but spends the few minutes tapping his armrest impatiently. When the computer is done he jumps up, ready even before the alert beeps. He picks up the vial carefully, pushes a stopper into the top, and makes his way upstairs. He sets it in front of Tim's door and knocks twice, then hurries away. Tim wouldn't want to see him right now.
Two days later, Jason figures out that Tim's plan to deal with the situation is pretending that nothing happened. He acts the same as ever, and Jason is impressed at how well he pulls it off. There's still the slightest bit of tension, and Tim avoids eye contact too often, but otherwise it goes completely unmentioned. Jason hadn't really expected that they would have a long discussion about it, and only a little part of him expected Tim to thank him, but he had made it clear he would be willing to talk, if Tim wanted, which he clearly doesn't. That's fine. Mostly.
Jason himself has spent the last two days trying to forget what Tim had said, because it isn't fair at all that he heard it in the first place. He's angry that it happened like that, that Tim's voice in his head is so stressed, so embarrassed, so scared. Jason is angry for Tim's sake, and his own, because he can't enjoy it at all, the words that would normally be so sweet to hear are sour on the back of his tongue. He doesn't have any right to think about it, to imagine it, to fantasize.
It's difficult when he's been wishing for Tim to say something like that for a while. When he's daydreamed about Tim telling him those things, but willingly, and happily. He's thought about Tim fucking him, wrapped around him from behind and placing kisses along Jason back, moving into him with slow, firm thrusts and teasing his cock with light touches until Jason's thighs are trembling, his arms shaking, and he's barely able to suck in a breath, the sensations are overwhelming and Jason's falling, falling, crying out-
And now it makes him feel so damn guilty.
Although, there is something, a warmth, a tickle, deep in his chest. He doesn't want it, it isn't right, but…
"I think you'd be beautiful taking it."
He never considered Tim might want anything like that from him. It took so long for Tim to stop seeing Jason as dangerous, with reason. Jason's reconciliation with Bruce and the rest of the family has been a slow and awkward process, but he finds himself more and more working in the cave, eating in the kitchen while he watches Alfred cook dinner, and even staying the night when he's worked himself to exhaustion. He's been adopted into their patrol schedule. He spars with Dick. He has a room (down the hall from Tim's; not his old room). But still, with all the civility, he and Tim aren't friends, as much as Jason would like to be. Tim doesn't stay when he sees Jason sitting at the bar in the kitchen, just nods and takes his snack to another room. He doesn't spar with Jason. Tim has always maintained a professional distance.
Apparently the kid is a fine actor, if he's been harboring those kinds of thoughts all this time.
And, maybe, Jason thinks with a touch of hope, Tim doesn't hang around Jason because he wants to fuck. It is a bit of a challenge wrestling with a person when you want to be wrapped around them in a totally different, but frustratingly similar way.
What Jason does know is that as it stands, Jason is aware of Tim's attraction while Tim isn't aware of Jason's, and that isn't fair. Tim being embarrassed and thinking it's one sided, Jason pining away in secret, alone with his guilt-ridden fantasies. That won't be good for anybody in the end.
And so Jason seeks Tim out, finds him in the kitchen in the early morning hours after the kid's patrol. He's freshly showered and looks tired but uninjured. His Superman pajama pants drag on the tile floor, plain white t-shirt loose around his shoulders. It's huge on him. Probably Bruce's. Jason's noticed Tim wearing others' clothes, and he's not sure if Tim collects them intentionally or if he just doesn't care about snatching whatever is around and keeping it for himself. Though he's never seen Tim in any of Jason's own clothes.
Tim is leaning against the counter, shoveling ice cream into his mouth. He glances up when Jason walks in, nods in the short way he usually does, then goes back to contemplating the design in the marble counter top.
Jason moves to the fridge and grabs a soda, fiddles with the tab before snapping it open. "Oh hey," he says. Casual. Not like he's been building up for this all day and painfully planning what he's going to say. "Do you want to go out?"
When Tim looks up again Jason clarifies, "With me?"
Tim freezes, spoon handle hanging out of his mouth.
"I thought, maybe, we could get something to eat."
Tim frowns around his mouthful of ice cream, eyebrows slowly drawing down and together.
"Well, not now, obviously, but. Some other night."
Tim finally pulls the spoon away but Jason doesn't feel good about the twist of his lips.
"And the new Star Trek movie is out," Jason tries. "You like Star Trek, right? We could go. See that."
Tim stares at him for a minute, looking increasingly angry, until finally he says, "That seems like a lot of effort for just a fuck."
"A fu- what?"
"I mean, we don't have to do the whole dinner-and-a-movie thing." Tim waves his spoon around, encapsulating the whole date concept.
"But… I want to." Jason feels his own face twisting in confusion, feels himself go red because he can't really tell if he's being mocked or rejected, but whatever is happening, he doesn't like it.
Tim rolls his eyes. "What, are you going to tell me you're a gentleman, and won't get into bed without dinner first?"
"That's not what I'm asking for."
"So you don't want to have sex?" Tim asks, amused.
"No. I mean, yes," Jason flounders, "I do, but. Not. I'm just asking for a date here."
"Why? It's obvious what you're after."
"What makes you so sure," Jason demands.
Tim explains, "You didn't want me, then you learn I'm interested in you sexually, and now you want to take me out. Doesn't take a genius to figure it."
"That's not it," Jason protests. "I like you, okay? I have liked you. I just. I thought you didn't like me, but now I know you do, so I'm asking."
"I don't like you."
It's said with such simplicity, so blatantly, that it takes a moment for Jason to comprehend the words. And then he's still confused. "What? But..."
"I said I wanted to fuck around with you." Tim looks away, uncomfortable with the reminder. But then he's back to meeting Jason's eyes. "I didn't say I liked you. It's just sexual attraction."
"Oh." Shit. Damn it all to Hades.
Tim shrugs. "But hey, that lets you off the hook, yeah? Like I said, no need for the dating when what you wanted was sex. You don't need to pretend to care about my feelings or whatever."
"I do care. I don't just- I wanted to. I wanted the dating."
"Bullshit." Tim laughs. Jason wants to appreciate it, it being the first time he has made Tim laugh, but. It's not a moment to be appreciated. He finds himself getting angry, and sad, and embarrassed, and a whole bag of things he can't sort out.
"I just wanted you. Yes, I'd like sex, but I would be happy with you even if we never fucked," Jason insists, fighting to keep his voice from raising, very aware of where they're standing and how someone passing by in the hall could overhear. This wasn't how he'd expected the conversation to go. He hadn't thought to be worried about being overheard.
"Right." Tim rolls his eyes again. Jason is starting to hate that. A little.
"It's true."
"Okay," Tim says lightly. "You know what? We'll play your game."
"What does that mean?"
"We'll date. And we won't ever touch, and we'll see how long you last."
Jason is… conflicted. Tim still doesn't believe him, but he did say they could go out. But it's apparently some big test. But Jason will have Tim. Kind of. Even though Tim doesn't actually like him back.
He hates that Tim thinks this way about him. He hates that this is the only way he'll get to date Tim. He hates the thought of. Everything. All of this.
But, there is one thought, creeping up in the back of his mind, pushing through the negativity. In such a life as Jason has led, it's imperative to be able to spot opportunities in the rubble. He sees one here. He could go along with it, and never make a move, and prove to Tim what kind of person he is, and then maybe… Maybe Tim might realise he doesn't know Jason all that well. And he might learn to know Jason better and. Like him.
"Yes," Jason says, as soon as that possibility occurs to him.
Tim smirks. "Well alright then, babe." He takes one last bite of ice cream and puts the container away in the freezer, drops his spoon in the sink. He turns to leave, saying, "And yes, I do like Star Trek. And Mexican food. Plan me something super romantic!"
This is, Jason realises as he pulls up to Tim's apartment, his very first date. When he was a kid, he was busy. Working hard to stay alive, then working hard to be good enough for Bruce. Working hard at school and being Robin. Then he died. After that, romantic interest took the back burner. It's only recently that he's been in a place mentally and emotionally that he could consider those types of things again.
Jason regards the brownstone in front of him. He's nervous.
His first date. With Tim.
The front door opens and Tim slips out, skips down the four steps to the sidewalk. He grins appreciatively, but it's directed at Jason's bike.
Jason frowns. "I was going to come up."
"What for?"
"You know… I should come to the door to get you."
"Well," Tim says seriously, "first, we're not in an episode of Leave it to Beaver, so you don't need to be all chivalrous. You don't need to meet my dad and all that shit. And second, I don't care because it's not like it's a real date."
"Right," Jason says bitterly. Then he pulls it back because Tim might not care but Jason does, and he's hoping to get Tim to care. Eventually. "Okay, hop on."
Tim slides onto the seat behind him and wraps his arms around Jason's waist, pressing in against him. A giddy excitement tickles down Jason's skin, and he smiles, until. Until he remembers that Tim is testing him. So Tim will be teasing him. Trying to get Jason to cave.
And then he doesn't know if he should be enjoying the feel of Tim behind him, or if he even wants to.
He kicks off and drives down the streets of Gotham, weaving through traffic with Tim's fingers twisting into his shirt front. He takes them to Las Palmas, the only decent Mexican restaurant in Gotham. They walk in to the sound of a man crooning in Spanish through the speakers and diners talking loudly to each other over the music. Multicolored fairy lights run along the walls and around the trunks of fake palm trees. With a smile that only mostly seems forced, the hostess leads them to a table in the back and hands them menus as they sit, promising their server will be with them shortly.
"So, is this okay?" Jason asks. "The restaurant, I mean."
"Yeah. I love this place," Tim admits reluctantly after a moment.
Jason grins into his menu. A waiter arrives, a man with a thick moustache and tired eyes, but he smiles politely and asks for their drink order. After he leaves Tim studies his menu, and Jason takes the opportunity to study Tim. Tim is wearing black jeans tucked into shiny combat boots and a green sweater. It looks soft, and Jason sits on his hand to keep from reaching across the table and testing the feel of the material. For all that Tim insisted this wasn't a real date, he's dressed nicer than Jason is used to seeing him. It even appears that he's combed his hair; it's swooped to the side, tucked behind his ear, long enough to brush his shoulders. A change from the usual tangled mess it is after patrol, wind-tossed in every direction, or the hasty bun when he's working. Although Jason does like the bun. And the mess. He likes when Red Robin flicks his hair out of his face before landing a punch. He likes when Tim sticks a pen through his bun and then searches for it five minutes later.
A red glass of water is set in front of him and Jason quickly scans the menu while Tim places his order. He settles on enchiladas and the waiter nods, leaves them alone again.
Tim sips his coke. Looks up at Jason, who promptly starts to freak out because he doesn't know what to do now.
What do people say on dates? He hasn't done this part before. He can't remember the last time he spent time with a person socially, no talk of intel or guns or tracking devices.
What do people talk about, when they have a history like the two of them? It's a little surreal, to be sitting there across from a guy he's attacked on more than one occasion, a guy he's tried to recruit to his side and got rejected by, a guy he works with but apparently can't have a conversation with.
It hits him then, that they've yet to clear the air of all of that ugliness. They've been operating on an assumed understanding, of unspoken apologies and forgiveness, but even then, Jason isn't sure if Tim has forgiven him. Tim welcomed him into the cave, into the family, and he'd taken that as a truce offering. There needs to be more than that. They need to talk.
But this isn't the best time or place for that sort of conversation.
Part of him wants to ask, Why don't you like me? But, again, time and place.
He finally has Tim and no clue where to go from there. Tim, at least, doesn't seem to be uncomfortable with the silence. If anything he's amused. Tim plays with his glass, turning it in circles, and Jason notices his hands.
"You painted your nails." It's a stupid thing to say, but Jason's never noticed them painted before. They're dark grey. He keeps staring.
"Cass did." Tim shrugs, then grins. "I asked her to help me get ready. I said, 'make me up so he'll want to fuck me right there on the table.'"
Jason hides behind his water, takes a sip to cool down. "She did a good job."
Tim glances away, a little pink in the cheeks, or maybe that's the red tint from the twinkle lights. Soon he's focussed on Jason again, smiling in a way that makes Jason's toes curl. "You want to take me right here?"
"No." Not because Tim isn't beautiful, but, "Doing it in public isn't my thing."
Tim blinks, surprised at the honesty, before that flirty grin is back. "And what is your thing?"
"Not sure I have one, but I think this probably isn't the best first date small talk."
"Wait," Tim leans forward, dropping the salacious act. "You don't have one… like, you don't have any kinks or anything?"
"No," Jason admits. "Do you like baseball?"
"What?"
"Baseball," Jason repeats, desperate to change the subject. And it's just in time as the waiter approaches with their food.
Tim digs in happily, pulling out a slice of his quesadilla and scooping beans and rice on top. After demolishing the piece he says, "Yes, I like baseball. I like most sports."
Jason sighs in relief. He can work with that.
They talk about baseball and football and basketball and even quidditch while they eat, up until they've finished and left the restaurant and are climbing onto Jason's bike. Darkness is falling as they drive to the theatre, the city now lit by fluorescent lights. The way they know Gotham best.
At the theatre Jason buys the tickets and asks if Tim wants anything from the concession stand. Tim studies him, then asks for a soda and two types of candy, looking surprised when Jason happily buys those too. They find seats as the previews are still going and settle in. When Jason's foot accidently brushes Tim's, he pulls it back.
In the dark with Tim just on the edge of his field of vision, Jason is left with only the impression of him in the next seat, the heat of him, the sound of his candy package being opened. He wants to look, to see the way the light from the screen plays on his face, but doesn't chance it, sure Tim is aware of all the time he's been staring tonight already. Turning his focus back to the movie as it starts, Jason resolves to not be too obviously distracted by Tim.
Five minutes later that resolve is shaken when Tim shifts, leaning slightly closer to Jason. He sets his elbow on the armrest between them and his upper arm is touching Jason's. It might be the first time they've ever touched outside of necessity and Jason might be having trouble keeping his breathing steady. It's a tiny thing, such miniscule contact. Arms, separated by clothing. And it's turning Jason inside out, his toes tingling. Before he can recover, there is a piece of candy in front of him, and he stares stupidly, unable to comprehend the offer, because his mind is off balance and because Tim's hand is right there, his fingers a few inches from Jason's mouth. When he continues to do nothing the hand retracts, and Jason follows it with his eyes, stomping down on a noise of protest. Tim brings the candy up to his own mouth and slips it in, his thumb lingering against his lips. The noise Jason aborts this time would not have been one of protest.
Tim watches the movie, seemingly unaware of the turmoil he's causing, but Jason knows that Tim knows exactly what he's doing.
The next two hours are an exquisite hell of Tim teasing, testing, playing, and Jason systematically losing his shit. By the time the credits roll the armrest has been pushed up, allowing Tim to plaster himself to Jason's side, his head resting on Jason's shoulder. One hand is wrapped around Jason's forearm and the other sits on his leg, just above the knee. His knee. So far away from anything and still wreaking havoc.
Tim turns his face up and asks, "Did you like that?"
Jason nearly screams. "Yeah," he says, voice low. "I liked… It was better than the last movie."
Tim hums in agreement, finally pulling away and standing. Jason follows him out of the theatre.
For the third and final time that night Tim sits behind Jason on the motorcycle, and Jason finds himself taking corners too fast so that Tim will tighten his grip. When he stops in front of the apartment building and Tim jumps off, he's smiling, and to Jason it looks a little more genuine than the other flirtatious grins so far. Like maybe Tim actually enjoyed the date, and not just for sadistic reasons.
Then Tim leans in, bracing his hands on Jason's chest. "You wanna come up?"
"Yes." Jason pulls together any and all of his remaining sanity and functional brain cells, hating himself a little. "But I won't."
There's the slightest flash of disappointment in Tim's expression, and Jason doesn't let himself wonder what exactly that means, or how he feels about it. Tim moves closer. "A goodnight kiss?"
A kiss. Tim's lips. Right there, curved into a small smile. He wants it, but. Not like this.
He wants a show of true affection. Happy and warm and just for the closeness of it. Not just a kiss.
He shakes his head, because if he opens his mouth it might do something stupid like say yes.
"Okay," Tim says, and steps back. "We'll see about next time." He winks and turns around, disappears into the building.
Jason heaves a deep breath as he grips his bike handles tightly to stop the trembling in his hands.
For their second date Jason takes Tim to the Gotham Art Museum, where he learns Tim hates modern art as he bypasses that floor entirely. They're familiar with the layout of the building, both having stopped several robberies there, but Jason hopes Tim will appreciate being able to enjoy the art as it should be viewed, rather than in the dark, up in the rafters. Jason certainly does. He realises he's never been to an art museum purely as an observer. It's a week of firsts for him.
Conversation is easier, with so many potential topics hanging on the walls around them. He asks Tim which pieces he likes and which he doesn't, and why. Sometimes Tim's answer will be as simple as, "it's pretty," or, "I don't like cherubs, they're creepy." Other paintings evoke long commentary about the history behind the scene, or the technique, or the artist's motivation. It's never quite what Jason expects, but fascinating all the same.
He'd had an idea of Tim, from working with Red Robin and the… research he'd done when Tim was Robin and Jason was angry. He thought he knew Tim fairly well, but he was wrong. Starting with that night, Tim's confessions, Jason is realising that the Tim in his head doesn't match reality. He never expected the kid to react they way he had in the kitchen, this whole… game of sexual tension chicken he's playing was a surprise. And spending time in a social situation, in a way they never have before, is showing him Tim in a different light. But it's good. It's better, in fact. Jason likes this Tim. The way he talks and the way he thinks. The fact that he might be the only person in the world that doesn't like Van Gogh. "His stuff makes me uncomfortable," Tim says with a shrug. The couple nearby look on incredulously when he adds, "Most of it I don't actually think is any good, and the style is unsettling."
He's still overly physical, leaning in to Jason's space, taking any opportunity to touch. Sliding his gaze down to Jason's lips. Jason pulls away every time. That first night during the movie Jason had been too caught off guard to handle it properly, but he's prepared now. He doesn't let any contact go on, for his own sake and sanity, and for the message it sends to Tim: he isn't here for the physicality. He's here to talk to Tim, to learn more about him.
When he drops Tim off at his house, Tim leans in for a kiss again. Jason reaches up and stills him with a hand on his shoulder. Because he simply can't help himself, he tucks some loose hair behind Tim's ear. Tim grins expectantly while Jason stays there, close, studying blue eyes and freckles, until he gently pushes Tim away.
"Next time," Tim promises as he leaves.
"You know what they say about third dates," Tim says with a smile.
"Right, well. It is going to get hot."
Tim pauses with raised eyebrows. "Oh really?"
"Just come on." Jason leads the way outside. He'd asked Tim to meet him at the manor today. The vast grounds are an idyllic venue for the evening's activities. They walk out a set of french doors to a courtyard containing a well tended garden. Past that is an open space of grass, a few trees, and a fire pit that Jason set up earlier, with a respectable fire roaring softly. Next to it a blanket is spread out on the ground, compete with a white wicker basket that, despite it's cliche'd reputation, was terribly difficult to find.
"A picnic. By a fire." Tim glances at the sky to west. "At sunset."
"What, you have a problem with a nice diner?" He knows that's not true. He's seen Tim ravage unseemly amounts of food. The kid likes to eat. And he knows the setup is a little overused, but it will still be nice, and besides there's more to it than that. Jason sits, and a moment later Tim joins him on the blanket.
"So what'd you bring?" Tim nods eagerly to the basket.
"Lots of good stuff. But first..." Jason reaches into a pocket and pulls out a six inch long glass vial and a flash drive. "This is the stuff from the lab."
Tim keeps himself from flinching, but his eyes are colder in an instant. "Why do you have that?"
Setting them down between where he and Tim sit, he explains, "I thought you might like to do the honors." He motions toward the fire.
"You want me to throw an aerosol poison onto a fire?"
"I modified it," Jason assures. "It would only affect you if you ingest it."
Slowly, Tim picks up the serum and the memory stick. Glares down at them. And then he tosses them into the fire.
It had taken some work to convince Bruce to relinquish the formula, and before the end Jason had recruited Dick's and Alfred's help. There's a good chance Bruce squirreled away a backup copy of the data, but Jason still feels good about having reasoned with him. They talked. Like people. And even better is the way Tim is releasing tension, gradually softening until he's smiling, the flames highlighting his face. It's beautiful.
"Thank you." Tim's voice is soft, and genuine and grateful in a way Jason's never heard. Not directed at him.
Jason clears his throat. "Of course." While Tim is basking in the warmth of fire and freedom, Jason opens the basket and retrieves the food he had packed. He made it himself. With only minimal guidance from Alfred.
He lays out diner: hand-made pizza, one for each of them, chocolate chip cookies for dessert, and glass bottles of root beer.
"How did you know… " Tim trails off, waving at his pizza. It has bits of fried chicken, bacon, bell peppers, onions, and artichokes, with three different types of cheese.
Jason feels like he's just been asked how he knows the sky is blue. It's common knowledge, he wants to say. He's seen Tim eat pizza several times, and that's always the combination. Why wouldn't Jason know that? "I just… do."
Tim keeps his eyes on Jason for a long moment before picking up a slice and taking a bite. He groans happily, eyes falling shut with a flutter. "That's perfect."
Perfect. Jason has to agree. Tim's hair is loose around his face, and the breeze tugs at the ends. He's buried in a sweater that falls past his fingertips, and that along with the fire keeps him warm in the chill of an October evening. It's quiet out here, so far from the house and anything else. Tim is relaxed and comfortable. Perfect.
"Why don't you like me?" Jason almost regrets breaking the peace but he needs to know, and now seems like a time Tim might give him an honest answer.
With a sigh Tim sets down his food. He fiddles with his sleeves, curling the ends over his fingers and trapping them in his palms. "I just… I don't know you, Jason. And you don't know what kind of. Influence. You've had on my life. I have a lot of conflicting feelings when it comes to you and it's all just. Really confusing."
"Can you try to explain it? I want to know."
Tim sighs again, runs his fingers through his hair, probably getting pizza grease in it. That makes Jason smile, until Tim starts to speak. "You were… Everything. You were the reason I became Robin. You were who I talked to when I was angry and scared. You were my goal, the shadow I had to live up to. My ghost story, the warning about what could happen in this kind of life. Why I learned to be extra careful so that nothing would happen to another Robin. You were why Bruce refused to get close to me for so long.
"Then you came back and you hated me." Tim's voice is even, his expression flat, but Jason can see how much that hurts him. It hurts Jason too. "The first time I met you, you attacked me. The first time you touched me was a punch to the face. And I know, okay, I know you were dealing with stuff I can't comprehend, and you were unstable and in a lot of pain. I'm not saying it's completely fine, but you were sick and I don't blame you for that. But you caused a lot of pain for Bruce and Dick, and everyone I love. Until recently, all of my experiences with you have been fighting, yelling, fear. Batarangs to the chest."
Jason has to look away at that reminder. This is harder than he thought it would be.
Tim continues, "And now, I don't know you. You, as a person. Not as a suit hanging in a glass case or Red Hood, but just Jason, normal and happy and whole. I don't know who that is. But..." Jason glances back in time to catch the soft smile Tim grants him. "I think I might be starting to."
It takes a long while for Jason to get his mouth to work enough to say, "I'm sorry," and it's not enough, but he doesn't know what could be.
AN: There will be one more chapter after this.