fTim's slung across the couch lazily, tired, worn from patrol and still in his uniform, even though he's only half dry. The rain's incessant out there and Tim's partly thinking about the TV and partly the way he used to consider rain when he was younger: if it was raining, you stayed inside, you stayed warm. But now, regardless of weather, patrol happened, had to happen. Bruce would have it no other way. But sometimes Tim wishes there could just be a break. He was mentally exhausted though he'd never admit it; not to Bruce – certainly not – and probably not Dick either.
Half-heartedly, he flung the remote onto the coffee table and rubbed his eyes, realizing how tired he was and almost delusional because of the lack of sleep. And then the voice jarred him from his haze and he remembered: I'm at Dick's apartment.
"You gonna lay around all wet like that all night or what? Get yer ass up."
Tim sat up and immediately started peeling off the gauntlets, then ran his hands through semi-damp hair, rubbing at his scalp.
"Sorry; it was a rough evening."
"Assumed so, or else you wouldn't be here. If things go ok, you always go back to the manor."
"Yeah, I don't know; been having some… nevermind."
Tim has been having some issues though. He's feeling conflicted. On the one hand, he gives all he has, all of who he is, to Gotham. Because that's what he does, what they do. On the other, he feels that on a personal level, he gives none of his true self to anyone. And it's becoming a burden, a gnawing at his insides, like so many tiny razors rasping down his spine.
He reached down to unlatch his boots and get them off, which felt better than he could have imagined, considering the drying rainwater and sweat that had created a humid sort of discomfort.
"Alright, Tim, talk to me." Grayson implored, flopping into the adjacent armchair.
And he hesitated because even though he knew Dick to the point of shared thoughts even, the battle within himself wasn't something even he understood. There was a yearning he felt, the desire to know normalcy, even if there was the sure knowing within his deepest darkest heart of hearts that "normal" was never something he has known or would know again.
"Nah, it's cool. Though, I could use something to eat." Dick immediately jumped up and headed for the kitchen. "Sandwich ok? It's all I got." Tim mumbled an affirmation and continued to take off the rest of his clothes, save the pants, and managed to pry himself from the couch and walk towards the kitchen. He leaned against the wall between the entry and the pass-through and waited for Dick.
"It's just that I feel pretty worn out, you know?" Tim said, feeling exasperated.
Dick uh-huh'd and continued piling meat upon cheese upon bread.
"It's just, when do you ever feel like you're living your life? Or is this it?"
Dick stopped his actions and actually thought on the moment, because he'd dealt with this emotion long ago, as had Bruce, and he knew in time, Tim would have to face it as well. With a sigh, he walked towards the doorway.
"I just want to know what the point is, aside from the obvious. I just want to feel…" Tim's throat closed up, like it tends to right before the tears come. He felt confused and ashamed. Dick recognized the sound and froze, putting the plate down and simply reached around the doorframe, settling a hand on Tim's shoulder. He let him cry, like that, with just his arm for reassurance, giving him the courtesy of not having to look at anyone while he worked through the emotions. To Grayson's surprise, Tim's fingers were pulling at his hand, moving it down from the shoulder, to his chest, clutching it, making Dick feel every chest-heaving sob, each gasp for breath. And he continued to pull until Dick had to come around and stand there, in front of him, hand still in the boy's grasp. He was overcome with the obligation to hold him, for he knew how hard it must be. Gathering the smaller boy in his arms, Dick held onto Tim for what seemed a long time until Tim pushed slightly away and looked up at his surrogate older brother, a man he trusted with every fiber of his being, and simply pleaded with his bright blue eyes.
Grayson placed a light kiss on the boy's forehead, for lack of anything else to do; he admitted to himself that this wasn't an altogether uncomfortable situation but he knew he had to be there for Tim. Though, he felt the boy's hand slowly creeping up the expanse of his back, tracing every muscle through the tight shirt he wore, finding each defined line as his hands slid further up, lightly touching the ends of his hair that fell at the nape of his neck.
"Tim…"
"Shh, just… no…"
Dick let him proceed, mind racing at what could, or would, happen next. When you know someone as well as they do each other, it almost seems logical to find yourself in a situation such as this. At least, at that moment – as the clocked ticked away the seconds of the hour, now nearing 3:30 AM – Dick felt like it was the most comfortable thing to have Tim's deft fingers working up through his hair, trailing down his cheek and across his lips, slight pressure: a question, a request.
"We don't have to do anything you don't want… I realize in times of
confusion –"
"No words, we don't need them." Tim said, a slight smile creeping across his face but a few remaining tears at the corners of his eyes. And he leaned up to capture Dick's mouth with a kind of desperation he wasn't even suspecting from the boy.
Dick responded and pressed further, allowing his arms to wrap around Tim's body again, pressing himself into the teen and reveling in the fact that he'd always wondered if this would happen.
Tim could feel his heart pounding in his chest and worried Dick would feel it too, and know his nervousness. He's imagined this scene for so long; he wanted to tell Dick how many times he'd fallen asleep to the fantasy of the two of them.