Author's Note: I am a fan of all Robins. Tim Drake ranks as my third favourite after Dick and Jason. For some reason, I find him very difficult to write such is the complexity of his character. What follows is a short story of Bruce's feelings towards Tim after the boy is stabbed whilst on patrol. Enjoy.
Fear
What happened tonight was not the boy's fault. It was mine. I should have insisted he wear the stab-proof variant of his costume or at least Kevlar plating. I will not easily forget the moment it all started in motion. My right hand delivered an uppercut to the gang banger on my left and I turned my head to confront the opponent to my immediate rear. As I blocked his attempted knife-attack, I heard it; the sound of something sharp puncturing something wet with the faintest of squelches to acknowledge contact. The accompanying gasp of surprise, the sort usually only heard when a man is unexpectedly winded, only confirmed my fears. Despite accelerating my efforts, I arrived to a scene already stained with blood. Robin, my partner, was lying listlessly at a gang banger's feet. A pool of fresh blood, approximately three inches in both width and length, encompassed the boy's lower abdomen. He had instinctively tried to stem the blood flow by pressurizing the wound with his hand to no avail. I wasted no time.
The armed thug was unconscious less than a second later. I was upon the boy, administering life-saving first-aid, instantly after. Robin could not speak, but I did not hesitate to move him. I alerted Alfred, instructed him to prepare the medical bay for immediate surgery, and radioed in for the jet. I did not have time to drive him back through the city. The auto-pilot function of the jet proved invaluable during evacuation from the scene. I was able to stabilize the boy's condition using quick-clot powder and morphine. It was still unclear at that stage whether or not the blade had punctured any vital organs, but, given the length of the blade and the angle at which it was thrust - downward - I was optimistic it had not done that kind of damage; the boy would have bled out on route if that were the case.
Alfred's assessment of the boy's injury was a relief to myself. The old man deemed it far less catastrophic than the blood pool had suggested. The actual wound was only two inches deep and had struck muscle, but nothing more. He removed trace amounts of steel from the wound and sutured it shut. The boy is now in his room, hooked up to a variety of monitors and drip-feeds, but recovering well. I have been at his bedside for almost six hours. He is heavily sedated, but I do not wish to leave him alone; someone should be here when he regains consciousness. Alfred had volunteered to do a duty, but I made my intentions clear; I am NOT moving until he wakes up, no matter what.
After another hour of silent waiting, the boy does regain consciousness. He is still drowsy from both morphine and anesthetic, but is aware of both my presence and who I am with remarkable quickness. Despite the darkness and his condition, he speaks to me without fear.
"You saved my ass, huh?"
I walk forward until I am certain he is able to see my face. "How do you feel, Tim?"
"I can't move my body."
"You're still weak from the surgery. It will pass in a day or so."
"What did I need?"
"Suturing mostly. Fortunately your blood loss was not severe enough to warrant a blood transfusion. Alfred's prognosis is six to eight weeks."
The boy will not require such an extensive rehabilitation period. Given his true stamina and fitness levels, he will most probably be fully-healed in less than four weeks. It is obvious the boy needs rest at this moment and I tell him as much.
"Would you think I was a girl if I asked you to stay here until I fall asleep?"
My response to his request is to place a hand on his forehead and gently stroke his hair with my thumb. "Not in the slightest."
The relationship Tim and I have goes beyond a professional partnership. It is as deep and meaningful as my relationship to Dick; I love this child. It is these very affections and feelings for the boy that serve to compound my guilt over what transpired. Every time I look at Tim, I remember Jason. I remember the lifeless eyes and cold body as I carried him from the wreckage. I remember how powerless I felt, how totally destroyed my crusade seemed. I swore after Jason, after looking in that boy's dead eyes and finding my own staring back, that I would not allow such carelessness again. Tonight, this new boy could also have been carried from the wreckage of my own creation. He could have been another corpse to bury, another nail in my own coffin. Had anything happened, the world might be burying me at this moment, driven to suicide by the sheer horror of it all. I cannot control myself at this moment.
I cradle Tim awkwardly in my arms, just barely raising his shoulders from the bed to accomplish the feat. I am fortunate the boy is too groggy to fully comprehend the significance of such a gesture; I do not wish to scare him too much by exposing my humanity. "I'm not gonna die, am I?" Tim asks already half-asleep as I continue to hold him. I shake my head.
"No. I just…I need to hold you. Just for a moment." I sound very much like I feel, stunned by my frailty when it comes to my children. I would be far stronger without them, far less susceptible to error and human weakness. But I could not continue to exist without their presence. The weight I carry on my shoulders is only lightened with their help. I used to be able to bear such a burden on my own, but it was only because I had to. They now carry it with me and, as selfish as it may seem, I am glad for it. I am still holding Tim against my chest. He is soft, warm and most importantly of all, alive in my arms. I hear him breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine and am thankful for my luck. He could be dead. I could be alone. This could be the end of me. Worst of all, I could be afraid. Afraid of the darkness, afraid of the dead and their silent, unending accusations. I could be consumed by my failings as Batman and a human being. I am unable to release Tim. I cannot bring myself to let him go.
"You can stay if you want, Bruce." The boy tells me languidly, "I don't mind." I want to stay with him, desperately want to, but I cannot. I slowly release him and stand back up. My hand is back on his forehead. My emotions are powerful indeed. They do not control me entirely though. Although I do not need to say it out loud, I need to hear myself say it to allow me to leave. Tim is asleep, overcome by his body's need for prolonged rest, but I still offer him a verbal reply.
"No. I have work to do."
The conviction in my voice is enough to fool me into believing it. The boy is safe. I cannot speed his recovery by holding him all night. I must focus on the investigation. I must leave him to rest. I exit the room only to find Alfred in the hallway. The old man offers me an expression that informs me he was witness to my behaviour just now. His hand is on my shoulder. He sighs and squeezes gently.
"The investigation can wait, Sir. The blood at the scene can wait to be destroyed. I have taken care of the CCTV footage. I have told Commissioner Gordon the lad is safe. You are free of obligation at this moment. You may allow your feelings some breathing space, just for tonight."
I do not argue. I do not protest. Alfred is right. What I want is not important in the grand scheme of things, but it is important to me. I do not need to be with Tim, but I want to be. I nod in agreement. "Thank you, Alfred." My voice is strained. It takes another person to make me submit to my own desires instead of obeying my logic. I am glad I have the old man to keep me human as well as the boy. I daresay I would no longer be capable of love if left to my own devices. Alfred nods.
"Goodnight, Master Bruce."
He leaves without saying another word and I re-enter Tim's room in the same manner. I lie on the bed beside him for a few minutes before embracing him again. I hear him chuckle and know this is also what he wants too. What he murmurs is incoherent to most people, but his words are clear to me.
"I knew you'd come back."