The lift doors open with a swish and Jason steps out onto his bridge. His eyes scan from person to person, checking to make sure everyone is working happily. They land on the science station and he freezes, zeroing in on Tim. "Are you kidding me?"
He thinks it means something that Tim instinctively knows Jason is calling him out, when he wasn't even looking. Tim cocks his chin to the side, showing he's listening, but still focused on his work. "What?"
"Your chair! Where the hell did you get a captain's chair?" Jason waves at the thing Tim is sitting in that looks nearly identical to Jason's own, with that nice, big back and arm rests.
"The old storage room, where you told me to find one."
"I meant, you know, a regular one. Like the one Cain is in." Jason stalks forward and bends slightly to inspect it more closely. He gasps, "That's my old chair!"
"Well this one has a cup holder, so..."
"I know it has a cup holder! I'm the one that asked for it to have a cup holder!"
Finally Tim stops monitoring his station and looks up at Jason. "That was a good request. Why'd you get a new one? This one is in perfectly good condition." Tim accentuates the claim by leaning back, getting nice and comfortable.
"It hurt my back sometimes, when I had to sit in it for too long. And it was harder to turn- wait, that doesn't matter. What matters is, you can't have a captain's chair, Drake."
With a little kick, Tim turns around in a circle, testing out the spinning capabilities of the chair. "Why not? It was just sitting there, collecting dust."
"Because one of the only perks to my job is having a chair that's cooler than everyone else's, and if you have it too, mine isn't as cool." Jason has given up all hope of keeping his crew's respect, so may as well be honest. "Don't take my only cool thing away from me, Tim."
"You're the captain of the Starfleet flagship," Tim reasons. "I think that's pretty cool in itself."
"I used to think so too, until I actually had to do the damn job. You know what I get to do most of the day? Sign the forms Yeoman Allen shoves in my face every five minutes and then go back staring at the fucking view screen that always has nothing but stars whizzing by. I sit here and listen to your computers beeping and chirping all day. Does that sound cool to you?"
"I think it is when we meet an alien."
Jason hates the part of himself that is flattered by Tim calling him cool (twice!) and scowls hard.
Tim goes on, "Like that time, when you got taken by the Metrons and had to fight that Gorn. You built a canon from like, four ingredients. That was totally cool."
(Thrice!)
"Yeah, well, it wasn't so great when I had to actually fight a Gorn. And my hands smelled like sulfur for days."
Tim nods in understanding, as if going hand to hand with a giant, intelligent alligator is something he's had to deal with before.
"Give up the chair, Drake," Damian calls from his post on the other side of the bridge. Jason looks over, surprised that Wayne would be on his side. But then Damian says, "Todd needs the distinctive chair like the stripes on his uniform. It's the only way to know he's the captain."
"What?" Jason cries. "You'd know I'm the captain without those. I mean, I have that captain-y aura and shit. Like, people just see me and know I'm in charge."
Damian doesn't answer and goes back to looking at the pretty flashing lights on his console. Tim studies Jason for a minute, carefully looking him up and down. Then he sighs. "Yeah, okay. The kid has a point."
"No he doesn't," Jason insists.
"Captain," Tim says sweetly, "just think about it: some Klingons call for a chat about war and dishonor, they see me in a chair equal to yours, they might just think I'm the captain."
"No, no. They'll know I'm the captain because of my strong, commanding presence. You know what? Keep the chair. You'll see."
Slowly Tim turns back to his station and continues his work with a hidden smile. "As you command, Captain."