you're one of my midnight thoughts.

Gotham's skyline dances with glittering neon lights and the quick flicker of moving shadows. Robin, perched atop a water tower, can just pick out the members of his family from afar. The flip that's all Nightwing flare, the wraith-like flutter of Black Bat's cape.

At night, Gotham is alive like she can never truly be in daylight. All her worst secrets crawl from the gutters while her defenders take to the sky. If you know how to look, there's a rainbow painted in bats and birds across the midnight sky. Tonight, it's a little duller than usual.

There's no scarlet splashed along the spectrum of colors; Red Robin is nowhere to be found.

Robin feels his absence like an itch under his skin, feels foolish for it, but doesn't bother trying to scratch it out. He's adjusted to the mournful beast named yearning which has made its home in his chest. It's quieter when Red Robin is home, but when he's away, it makes a nest of Robin's lungs and gnaws on his heart for sustenance.

( One day the yearning is going to get too big for his rib cage and come bursting forth, become something unquenchable and uncontrollable. He knows it will, because it feels the same as he does these days, putting on the Robin suit. Like the seams are straining and there's something raw tearing at the underneath. )

He puts Red Robin from his mind and launches from the water tower, swinging between buildings in pursuit of his father's shadow.

The route is familiar. Routine. Robin matches Batman move for move, mirroring left when he goes right. They make good time. Gotham is quiet, tonight.

All too soon, Robin returns to the Cave to roost and peels back his red-green-yellow skin and becomes Damian again.

"Quiet night, isn't it?" Alfred remarks. "You may get a full night's sleep yet, Master Damian."

"Only if you do, Pennyworth."

They share a rote smile, knowing all too well that it's been years since either of them slept through the night.

Damian washes the night from his skin and changes into soft, drawstring pants and a cotton shirt he doesn't think is his. It's small at the shoulders and loose everywhere else, and he's fairly certain the person it belongs to would be swimming in it.

He means to exit the showers and go straight upstairs, but the wan light of the Batcomputer beckons him. Damian finds himself typing in his access codes, bringing up suit biometrics and last known coordinates. When he lingers over Red Robin's heartbeat, pulsing steadily before his eyes, Pennyworth has the courtesy not to call him on.

( The same way Damian won't mention that it's Timothy's shirt Alfred left him to change into. )

Damian bids Alfred goodnight and closes down the scans before mounting the stairs. The manor above is empty, familiar, even in the dark. He trails the halls with the soundless steps of a feline, slipping between shadows and into his room. His bed is as he left it; pristinely made and terribly inviting.

Damian allows himself to fall face first into it.

Japan, he reminds himself, is fourteen hours ahead of New Jersey. And even if it wasn't, there's no guarantee that Timothy will call. He should not, under any circumstances, hope that he will.

But, he does. Of course he does.

He rolls onto his back and stares at his ceiling, willing himself to think of anything that isn't Robin red or the sound a bo staff makes as it swings through the air.

An impossible amount of time later, his cell phone begins to vibrate. Damian has it in hand before the second ring, the call accepted before the third.

"Hello, Timothy."

" Oh, jeez, Damian, I didn't expect you to be up ."

Damian collapses against his pillows, tension he hardly noticed he was holding draining from his body.

"What is the expression? No rest for the wicked?" he teases. "I'm surprised you are awake either."

" Only barely ," Timothy laughs. Damian's heart beats feebly from between yearning 's teeth at the sound. " My internal clock is a mess, I'm going to have to call today a total loss. You know I woke up at nine at night? And then I slept till noon? "

"It sounds a great deal like your usual sleeping schedule, only in reverse."

" Doesn't it? Thank god I had the forethought to buy a couple cold brews before I crashed last night, or I might still be asleep. Oh, speaking of last night- "

Damian closes his eyes and listens.

Timothy keeps talking, rambling about the driver they sent to get him from the airport, the first meal he had outside his hotel, the view from his room on the forty-something-th floor. It's nothing important. Nothing worth staying up until fuck o'clock in the morning for, but he did anyway, because it's Timothy .

Sometimes, Damian can't help but marvel that he gets to have this. Even if he aches for more than friendly conversation and casual patrols, he feels lucky to have anything at all. Because there was a time not long ago where it felt impossible to bridge the gap he'd created between them, back when he was too young to know any better.

( It's selfish to want more than Timothy's forgiveness. It's greedy to ask for his affection, his care, his attention . But Damian has the blood of a demon in him and he can't help but to want . )

" -And I am totally talking your ear off. Wow. Sorry, Dami, guess the caffeine's kicking in ."

"Don't apologize."

" Seriously? I just talked about a crepe I ate for like ten minutes ."

He shouldn't. But it's late. He's tired and his tongue is loose, his heart bleeding red hot adoration through his chest.

"I like to hear you talk," Damian confesses into the silence.

And Timothy pauses, he can hear him breathe.

" Yeah? "

"Yes."

" Alright, " Timothy hums. " Alright. Well, I had a tele-conference call an hour ago. Let me tell you how that travesty went... "

Damian allows his eyes to drift shut. He conjures thoughts of Robin red, the mellow tone of Timothy's voice lulling him softly into sleep.