The Cave is dark except for the rays of soft light streaming from the computers all around. Tim can see Bruce from the descending elevator windows, and his hand instinctively reaches out to touch the glass. Bruce is silhouetted in front of the console, massive frame silent and still. He's changed from the suit he was wearing last night to the sleeveless shirt and jeans that he wears when he's working. Slaving, even.

The elevator doors open with a clang and Tim rushes out, sheds the backpack he's been wearing all this time and steps down the stairs. The table behind Bruce is littered with maps, books, artifacts of old. Damian's mask. His tiny gloves.

Tim tears his eyes away from them and clears his throat. "Hey, B."

"Tim."

He can't even see Bruce's face. He doesn't turn towards him.

It's a little awkward. They did have a fight, of sorts, last night.

Tim takes two steps toward his father. "Um, 42nd was dead. Nothing to report."

"So you said."

Tim said? Tim did say. Nothing to report, into the voicemail. Tim's eyes shift; Bruce's phone is right there next to console keyboard. Where it's apparent Bruce has been all night. The coffee cup he got last night is in the same place as before, the computer's up time is flickering over twelve hours on the screen.

So Bruce most likely did see. He did know.

"So..." Tim starts, "...you got my message?"

Bruce takes a deep breath, and Tim grimaces. "Yes, I did."

"Why didn't you call me back?"

"I wasn't concerned."

Well, there really wasn't much to be concerned about, there was nothing to report, but if...if the phone was right there…

"You didn't come on patrol last night," Tim says, walking toward the table, moving a map to get a better look at it. Eastern Asia, and there's some sharpie marks over it, pointing to the islands just off of Indonesia.

Bruce doesn't answer right away. Tim looks at him, waiting.

"I knew you could handle it," he replies after a moment.

"W-what if I couldn't?" Tim asks.

Bruce's head turns only slightly, but only to glance at the tablet at his side that shows a document he's comparing. "...you could still take care of it."

"Bruce-" Tim turns away from the map, hoping to get those eyes to focus on him again.

"Tim," Bruce responds, head looking up to face the computer. "What do you want?"

"I just-" Tim stops suddenly.

Dick said to hold on. To hang in there.

Tim folds his arms over his chest, turning in on himself. "I just...wanted you to know where I was last night. I didn't...come in, you know."

Bruce doesn't answer, the keys clacking wildly under his fingertips. Tim licks his lips, feeling almost sick.

He runs through all of last night in his head. Visions of Saavik the kitten, yoga pants, Selina's smile, his crying, letting himself just about disintegrate in front of her. Catching his breath in a too-hot shower. Salsa and sandwiches. Sleeping all through the night, dreamless for once. Waking up and feeling her kiss his head, something he hasn't felt in years. Pancakes and jelly. The suggestions to test this hard and lonely place and ask himself if he wants to leave for a while.

He can't do this.

"I was with...Conner."

Bruce continues in his rapid-fire typing, and when Tim takes a few steps closer, he can see dark under his eyes, stark against the red rims and vivid blue. His hair is tousled from the constant rubbing that he does whenever he's under pressure. He looks white, but his eyes are still focused hard on the computer screen.

"You were with Superboy."

Tim raises an eyebrow at the change in Conner's name. "Yeah," he says anyway.

Bruce's eyes narrow. "Hm."

Tim blinks.

Tim doesn't want to leave Bruce. Not now. Maybe he can pretend this never happened. That doubt never entered his mind.

"I just stayed the night over," he says, making it seem simple enough. "He dropped me off at one of the safe houses this morning."

Something goes away from Bruce's eyes, and his fingers stop. He frowns even deeper, his mouth coming to a tight line. He doesn't look at Tim, resting his forearms on the edge of the desk. He studies the keyboard like it's unfamiliar.

"I wish you had stayed with him."

And something drops in Tim's chest. "Sir?"

"I said, I wished you had stayed with Superboy."

Tim's throat hurts, the back of his neck burns. "But Bruce, don't...I mean, can I help you? Find Damian, I mean?"

He wants to stay. He wants to be here. With him.

"No, Tim," Bruce says firmly. "I don't know why you came back."

His palms are sweating, but why is he shivering? "I don't know, I just thought that...maybe..."

"Tim, I don't need any help. I just...want you to go."

Get out.

Tim chews his lip, nods even though he knows Bruce isn't looking. "Okay," he says too loudly, too clearly for truth.

And just like last night, Tim turns and leaves, walks confidently out of the Cave. But this time, there's red everywhere, Tim's being shot at, and he can barely hear anymore. Doesn't hear himself thumping up the stairs, doesn't hear the grating of the elevator, doesn't process Bruce glancing back at him as he rises away. He only feels the heaviness, the ache that was pushed away last night.

He walks into his room, closes the door behind him, leans against it.

Remember to breathe.

Nothing has changed. Bruce still is...against him.

What does it mean, I want you to go? Go away and stay away? You're fired? I don't need you? I don't want you?

No, no, no, think logically. Bruce wouldn't be like that. Remember, distance, time and space.

But Tim hated Damian. He was against Damian. He didn't want Damian in Bruce's life. And Bruce wants him back.

So Tim can understand if he doesn't want him in that mission. If he doesn't want him in this new life.

He slides down the floor, back pressed against the door. It's just like last night. The walls are all staring at him, waiting for him to do something. Anything.

"I'm sorry," is all he can whisper right now. "I'm just so sorry."

He covers his face with his hands and sees those eyes looking back at him, the nagging voice that taunted him, that responded in kind, "We're not brothers."

Oh if only he could go back. If only he could erase everything he said, every strike he made. If only. If only he could tear the pages out and say, "Please no, could we back up?"

"Can I try that again?"

For both their sakes. For Bruce's. How could he go around burning everything and everybody?

It's hurting so bad. Tim hates the hurt, hates the way he can feel it all and pushes his hands against the holes in the dam until he's playing a game of Twister and he can't take that sort of pressure anymore. That dam that holds back the panic and the fear that he'll fall apart someday. That he won't have anything to believe in or anyone.

Hell breaks loose with that dam and if it breaks, who would he be in the end?

But maybe people will get out of the way. People will move away from him; Dick, Bruce, Jason and all the Justice League and the Teen Titans (Conner, forgive me), please just get out of the way. He'll let the dam free and only he will be swept away into that unknown.

Didn't he see that just now? Bruce moving away?

And there will be a flood, but the waters will come to a calm at some point and who will be left at the end of the new river, if anybody at all?

Tim lifts his head, stares straight ahead. Damian's face still flickers in his line of vision.

"Selina Kyle," he whispers to the watching walls.

She whispered, "Let it go, Tim. Don't keep it, let it all go."

Tempting. Just imagining it, brings such a relief, like somebody can hold it all for him for a moment, to give him a rest. Like Bruce carrying him the rest of the way home.

He had just a taste of it last night. This morning.

Finally, some advice that said "stop working" and not "work until you don't feel anymore".

So Tim's wince changes into a small smile when he digs his phone out of his pocket, calls Selina.

And he stands up, sits down on the bed and whispers, "Hello," when she answers.

"How are you?" Selina asks, in that searching voice that she has. She'll be able to hear everything in Tim's voice so he has to be extra careful.

And that's why Tim hesitates in answering that question.

Selina sighs before he can. "Big Daddy's not too friendly these days, huh, kitten?"

"He-he needs time," Tim says, insisting to the both of them. "He'll be okay."

"Are you gonna be okay?" Selina asks and Tim blinks, wonders how to reply.

"Selina," he says carefully, "I don't...I don't really know what to do with him. Dick told me that I should hang in there but...Bruce doesn't want me here. He told me."

Tim looks down, fingers his jean hems and swallows the ache in his throat. "I can't tell what I've done. Or what to do about it."

"Then come stay," Selina replies gently.

He hesitates again.

Tim hates feeling.

But why has he ever if it wasn't for that last bit of advice, to immerse himself in a mission until all feelings were turned off, hidden away, a scar over a wound.

Feeling doesn't make sense if he can just run through life and make it all perfect for himself and everybody. Feelings hold you up, they make you doubt. They make you stop at all the roadsigns and wonder, Is this what I want?

But Selina had whispered it, "Don't keep it all inside like that, it'll kill you."

Like an ice cream sundae Dick had made for him, with a brilliant red cherry that he plopped on the very top, "And frankly, I like you way too much to let that happen."

Dick laughed when Tim ate the cherry first.

"You don't...mind?" he finally queries. "It's okay?"

"Yeah kitten. It's okay."

"Just for a while. Until he's..."

"Yeah. Until he's better." The line is quiet for a moment and then Selina says slowly, almost soothing, "Come on back, baby."

Tim closes his eyes, whispers, "I'm coming back."

He can almost hear Selina smile. "See you a bit," she says.

When she hangs up, Tim takes the suit out of the backpack. He folds up his laptop, slips it in its sleeve, rolls up the adapters and earbuds, stuffing them all into the backpack.

He halts for a moment when Alfred knocks on the door. "Master Tim?"

"Yeah, Alfie?" Tim asks tentatively, pressing the backpack down, just in case.

The door opens and the old butler's concern is written all over his face. "I was just checking in on you, young sir. Is everything alright?"

Tim notices his dark eyes turning toward the backpack, the laptop pulled from it's usual place at his desk. "Yeah, everything's alright. I'm just...I'm going to stay with a friend."

The concern leaves Alfred's face and he nods firmly. "Very good sir. It's...no use for you to stay around this empty place. You are much better off with anyone else than Master Bruce, I'm afraid."

Or he's better off without me, Tim thinks, looking down at the backpack. "He...he doesn't need to know I'm gone, Alfie."

Alfred tilts his head to one side, comes closer to him. "I don't believe I can see why, Master Tim. I should think he would concerned about your whereabouts."

Tim shakes his head, "He won't be. Don't worry about it. He's busy."

"Well, I will certainly tell him if he inquires after you," Alfred says, dead serious.

Tim picks up his laptop and puts it in the backpack. "Just tell him that I'm with...Kon. I'm going to go down to one of the safe houses; he said he'd be around there and he'll pick me up."

Alfred smiles in pleasure. "I'm glad you've decided to stay with Master Kent. You'll be alright with him. I'm afraid he's one of the few I trust with you, Master Timothy."

Tim smiles at the thought of Conner. But he can't go to him, not now. He needs some distance away from anything to do with the Justice League. He'll text him, call him, let him know he's okay.

And maybe he'll go see him. When Tim is ready to pick it all back up again, Conner will help him remember who he is. Like he always does.

Tim takes a deep breath, reaches out to wrap his arms around the old man. "I'll miss you, Alfie."

Alfred hugs back, rubbing his white-gloved hand up and down Tim's back. "I will miss you as well, young sir." He pulls back and puts his hands firmly on Tim's shoulders, looks hard into his eyes. "Remember what I told you."

Tim nods. "There are more important things in this world than keeping secrets."

But he can't find more important things than his secrets. They're protecting him.

Protecting him and Selina.

Alfred leaves Tim to pack. Tim gets some clothes, an empty notebook and a working pen (priorities), and when he is looking through his top desk drawer, he finds an old envelope. On the front is Bruce's neat script and it says his name.

Tim's opened it a hundred times. It's the letter he got the morning after all the adoption papers were signed.

And he glances at his backpack.

Wonders if he should take it with him.