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Dec. 4th, 2016 09:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runningredI parked the bike in the bushland next to houseboat not bother to chain it. The locals know me, know I’m a good person to have onside. I’ve never given them a reason to see what happens when I’m not onside, but I’m pretty sure they understand. Something about the scars, something about the way I holds myself, something about being a who I am in a place like this.
People with means don’t hang out on the backwaters of Cambodia without a reason. And the locals know such things aren’t worth knowing.
I could tell someone was on the boat before I was out of cover of the trees. None of my security systems were going off but there were signs.
A few drops of blood on the deck for a start. And the sound of someone rummaging around on the cabin. I shifted onto the railing, skirting around the front of the boat to linger in the bow porthole rather than coming through the main hatch.
The same way my guest had come, judging by the exposed blade that has lifted from the wire trap. My blood was up, adrenaline pounding in my veins, ready for a fight.
Until I saw who my guest was.
I refolded the spring blade and dropped silently into the cabin. “First aid kit is in the far-right cupboard, Tim.”
Tim didn’t look up but moved to that cupboard with a sigh, nursing the shallow cut across his inner arm. “Why would you not keep it under the sink like a normal person.”
I ignored him, letting him deal with the sticking plasters himself as I put on a pot of coffee. “Because the sink is prone to leaking. Mouldy bandages aren’t exactly hygienic, now are they?”
Fight or flight was still in my blood, singing a song older than speech. But watching Tim’s slender toned body, dressed casual and showing more skin in the tropical heat, another F got added to the equation.
He scowled at me and accepted the coffee, almost absently cleaning up the drops of blood. Funny how secret identities make you paranoid about DNA evidence.
“Why are you here, Tim?” I asked, leaning on the bench. “You don’t strike me as an avid spear-fisherman.”
He sipped his coffee before answering, pulling a face at the bitterness and looking around for sugar. “Beryl sent me.”
“No, Beryl called you.” I lifted the sugar down and handed it to him, the container sealed against the aggressive local ants. “You came of your own accord.”
“She said you reacted strangely in London.” He spooned more sugar than I would have expected into his mug. The whole conversation and neither of us had looked the other in the eye.
I hummed non-committedly, not planning to give him anything unless he asked.
He looked up then. “She wanted to know how you didn’t kill her.”
I didn’t answer him at once, just looking into his eyes. The gods-damn blue of them, so different to the rest of us. His face was guarded and closed but his eyes! His eyes held hesitation, curiosity, and something… something else.
I put my mug down and crossed to him, standing just inside his personal space. I’m a head taller and a fair bit broader than Tim. I used that to loom over him, backing him against the sink. “You could have called me. You could have messaged me. You didn’t come half way around to globe to ask me that.”
He kept his mug between us, using it to create space. He didn’t break eye contact and I could tell I wasn’t intimidating him. At least not physically. I’d studied his form from surveillance footage, just as surely as he’d studied mine. We had very different techniques but if it came to a throwdown, we’d be pretty evenly matched. The tight space of the cabin would give me a slight advantage but not that much.
I could tell by the calculating look in his eye, he was thinking the same thing. “If I had called,” He responded coolly, sipping his coffee, “would you have given me a straight answer?”
“What makes you think I’ll give you a straight answer now?” I let a note of menace enter my voice, dark as the coffee I could smell on his lips. “I got Squire out. I did what needed doing. How is my business. Not yours. Not B’s”
His expression hardened. “I’m not Bruce’s creature, Jason. You know that.”
“Whose creature are you?” I demanded, resting a hand on the sink, my wrist against his hip, blocking off his exit.
He glared up at me, his own fight or flight response growing. I could see the pulse in his throat racing and wondered if this was how Eric felt.
“I belong to no-one but myself.” He growled, matching my tone.
“And yet you’re lying to yourself about why you came here.” I leant in breathing the scent of his sweat. The dense humidity of the early wet season made everything close and damp, his clothes sticking to him as a bead of moisture trickled down his throat. “You came because you wanted this. You wanted to be here, with me.”
“You’re delusional, Jason.”
He moved to push past me but I grabbed the mug from him and threw to out onto the deck, not caring as it smashed. It was a dick move and I didn’t care. I wrapped an arm around his shoulder, locking his arm behind him. It was a hold we both knew, and both knew how to get out of.
But he couldn’t do it without pressing against me. Between a rock and a hard place. Or at least semi hard, which I was quite certain he was.
I felt his breathing hitch as I leant in to catch that bead of sweat on my lips. “You want me, Tim. You want this. You just have to admit it.”
He growled softly and shifted in the hold, looking for a way out that didn’t involve pressing against me. He’d never sparred with Bruce without a box, never thought about having to do this outside his costume.
I, on the other hand, had taken every chance to feel with Bruce. After all, I was a street-whore working with an attractive and deeply sexually repressed older man. I took what I could get.
“I want the truth. Nothing more.” Tim muttered, frustration leaking into his voice. He might be the mighty Red Robin, but he was also a young man, physically fit and somewhat repressed as far as I could tell. Or was he just inexperienced? Either way, I had him rattled this time.
I shifted my hold abruptly, turning him around and pressing him against the cupboards. “Lying.” I purred into his ear, holding him there using my weight advantage.
A hard place indeed.
“A killer yes,” He hissed, “But I never thought you were a sexual predator.”
“Low blow, Tim.” I muttered, pushing away from him. A low blow indeed. And one he knew would land.
I moved across the cabin, trying not to show how much that had stung. He straightened, brushing a hand down his shirt as if trying to get a wrinkle out of it. It did nothing to hide how flushed and mussed he looked. Those well-cut khakis certainly weren’t hiding anything.
“I came because Beryl asked me to.” He said levelly, trying to get back on topic. “She wanted to know how you managed the serum. And so do I. If we can replicate what you did, we can protect people in the future.”
“That’s Bruce talking.” I answered flatly.
Tim pushed his hair back from his face, a single lock falling back in a kiss curl on his forehead. “Yes, it is.” He admits, sitting at the little kitchen table. “Beryl needs answers. She needs to know why she’s still alive.”
“And you?” I demanded, not giving even as his voice softens.
He frowns, folding his arms over his chest refusing to answer.
“The truth, Tim.” I said warningly. “You’ll get the truth in return. Not that you’ll believe me.”
Tim kept his arms crossed, not answering. After a long moment, he crossed to the stove and poured himself a fresh mug of coffee, shovelling sugar into it.
I waited, playing the silence game just as well as any Bat.
“I wanted to see you.” Tim admits eventually, his voice very soft, almost a whisper. “When I saw the report on London, I felt responsible.”
My first reaction was to laugh but there was something in Tim’s voice. Something brittle and young.
I crossed to him, taking the mug from him, more gently this time. I cupped his cheek, looking into those fatally blue eyes. “What happened in London was not your fault, Tim. You gave me a tip off, nothing more. The mess Beryl and I got into was just that; a mess.” I held his gaze, even as he tried to look away. “You and I both know what this life is.”
I hadn’t planned to kiss him but I did. Slow and chaste. He pressed against me, sighing into the kiss.
But he broke the kiss first, stepping away to retrieve his coffee. He kept his eyes down, hidden from me. Hiding from himself.
“Truth for truth then.” I sighed, still tasting him on my lips. “I didn’t manage the serum, Tim.” I admitted slowly, “They shot me up and threw me into that ring.” Even the memory hurt and I ran my hands through my hair, trying to keep it out of my voice. “You know I carry the recessive gene-”
He cut me off with a gesture, not needed me to go on. We both know what the drug does, first hand in my case. “Beryl said your eyes turned blue again. And that you stopped moving as if you were injured. How?”
I took a deep breath and looked at him. “Temporally locked pocket universe.”
Tim looked back at me, his expression blank. “Pardon?”
“Temporally locked pocket universe.” I repeated slowly. “Parked on a multiverse nexus. It has a very good infirmary and meta-human security staff who knew how to put me down before I could hurt anyone.”
“You’re not lying.” Tim muttered, his tone slightly stunned.
“I’m not.” I shrugged. “Ever read any Douglas Adams?”
He gave me an incredulous look. “I’m literate, Jason. Of course I’ve read Douglas-” He cut himself off. “Multiverse nexus… you found Milliways?”
I nodded, letting him process.
“Temporally locked? How long were you there?”
I always underestimate how quick Tim processes. “That time – near to six months. It took four days for the serum to run its course. The associated physical injuries took months to heal. Ribs, you know how it is.”
“And the physiological damage?”
“Severe and ongoing.” I answered sharply, a little more sharply than I intended. “But healing. And yes, before you ask, I’m getting help.”
Tim frowns and tilts his head.
I shrugged. “Milliways has a surprising number of patrons who specialise in PTSD management. Some of them are masks, in their own ways and worlds”
Tim walked around the small cabin, the cogs in his head almost audible. “It should worry me, what you’ve just said. But you’re not lying. And it makes a degree of sense.”
“Heinlein’s World as Myth?” I asked.
“I was going to say M-space theory but either way.” He cocked his head again. “Can you take me there?”
“No.” I could. Probably. But I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. The Bar already had a Tim Drake, even if I hadn’t seen the kid for a while. “It doesn’t work that way. The door chooses. I’m just lucky it chose that moment. It’s not the first time it’s saved my hide.”
He got up and crossed to my fridge, swapping my coffee for a beer and taking one for himself. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Most of the night we talked. Or more I talked and he listened. He never argued, never doubted. Once or twice he asked for clarification but he never doubted.
Many hours and several beers later, I ran out of words. Sprawled out in my wide hammock, our legs tangled, he looked at me, earnestly studying me with those eyes. “I’m jealous, you know.”
“Because of Milliways?” I asked, setting down my last bottle.
He set his down too, shifting gracefully to straddle my hips. “Because of who you are there. Because of who you can be there.” He kissed me then, my hands on his hips to keep him balanced as I returned the kiss, opening myself to it. “I’m jealous of who I could be, if I could be there with you.”
I wanted to tell him he could be that here. That he didn’t need to be anything else with me.
But he wasn’t ready. And that was what he was trying to tell me. He wasn’t ready to honest with himself about his feelings, or his desires.
He settled next to me, his head on my shoulder as we fell asleep.
People with means don’t hang out on the backwaters of Cambodia without a reason. And the locals know such things aren’t worth knowing.
I could tell someone was on the boat before I was out of cover of the trees. None of my security systems were going off but there were signs.
A few drops of blood on the deck for a start. And the sound of someone rummaging around on the cabin. I shifted onto the railing, skirting around the front of the boat to linger in the bow porthole rather than coming through the main hatch.
The same way my guest had come, judging by the exposed blade that has lifted from the wire trap. My blood was up, adrenaline pounding in my veins, ready for a fight.
Until I saw who my guest was.
I refolded the spring blade and dropped silently into the cabin. “First aid kit is in the far-right cupboard, Tim.”
Tim didn’t look up but moved to that cupboard with a sigh, nursing the shallow cut across his inner arm. “Why would you not keep it under the sink like a normal person.”
I ignored him, letting him deal with the sticking plasters himself as I put on a pot of coffee. “Because the sink is prone to leaking. Mouldy bandages aren’t exactly hygienic, now are they?”
Fight or flight was still in my blood, singing a song older than speech. But watching Tim’s slender toned body, dressed casual and showing more skin in the tropical heat, another F got added to the equation.
He scowled at me and accepted the coffee, almost absently cleaning up the drops of blood. Funny how secret identities make you paranoid about DNA evidence.
“Why are you here, Tim?” I asked, leaning on the bench. “You don’t strike me as an avid spear-fisherman.”
He sipped his coffee before answering, pulling a face at the bitterness and looking around for sugar. “Beryl sent me.”
“No, Beryl called you.” I lifted the sugar down and handed it to him, the container sealed against the aggressive local ants. “You came of your own accord.”
“She said you reacted strangely in London.” He spooned more sugar than I would have expected into his mug. The whole conversation and neither of us had looked the other in the eye.
I hummed non-committedly, not planning to give him anything unless he asked.
He looked up then. “She wanted to know how you didn’t kill her.”
I didn’t answer him at once, just looking into his eyes. The gods-damn blue of them, so different to the rest of us. His face was guarded and closed but his eyes! His eyes held hesitation, curiosity, and something… something else.
I put my mug down and crossed to him, standing just inside his personal space. I’m a head taller and a fair bit broader than Tim. I used that to loom over him, backing him against the sink. “You could have called me. You could have messaged me. You didn’t come half way around to globe to ask me that.”
He kept his mug between us, using it to create space. He didn’t break eye contact and I could tell I wasn’t intimidating him. At least not physically. I’d studied his form from surveillance footage, just as surely as he’d studied mine. We had very different techniques but if it came to a throwdown, we’d be pretty evenly matched. The tight space of the cabin would give me a slight advantage but not that much.
I could tell by the calculating look in his eye, he was thinking the same thing. “If I had called,” He responded coolly, sipping his coffee, “would you have given me a straight answer?”
“What makes you think I’ll give you a straight answer now?” I let a note of menace enter my voice, dark as the coffee I could smell on his lips. “I got Squire out. I did what needed doing. How is my business. Not yours. Not B’s”
His expression hardened. “I’m not Bruce’s creature, Jason. You know that.”
“Whose creature are you?” I demanded, resting a hand on the sink, my wrist against his hip, blocking off his exit.
He glared up at me, his own fight or flight response growing. I could see the pulse in his throat racing and wondered if this was how Eric felt.
“I belong to no-one but myself.” He growled, matching my tone.
“And yet you’re lying to yourself about why you came here.” I leant in breathing the scent of his sweat. The dense humidity of the early wet season made everything close and damp, his clothes sticking to him as a bead of moisture trickled down his throat. “You came because you wanted this. You wanted to be here, with me.”
“You’re delusional, Jason.”
He moved to push past me but I grabbed the mug from him and threw to out onto the deck, not caring as it smashed. It was a dick move and I didn’t care. I wrapped an arm around his shoulder, locking his arm behind him. It was a hold we both knew, and both knew how to get out of.
But he couldn’t do it without pressing against me. Between a rock and a hard place. Or at least semi hard, which I was quite certain he was.
I felt his breathing hitch as I leant in to catch that bead of sweat on my lips. “You want me, Tim. You want this. You just have to admit it.”
He growled softly and shifted in the hold, looking for a way out that didn’t involve pressing against me. He’d never sparred with Bruce without a box, never thought about having to do this outside his costume.
I, on the other hand, had taken every chance to feel with Bruce. After all, I was a street-whore working with an attractive and deeply sexually repressed older man. I took what I could get.
“I want the truth. Nothing more.” Tim muttered, frustration leaking into his voice. He might be the mighty Red Robin, but he was also a young man, physically fit and somewhat repressed as far as I could tell. Or was he just inexperienced? Either way, I had him rattled this time.
I shifted my hold abruptly, turning him around and pressing him against the cupboards. “Lying.” I purred into his ear, holding him there using my weight advantage.
A hard place indeed.
“A killer yes,” He hissed, “But I never thought you were a sexual predator.”
“Low blow, Tim.” I muttered, pushing away from him. A low blow indeed. And one he knew would land.
I moved across the cabin, trying not to show how much that had stung. He straightened, brushing a hand down his shirt as if trying to get a wrinkle out of it. It did nothing to hide how flushed and mussed he looked. Those well-cut khakis certainly weren’t hiding anything.
“I came because Beryl asked me to.” He said levelly, trying to get back on topic. “She wanted to know how you managed the serum. And so do I. If we can replicate what you did, we can protect people in the future.”
“That’s Bruce talking.” I answered flatly.
Tim pushed his hair back from his face, a single lock falling back in a kiss curl on his forehead. “Yes, it is.” He admits, sitting at the little kitchen table. “Beryl needs answers. She needs to know why she’s still alive.”
“And you?” I demanded, not giving even as his voice softens.
He frowns, folding his arms over his chest refusing to answer.
“The truth, Tim.” I said warningly. “You’ll get the truth in return. Not that you’ll believe me.”
Tim kept his arms crossed, not answering. After a long moment, he crossed to the stove and poured himself a fresh mug of coffee, shovelling sugar into it.
I waited, playing the silence game just as well as any Bat.
“I wanted to see you.” Tim admits eventually, his voice very soft, almost a whisper. “When I saw the report on London, I felt responsible.”
My first reaction was to laugh but there was something in Tim’s voice. Something brittle and young.
I crossed to him, taking the mug from him, more gently this time. I cupped his cheek, looking into those fatally blue eyes. “What happened in London was not your fault, Tim. You gave me a tip off, nothing more. The mess Beryl and I got into was just that; a mess.” I held his gaze, even as he tried to look away. “You and I both know what this life is.”
I hadn’t planned to kiss him but I did. Slow and chaste. He pressed against me, sighing into the kiss.
But he broke the kiss first, stepping away to retrieve his coffee. He kept his eyes down, hidden from me. Hiding from himself.
“Truth for truth then.” I sighed, still tasting him on my lips. “I didn’t manage the serum, Tim.” I admitted slowly, “They shot me up and threw me into that ring.” Even the memory hurt and I ran my hands through my hair, trying to keep it out of my voice. “You know I carry the recessive gene-”
He cut me off with a gesture, not needed me to go on. We both know what the drug does, first hand in my case. “Beryl said your eyes turned blue again. And that you stopped moving as if you were injured. How?”
I took a deep breath and looked at him. “Temporally locked pocket universe.”
Tim looked back at me, his expression blank. “Pardon?”
“Temporally locked pocket universe.” I repeated slowly. “Parked on a multiverse nexus. It has a very good infirmary and meta-human security staff who knew how to put me down before I could hurt anyone.”
“You’re not lying.” Tim muttered, his tone slightly stunned.
“I’m not.” I shrugged. “Ever read any Douglas Adams?”
He gave me an incredulous look. “I’m literate, Jason. Of course I’ve read Douglas-” He cut himself off. “Multiverse nexus… you found Milliways?”
I nodded, letting him process.
“Temporally locked? How long were you there?”
I always underestimate how quick Tim processes. “That time – near to six months. It took four days for the serum to run its course. The associated physical injuries took months to heal. Ribs, you know how it is.”
“And the physiological damage?”
“Severe and ongoing.” I answered sharply, a little more sharply than I intended. “But healing. And yes, before you ask, I’m getting help.”
Tim frowns and tilts his head.
I shrugged. “Milliways has a surprising number of patrons who specialise in PTSD management. Some of them are masks, in their own ways and worlds”
Tim walked around the small cabin, the cogs in his head almost audible. “It should worry me, what you’ve just said. But you’re not lying. And it makes a degree of sense.”
“Heinlein’s World as Myth?” I asked.
“I was going to say M-space theory but either way.” He cocked his head again. “Can you take me there?”
“No.” I could. Probably. But I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. The Bar already had a Tim Drake, even if I hadn’t seen the kid for a while. “It doesn’t work that way. The door chooses. I’m just lucky it chose that moment. It’s not the first time it’s saved my hide.”
He got up and crossed to my fridge, swapping my coffee for a beer and taking one for himself. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Most of the night we talked. Or more I talked and he listened. He never argued, never doubted. Once or twice he asked for clarification but he never doubted.
Many hours and several beers later, I ran out of words. Sprawled out in my wide hammock, our legs tangled, he looked at me, earnestly studying me with those eyes. “I’m jealous, you know.”
“Because of Milliways?” I asked, setting down my last bottle.
He set his down too, shifting gracefully to straddle my hips. “Because of who you are there. Because of who you can be there.” He kissed me then, my hands on his hips to keep him balanced as I returned the kiss, opening myself to it. “I’m jealous of who I could be, if I could be there with you.”
I wanted to tell him he could be that here. That he didn’t need to be anything else with me.
But he wasn’t ready. And that was what he was trying to tell me. He wasn’t ready to honest with himself about his feelings, or his desires.
He settled next to me, his head on my shoulder as we fell asleep.
