by Mara

Summary: Northstar and Iceman chat post-Uncanny 415

NOTES: I don’t generally write “between the lines” fics, but this issue so
desperately called for it, I found myself sitting in bed fiercely scribbling
away while my husband waited impatiently to turn out the light. There isn’t any
sexual content here, but if you’re squicked by the idea that one man could be
attracted to another…you probably shouldn’t be reading anything with Northstar
in it. Thanks once again for the beta to Captain Average, in whose debt I will
be for the rest of my life for all his editing help Oh, I borrowed one line
from issue #415.

* * * * *

Against nurse’s orders, Jean-Paul was wandering the grounds of the mansion when
he saw Bobby.

The dark blond hair caught his attention–a stray shaft of mid-morning light
making it gleam–before Jean-Paul saw the rest of the other man leaning against
a tree, not far from the wrought iron pagoda that had been the site of a battle
several days before. He paused, taking this quiet moment to watch him.

Annie was very perceptive to notice his attraction to Bobby, Jean-Paul thought,
it was not the kind of fact he was accustomed to revealing. It was also true,
the X-Man known as Iceman was hardly his usual type, but something about the
insouciant attitude in the face of danger struck a chord. And the package it
came with was most certainly worth looking at, he thought, eyeing the muscles
that shifted under the uniform of the X-Man.

Mon Dieu, he thought, crossing his arms, Robert Drake is a man, yet nearly
everyone treats him like a boy. He was a boy when he came here, but no longer.
Of course, Jean-Paul had to admit that Bobby helped the illusion by always
playing the joker, the fool.

But in this moment–believing himself unobserved–Robert Drake was a man, one
weighed down by cares Jean-Paul wished he could smooth away. Bobby sat on the
ground, his back against the tree, elbows propped on his knees, chin resting in
his palms. For a moment, he buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking as
if he were laughing…or crying. Jean-Paul took a step forward, but stopped as
Bobby leaned back and pounded his fists once against the tree trunk, staring at
the pagoda in front of him.

His eyes were dry, but his face was resigned and drawn; Jean-Paul felt a pain in
his heart to match Bobby’s, and he found himself walking down the brick-lined
pathway toward the other man.

It didn’t take Bobby long to hear him, and Jean-Paul’s heart sank further as he
watched the mask slip down. The grin that met him was oh-so-adorable, but he
knew it was false.

“Hey, Northstar, I didn’t know Annie was letting you off the leash again.”

“I’m not certain she knows yet,” he admitted, hovering a few feet away in
unaccustomed reticence. Since the explosion and his severe injuries, he’d been
second-guessing himself unusually often.

“Way to go!” Bobby’s grin grew wider. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“There’s a great deal you don’t know about me,” Jean-Paul found himself saying.
He paused and frowned. “That sounded a great deal less cliched in my mind.”

“Hey, ‘sokay, what’s the good of being a superhero if you can’t use a cliché now
and then?” Bobby’s grin was getting strained now. “So, there something I can do
for you?”

Jean-Paul ignored the obvious attempt to get rid of him, looking down at Bobby.
“Are you well?”

“I’m fine. Hey, Annie let me out of her clutches without too much of a fight, so
I’ve gotta be okay, right?”

Jean-Paul arched an eyebrow at the circular logic and, uninvited, sat down next
to Bobby. “What were you thinking about with such concentration?” he asked.

“Huh?” Bobby looked surprised, as if he’d never been asked that before.

“When I approached, you seemed to be thinking thoughts most serious.”

Bobby twitched a little, then tried for his previous grin. “Me? Oh, nothing
much.”

“Of course.” Suddenly annoyed by the whole situation, Jean-Paul gave his most
arrogantly Gallic shrug. “Of course, you Americans always go to the place where
someone has just beaten you into unconsciousness in order to think thoughts of
no consequence.”

Bobby shifted from friendly to angry in an instant, practically spitting out his
words. “What do you care, Mr. French Canadian waltz in here and tell us we’re
losers?”

Well, angry was probably better than indifferent. “I didn’t intend–”

“Bullshit. You loved that Xavier had to beg for your help, that the mighty X-Men
were in such shitty shape that we called you.”

“Again.” Jean-Paul winced as soon as he said it, annoyed to find his usual bad
habits rising to the forefront.

“What?”

“You had to call *again*,” he said, almost apologetically. “I came before when
Jean asked for my help.”

Bobby sneered. “Well, lah-di-fucking-dah, isn’t that special? Do I bow down or
what?”

Jean-Paul looked down at his hands, unsure what to say. He supposed he deserved
this, since he *had* come in with more than his usual boundless arrogance,
pleased in a small way that the X-Men needed his help. And he *had* been

extraordinarily snide and annoying, even for him. But to explain it, the long
history of Alpha Flight and the X-Men, his own feelings on the matter, this was
not possible.

A squirrel ran across the ground nearby, chittering madly, and the two men sat
in silence for a long moment watching it.

“Why are you here?”

The sneer was gone from Bobby’s voice and Jean-Paul looked up. “I am here
because Professor Xavier asked me and the X-Men needed help. Whatever you think
of me, in the end I could not refuse.”

“No.” Bobby shook his head. “I mean, why are you out here right now?”

“I was in need of some time and space to think, so I decided to walk.”

“Out here, where someone had just beaten me into unconsciousness?” Bobby
mimicked his accent.

“Yes.”

The flat reply left Bobby momentarily speechless, and they sat there for a
little while looking at the pagoda, lost in thought. Jean-Paul remembered his
first sight of Bobby being slammed into the ground as he raced toward the
confrontation; his super-speed reduced by injury to what felt like a crawl,
shaking with the fear that he might not get there in time, that someone else
might die on his watch.

“Josette,” Bobby said suddenly, his hands clenched and resting on his knees,
“she…she was using her empathy to control me, you know.”

“I heard her say it.”

“I mean, I don’t normally…and in the hallway…”

“Yes.”

They were silent again for a while, and Jean-Paul fought the urge to put his arm
around Bobby, lean against him, hold him. The other man would certainly not
allow it, not from a gay man, and not from someone he didn’t even seem to like
very much.

Looking out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Bobby staring at the pagoda with a
kind of loathing. Jean-Paul suspected he’d found the root of the problem. “To be
controlled, it is most abhorrent,” he said. “It may be the worst thing that
happens to those of us who join the team, who become a public mutant figure.”

Bobby didn’t say anything, he just continued to stare ahead, one hand straying
to rub the center of his chest. Jean-Paul frowned slightly, wondering at that,
but decided not to push his luck by asking.

“I’m afraid I do not have such an excuse for my behavior,” Jean-Paul said. When
Bobby looked at him in obvious surprise, Jean-Paul found himself flushing a
little–apologies were not something in which he often engaged. “I should not
have been so rude to everyone, when we met at the house in Fort Albany.”

“Yeah, well…we all have bad days.”

“True, but–”

“Look, forget about it. There’s been a good bit of water under the bridge since
then. You were rude, I’ve yelled at you. I’m over it.”

“Yes, water under the bridge.”

A bird twittered on a nearby branch, the same squirrel ran halfway across the
grass, stopping to look at them curiously, and they sat.

“So,” Bobby said diffidently, “I was sorry to hear about the kid you were
carrying back here.”

It was like a punch to the stomach, and it took all Jean-Paul’s returning
strength to say, with equal diffidence, “Peter. His name was Peter.”

“Yeah, Peter. It’s rough when you lose someone you were trying to save.” Bobby
didn’t look at him, just twiddled with a piece of grass next to his boot.

I see his face when I close my eyes, Jean-Paul thought. “Yes, it is.”

“You did your best.”

Not enough, it will never be enough. “The Professor could not stop the
explosions.”

“He told me you stayed with Peter at the end, instead of flying away.”

“Yes.” Peter’s face, bleeding, scared, begging for reassurance he could not
give. ‘I’m going to die this time–aren’t I?’ Jean-Paul closed his eyes
momentarily, then caught onto a distraction. “You spoke of me with the
Professor?”

“He really wants you to stay, and I think he’s worried I’ll annoy you outta
town.”

“I do not think that is likely.”

They sat a little longer, the silence now more companionable than uncomfortable;
in the distance, the sounds of the school started to drift toward them, the
laughing and shouting of the teenage mating dance, a basketball thudding on
pavement, even the unmistakable *bamf* of Kurt in a hurry to get somewhere.

Bobby started to fidget a little, and Jean-Paul sighed to himself at the
approaching end of this interlude. He would likely never get another chance to
speak with Bobby in such a forthright manner, and he was certain Annie would
urge him to tell the other man how he felt, but he knew she was wrong.

It was easy for a woman with a romantic heart to urge him to say something, but
what did she expect him to do? In his considerable experience, men who were
straight–and controlled by Josette or not, Bobby *was* straight–did not take
kindly to declarations of undying affection.

Jean-Paul ached bone-deep–in a place that medicine couldn’t touch–as Bobby
jumped up from the ground and took a few steps away.

“Hey,” Bobby said, pausing and turning to look back at him, “we never did get
that meal I promised, and it’s about lunchtime. You hungry?” The engaging grin
was back, a bit more genuine this time, if Jean-Paul was any judge–and he’d
become a veritable connoisseur of Bobby’s smiles in recent days.

“I do believe I *am* hungry,” Jean-Paul said as he carefully stood, glad he’d
regained an echo of his usual grace.

“C’mon then, or the only thing left’ll be the meatloaf.”

Take what you can get, Jean-Paul told himself as they walked back toward the
mansion. Just take what you can get.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: When Wraith is away, the guards of Weapon X will play.

by Mara

Summary: Bobby finds out about Emma and Scott. (This is an AU of New X-Men 139, “Shattered,” the first part to the Murder in the Mansion story line.)

NOTES: This was written for the Remix Redux Challenge and it is a remix of
Cherry Ice’s story “Spent Casings.” You can find the original at
www.doyourthing.org/cherry/xm/casings.htm. I didn’t much like where Morrison
went with New X-Men, so I was pleased to take this opportunity to rewrite a
small part of it.

* * * * *

Emma wondered if Bobby would hit her. It wasn’t likely, really, he was too
fundamentally a “nice” guy, even in these straitened circumstances. She wondered
idly how hard she’d have to push him before he’d do it. And what would happen to
him afterward.

“Are you even listening to me?” he growled, leaning against the wall of her
bedroom.

She inspected her boots for bloodstains. “Yes, I am. You were asking me what the
fuck I was doing.”

“And you weren’t answering.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

There was a long silence and she took the opportunity to check herself in the
mirror. It was one thing to enjoy a good catfight with one’s rival, but to
remain disheveled afterward was severely déclassé.

Of course, Bobby would likely point out that sleeping with a married man was
tacky, but he couldn’t possibly understand how her world worked, could he?

The drop of blood at the corner of her mouth she carefully dabbed away, sensing
Bobby’s reluctant desire as he watched. A small smile graced her lips at her
ability to arouse him even at a time like this. Of course, that was really so
typical of the male mind, wasn’t it? Think of your woman with another man…want
to have sex with your woman.

Not that she was his woman, but in the primitive male mind, she knew that
thought lurked.

“Scott. You’re really–”

“Yes.”

“Scott-fucking-Summers.”

“Can’t pull the wool over your eyes, now can I?” She picked up a silver-backed
brush and began to run it through her hair. It tugged out several clumps,
loosened by her recent altercation, but she hardly noticed. If only it was that
easy–

“Why?”

She considered her reflection for a long moment, watching Bobby’s face in the
mirror. “Because I can,” she said after a while.

He sat down on the bed, looking amusingly like a guppy, mouth gaping and
wheezing a bit. “Because you can? You’re having sex with Scott Summers because
you can.”

“Yes.”

He threw himself backward on the bed, covering his face with his hands. “I can’t
fucking believe it.”

“Such language, darling.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’ve already done that. In fact, you’d like to do it again. You’d take me
right now, if I’d let you. Up against the wall, so you could prove something.
You want to sit across the table from him this evening and know you had me
screaming.”

He shook his head, not in denial of her statement, but in dismissal of it as
irrelevant. “Why did you start the fight with Jean?”

“I didn’t–”

“Don’t give me that shit. You won. You had him, she didn’t. Why piss off Jean
until she jumped on you? Why whisper those little dirty secrets into her mind
until she lost it? I didn’t know you were that vindictive.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you’d already won.”

“Had I?” She put her hair up, patting a few errant strands into place absently.
“What had I won?”

“Scott.”

She turned around, automatically noting his tensed muscles as he sat on her bed.
“What makes you think I wanted Scott?”

His jaw dropped again. “Wha…”

“Do close your mouth, or you’re going to catch flies. My mother always said
that.” Emma went to the closet as she tried to decide whether to change her
outfit. One advantage of wearing so little: There wasn’t much to damage, even in
a fight.

“If you didn’t want Scott…”

“Hmm?” She decided to leave her outfit as it was, just adding her diamond studs.
“Oh, the same reason I started the fight with Jean. Curiosity.”

This time he didn’t even ask, just waited for her to explain, and she bestowed a
smile and laugh on him. He didn’t smile back. “I wanted to see if they could
hurt me, of course. Don’t you see, nothing can hurt me now.”

His blue eyes grew wide and she laughed again. “Nothing can hurt me because
there’s nothing left to hurt.”

Humming, she went back to contemplating her image in the mirror.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: What happens when Scott and Madelyne meet? (Story #3 in the roundrobin)

NOTES/DEDICATION: This is a sequel to Minisinoo’s “The Goose Who Laid the
Golden Egg.” It happens before Dyce’s “What’s Good for the Goose is Good for
the Gander” because Dyce writes faster than I do and I had to spend the evening
at the in-law’s I hope you enjoy this, because I missed my stop on the train
this evening because I was writing it.

**Telepathy**

****************************

I didn’t know where the guards were taking me, and I was pretty damn scared. For
all I knew I was going to come back blue like Hank (Jesus, poor Hank) or half-
dead like Wolverine. ‘Course, I was playing it cool, trying to look unworried. I
doubt I was fooling anyone, but it made me feel a little better. I guess we do
whatever we need to do to survive.

Anyway, I was expecting all kinds of things, torture devices, a mad scientist’s
laboratory, the seventh circle of hell. I was *not* expecting to see Jean.

Goon number one slammed me up against the blue-tiled wall as number two opened
the door and then tossed me in.

“Hello, Scott,” she said as I stood up.

I leaned up against the other side of the door and stared at her. “Jean, what
the hell is going on? You were in your cell with Nightcrawler a minute ago. When
did you have time to change clothing?”

“I’m not Jean.”

I’d been prepared for torture, but this crap was just too much. “What the hell?
Either you’re a shapeshifter or that’s the fastest brainwashing I’ve ever seen,
of course you’re Jean. Now snap out of it and tell me what the hell we’re doing
in…”

Okay, I’ll admit it. I hadn’t looked around the room yet. Obviously a few weeks
with these bozos and a knock on the head had caused all my training to seep out
my ears. But even the horrible things we’d done and seen in those weeks were
*no* excuse for my not noticing I was in a bedroom. With a bed. With fucking
flowered sheets. Great, now I was sounding like Logan.

She looked amused in a sad and strained sort of way. “What we’re doing in my
bedroom? I’m really not Jean, Scott. The faster you understand this, the easier
things will be.”

I slid down slowly to the floor, keeping my eyes carefully on Jean, who’d
obviously gone insane in the minutes since I’d left her. She sat down in an
armchair and ran her fingers through her short red hair. A few pieces drifted
down, as if it had been recently cut.

“You know, maybe he was right. Maybe I could have fooled you into thinking I was
Jean long enough. Maybe not.”

It had taken awhile, but my brain was back in gear. I caught the important
words. “Long enough for what?”

She paused, and my brain ran through the torture options again.

“Long enough for us to have sex and get me pregnant.”

That was really the straw that broke the camel’s back. I sputtered. I hadn’t
actually understood that word until then. “Sex…preg…wha…you…”

“I am *not* Jean. My name is Madelyne Pryor. I think I’m her clone. Don’t ask me
how that happened since Dr. Essex hasn’t told me.” Her tone sharpened on the
last few words, and she winced. That told me this doctor was likely to be
listening in. Or watching. Hell.

It also told me she wasn’t Jean. I’d never seen Jean look like that, so
resigned, even in the worst circumstances. And we’d *been* in the worst
circumstances, and this wasn’t it. Yet.

Then the content of what she’d said sank in. “Her clone? Why the hell am I
supposed to get Jean’s clone pregnant?”

She looked relieved that I finally seemed to believe her. “Dr Essex…well,
let’s just say our baby will be an extraordinarily talented mutant. Maybe more
so than my others. I don’t really know.”

The blows just kept coming. “Others?” I asked, trying to not imagine what the
Weapon X bastards might do with mutant babies.

“Yes.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but was afraid to. Hmm, if she
was really Jean’s clone…

I reached out with my mind, the way the Professor taught me. **Tell me.**

“No!” She yelled, jumping out of the chair and throwing up her hands as if to
ward off my thoughts. I stayed very still, trying not to alarm her further.
“No,” she said again, quieter this time, “I’m not allowed. I get in trouble if
I do that. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She was shaking, just a little. I tried to look as non-threatening as I could.
She wrapped her arms around her stomach and slowly moved back to the chair.

“Can we just get on with this?” she asked, as if requesting a routine physical
exam.

“Just like that?” I hadn’t even had time to process everything. Jesus H. Christ,
I’d certainly lusted after Jean’s body, I just thought it would come attached to
her brain.

“If we don’t, Dr. Essex will do it for us,” she said, looking even more unhappy
at that prospect. “That’s uncomfortable. I am most fertile today and tomorrow.”

Damn, it was all so tempting. To have a Jean of my own. Ready and willing to
sleep with me instead of the Wolverine. I wondered if this Essex knew that or if
he’d just gotten lucky.

“Look, Madelyne, it’s not that I don’t find you attractive, because I do, but I
don’t quite know what to do here.” Shit, now I was babbling.

Her look was pitying. “Haven’t you learned? You don’t have much of a choice.
Either we have sex or the samples are taken from us the hard way. That’s it.”

Damn it, there’s always a choice, even if she’d been stuck in this lab so long
she didn’t see it. Oh my god, was she *born* here? Stop thinking about that and
find a way out. Why couldn’t I think of anything? All the plans I’d been
confidently planning and not *one* dealt with the possibility of Jean’s clone
telling me to have sex with her. I hadn’t planned for Armageddon or Ragnarok
either.

Madelyne moved over to the bed. She looked so much like Jean, I couldn’t stand
it.

Slowly, I stood up and walked towards her. I wanted to cry at the hint of fear
in her eyes. I wanted to shout. I wanted to destroy things.

I wanted to wring Dr. Essex’s neck.

I vowed that when we left this place, if we couldn’t take her with us, we would
come back for her as well as her baby. My baby.

I sat carefully on the bed next to her. Her face was blank now. I felt like I
was about to rape her, but what else could I do? If we had to do this, at least
I could try and make it pleasant.

She’s not Jean. I wish to hell I knew who she really was. I wish I had time to
find out.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Scott wants to go find Madelyne and his child, but he’s got to go through Ororo first. (Story #9)

NOTES: This takes place at more or less the same time as Sascha’s “Wild Goose
Chase.” Sorry if this is a bit long, but Scott and Ororo would *not* shut up,
and they refused to think in a linear fashion. Thanks to David Ellis for the
beta and help on Ultimate Ororo. Thanks also to my husband, who patiently put up
with me muttering to myself about this story for most of a three hour car ride.
(“Is Kurt with them?” “What?” “Oh, sorry, nothing…”)

**********************************

I’m not really that fond of deserts, as a rule. They’re either too hot or too
cold, they’re not very visually exciting (especially for someone who only sees
in shades of red), and they’re really, really dry. What can I say? I get thirsty
easily.

However, I was willing to make an exception for one particular stretch of desert
in southern Arizona near the Mexican border. It had some nice saguaros (those
big cacti you always see in cartoons), an abandoned building big enough to fit a
bunch of escaped superhero types, and it was far away from the Weapon X project
and our usual New York haunts.

Everyone needed a rest, and Jean needed to stay put long enough to try and help
the Professor. And I needed everyone to stay put so *I* could take off for a
while.

We’d been in Arizona for a few days, and everyone was gathering in the living
room. Well, everyone but Hank, who was patrolling. That’s when I brought up the
issue that had been plaguing my mind since we’d escaped.

“I’m going after Madelyne,” I said, turning away from the dingy window. The
others stared at me in a mix of dismay, confusion, and anger. Kurt, our new
recruit, was mainly confused. Jean had picked up German pretty easily, but she
was having trouble putting English in his mind.

“No way,” Jean said, stepping out of the bedroom where we kept the Professor.
“We don’t have time for this. We’re running away from an incredibly powerful,
well-armed, and well-connected branch of the government, remember?”

“I know that, and she’s running away from the same people.”

“Which is exactly why you should stay away. If they’ve found her, then they’ll
find us.” Jean’s voice rose and Logan put his arm around her shoulders. She
leaned into him. The small part of me that wasn’t worrying about Madelyne and my
child was surprised to find how little that bothered me.

“If they’ve found her, then I’ll have to get her out again. I wasn’t asking for
help or anyone’s permission, I was telling you. I will not let those bastards
have her *or* my child. End of story.”

Everyone but Logan looked embarrassed to witness our argument. Well, the
Professor just looked unconscious. I ruthlessly smothered my twinge of guilt at
leaving him in this condition. I couldn’t drag them all with me to find
Madelyne, but I had to find her soon.

Jean clenched her fists. “You’re the one that told us to stick together, leader-
boy. Changing your mind? Tired of taking care of us? Worried your new girlfriend
might get rid of your inconvenient baby?”

“That’s enough,” Ororo said, and Jean and I both glared at her. “If you two want
to act like children, take it outside and slap each other silly for all I care.
But if you’re our leaders, then fucking well act like them.”

Damn, I hate when she’s right.

I swallowed my rising anger, reminding myself that Jean had also been through
hell in these past months. We were all scared and on edge, worried about the
Professor and our future.

I eased down from my confrontational posture and sat down, hoping a change in
body language would cool things off. Jean leaned back into Logan’s arms, and
took a few deep meditative breaths. When she looked at me again, I could see
she’d calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” she said to me.

“I’m sorry, too.” I continued with my thoughts. “What I’m saying is, we’re as
safe as we’re going to get for the moment, and this is something I have to do. I
don’t know Madelyne’s exact location or condition, but I owe her the attempt.”

Ororo looked like she wanted to say something, but whatever it was she didn’t
want to say it in public. That was *not* a good sign. She tilted her head
slightly toward the door but I ignored her for the moment. “Look, I’m not
leaving this minute,” I said, “but I wanted to let you know what I’m planning as
soon as possible. I’m not running out on you, and I’ll be back.”

Then I got support from the absolute last place I’d ever expected. “You should
go,” Logan said. He didn’t quite look me in the eye. “If you don’t, you’ll
regret it.” Everyone stared at him. “Believe me, folks, we don’t want any kids
falling back into the hands of Weapon X.”

Silence fell as we all contemplated what Logan must have experienced in his time
there. For him to stick up for me, it had to be pretty bad.

“Thank you, Logan,” I said. Ororo looked impatient, so I wrapped up with, “We’ll
finish this discussion later,” and followed her out the front door, past the
short whip-like cacti Hank said were ocotillos.

She was waiting by the big rock in the yard, looking mysterious and dangerous. I
leaned against the rock and looked up at the setting sun.

“What’s up, ‘Ro? Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t go?” It was getting cold
fast, and my words floated out on puffs of steam.

“Not gonna tell you that, but your reasons for sticking together are as good now
as they were when we escaped. I *was* gonna tell you I think you’re running off
half-cocked here.”

“Jesus, what the hell do you expect me to do! I got everybody out, I got us
here, I’ve waited longer than I wanted already! I can’t do a damn thing for the
Professor except stand around and watch.”

She didn’t react at all, just watched me like I was a rat running through a
maze. “Sure, but I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

My throat closed on a rush of emotion and I walked away, unwilling to let her
see. I’d unburdened myself to her once, on the way to India. That was a mistake.
I was the leader, I couldn’t stick my team-mates with all my problems. That’s
why I couldn’t tell her about Alex.

I could hear her walking behind me. “You need to decide what you want. And what
you can have.”

I stopped and turned, so suddenly she nearly ran me down. “I want my child.”

“Well, duh. But what about Madelyne? What’s she gonna be doing while you’re
playing Daddy?”

Damn it, she was right again. “I don’t know.”

“D’you think you’re gonna settle down with her? Get a house with a picket fence,
and have 2.5 mutant children?” She was up in my face.

“I told you, I don’t know!”

She was calm again. “Well, you’d better figure out some answers.” She took my
arm and dragged me back to the rock to sit on a convenient perch.

I looked up at the darkening sky and thought about Madelyne, a woman I’d only
known for a few hours. Some sort of animal howled in the distance. God, I hate
deserts. Give me the mean streets of a city any time.

I tried to articulate my thoughts. “She was so scared of Essex, and now she’s
out there running away from him. I don’t even know how much she knows about the
outside world, and she’s running. I feel sorry for her. I want to help her, do
what I can. Besides, she’s…” I stopped, unsure if I wanted anyone else to know
what I’d learned. Unsure if this was the right person to tell.

“She’s what?”

Hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. “She’s running away with Sabretooth. I
think.”

Ororo gasped and I could hear thunder in the distance. She had one fist shoved
against her mouth. Oh hell, bad choice, Summers. “‘Ro, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t
have said anything. I’m not even completely sure.”

She took a deep breath and seemed to force herself to relax. “Chill, ‘sokay. I
was just surprised. What makes you think she’s with him?”

Someday, Ororo and I were going to talk a little bit more about she’d been
through. Someday soon. I mentally regrouped.

“You know Logan and I have been gathering intelligence as we’ve traveled? I’ve
been keeping an eye out for news of her. Well, there’ve been some sightings up
North of a couple who could be Sabretooth and Madelyne.”

“But if you’ve heard…”

“…then Weapon X might have, too,” I said. “Grim thought, huh? On the bright
side, the kinda people who talk to us aren’t exactly gonna go out of their way
to talk to Weapon X. Besides, we made a hell of a mess on the way out. It’s
gonna take them some time to clean up. But it worries me. Besides being worried
about what the hell she’s doing with Sabretooth.”

I didn’t tell her about the *other* intelligence I’d gathered, about Alex. That
would have to wait. I’d just have to hope that Essex was too busy to go after
him.

“You’d better be more than worried, you’d better be thinking hard about what
you’re gonna do. ‘Cause if you think you’re gonna recruit Sabretooth, think
again.” Ororo practically spat his name.

“If we can take in Logan, why not Sabretooth?”

“It’s not the same,” Ororo said, her voice becoming angry and cold. I could feel
electricity building up around us. “And I didn’t exactly vote Logan into the
club, either. But there’s no way I’m gonna work with that overgrown cat
bastard.”

Well, I was in deep now, and I’d better talk fast if I didn’t want to get fried.

“What if he’s willing to help us take down the Weapon X project for good?”

“Why should he? He was helping those bastards, remember?” Her eyes were white,
and I could hear the thunder again.

“Then why would he be running off with Madelyne?” I said. She stared at me,
uncertain, her eyes shading back to their normal color. Aha, got her. “If
there’s hope for an assassin, a car thief, and an enforcer for the Russian
Mafia, maybe there’s hope for an ‘overgrown cat bastard.’”

“Scott, he…”

“I know.”

“You’re pretty damn good at changing the subject.”

“Yeah.”

“I could of killed you just now. And I might kill Sabretooth if you bring him
here.”

“I know.”

We sat in silence for a while and watched the sun drop lower. The air was so
clear, that even as dusk fell, we could see for miles. We could see the
individual trees on the mountains, the rows of saguaros that stretched all the
way there, and the light falling on the scrub and rocks.

“Is it a beautiful sunset?” I asked.

“Yeah, it is.”

“I’m going to leave in two days.” I tried to sound like a leader again.

Ororo stopped looking at the sunset. “Be careful, Scott.”

“I’m always careful. I was born careful.”

“You’re walking into a potential minefield, and you’re not taking backup,” she
said scornfully. “On what planet is that careful?”

“How do you know I’m not taking backup?”

She didn’t even justify that with an answer. “Just get your ass back here soon.
You may piss me off, but the team needs you. And think about what you’re doing,
or you’re gonna buy us a whole new world of trouble.”

“I will.” I jumped off the rock and headed back into the house to make my plans.
I needed to talk to Logan, he knew Canada a heck of a lot better than I did. And
Jean and I had to discuss where the team would go if they had to leave suddenly.
There was a lot to do before I left. But a little bird told me I had a chance to
find Madelyne and my child, and I wasn’t giving it up for anyone.

by Mara

Summary: Golden Goose Epilogue. After the team returns to Westchester, Logan hits the road to do a little hard thinking.

NOTES: This is one of several epilogues to the Golden Goose Ultimate X-Men
Roundrobin, begun by Minisinoo. Thanks to my hubby, Avi, for help with
motorcycle terminology, and to Wyzeguy for being our Designated Guy. Any
remaining mistakes are entirely mine, for being all girly and stuff ::grin::.

//thoughts//

* * * * *

The light of a full moon made the bucolic Westchester countryside look shadowy
and faintly sinister, an impression not improved by the grumble of a noisy
creature passing through a set of wrought iron gates. After a few moments, the
beast resolved itself into a motorcycle speeding down the open road.

A few deer were startled into flight when the sport bike, a Japanese racer that
Scott especially loved, swooshed by with Logan as rider. He wore no helmet,
enjoying the fierce breeze blowing through his spiky hair. Usually he rode a
Harley cruiser, but tonight he needed the speed, the power, the energy.

//What do they want from me?// Logan thought as he powered the bike up a notch
and hunched further over the handlebars. //I’m not the goddamn X-Mommy. Okay,
it’s kinda my fault they got caught, but I got ‘em out. I’ve paid my dues.//

He rode on through the night, the familiar thrum of the engine between his legs
and the smell of exhaust soothing his ruffled feathers.

//I’m sick of taking care of people and acting like the grownup. Your life
really sucks if you’re depending on the Wolverine to be an adult.//

He leaned into a curve as the road twisted, effortlessly balancing himself just
right.

//Then again, life *has* pretty much sucked. First they got caught, then I broke
‘em out, then it’s running back to the States like fucking homing pigeons, then
chasing Madelyne and Sabretooth, and finally nearly getting our asses kicked by
that damn Essex. Things have been busy.//

The scenery flashed by, but Logan wasn’t looking at much. Fortunately, the road
was empty, because he wasn’t in the mood to slow down.

//At least I got to kill Wraith. That bastard’s never gonna hurt another mutant.
It’s the kill I feel best about. Won’t catch me moping around for putting that
rabid dog out of its misery.//

Unconsciously flexing his hands on the handlebars, Logan roared into a wind as
he rode, a feral moment unwitnessed by anything other than a startled rabbit.

He settled back down to riding. //And Jeannie and Madelyne did a damn good job
on Essex. I would’ve liked to see if his healing ability could handle his head
being removed from his body, but leaving him a drooling idiot is a pretty close
second.//

//’Course, Jeannie’s still pretty pissed at me for not telling her about
Madelyne, but at least this time I’m not picking glass out of my healing
wounds.//

The image of the feisty redhead floated in front of him as the bike ate up the
road. He remembered the way she’d looked the first time they made love, face
tight with pleasure. The anger mixed with fear he saw in her after the escape
from Weapon X, a look that made him want to gut someone. The ecstasy of the
moment when she and her clone merged into something else, something incredible.

//I don’t know how I feel about her. She’s special. When I saw her lying on the
ground…hell, I’ve never been that pissed about someone else’s safety. I
would’ve done anything to wake her up.//

Logan frowned, then bared his teeth into the wind. //I can’t have anyone who my
other enemies could use against me. The X-geeks’d be better off without me.//

Even as that thought crossed his mind, he cocked his head, sensitive hearing
picking up the sound of another vehicle on the road behind him. //Who the fuck–
//

He vacillated momentarily between speeding up to get away from whoever it was,
and slowing down a little to see who else would be riding out here.

Curiosity finally won out and he slowed down just enough to allow the pursuer to
get closer. It didn’t take long to figure out who the figure hunched over the
brother to the cycle he rode might be. //Damn kid. What the hell is he up to?//

Unwilling to deal with Scott, Logan leaned over the handlebars and accelerated
to a reckless speed. But shortly he remembered that only one person at the
mansion could come close to matching his own ability on the bike. //Damn it, he
still shouldn’t be able to keep up with me. I’m goin’ way past safe, here.//

But as the road twisted and curved, Logan was unable to lose Scott. Anger built
in his chest. //Won’t leave me alone.// The anger leapt through his throat,
emerging in a sound that made his previous roar sound like a kitty in
comparison.

With no warning, and slowing only slightly, he whipped the bike around in a
circle, laughing at the startled expression on Scott’s face he passed through
the cloud of dust and debris from Logan’s maneuver. By the time Scott had
slowed, circled around and returned to the side of the road, Logan had dropped
the kickstand and hopped off the bike.

Scott’s chest heaved with the exertion of the chase, but his face was calm as he
got off his own bike. “You leaving?”

“What do you care? You worried I’m takin’ your bike?” Logan strode toward Scott.

Scott neither moved nor flinched as Logan got up in his face. “I don’t care
about the bike.”

“Then whatcha doin’ here?” Logan wanted him to react, so he started to prowl
around Scott. His nose twitched–the kid was nervous.

Scott refused to turn, continuing to stare straight ahead as he spoke. “You’re a
part of the team, and it concerns me if it looks like you’re leaving. Especially
without letting us know.”

“Maybe I’m just goin’ for a little ride.” Logan circled back to stare into the
red glow behind his glasses, searching for an explanation of the other man’s
presence.

Scott just looked at him, his jaw working as he obviously stifled a few
responses. He turned his head for a moment, then looked back. “Don’t fuck with
me, Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy, you’re not my type.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“What subject?”

Scott took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his mouth. “Are you
leaving the team?”

“Oh, that subject.”

“Yeah, that subject.”

“You gonna beg me to stay?”

“Why should I?”

“‘Cause you pacifist idiots need me, that’s why!”

“Do we?” Scott raised an eyebrow over the top of his glasses.

Logan stalked away, his anger rising again at being baited. He whirled when he
was a few feet away and stared at Scott, who had crossed his arms and was
watching him with apparent interest. “Reverse psychology, kid? You’re starting
to really piss me off. I thought you were smarter than that. I don’t like people
messin’ with my head.”

“I’m not messing with you. I’d never do that. I’m none too fond of it myself.”
Scott’s tone was bitter. “But I’m not letting you leave the team without a
fight.”

“You know, you’re the last person I figured would give a shit if I stayed.”

“It’s not about me, it’s about the team. And it’s about what you need.”

“Me? I don’t need anything.” Logan took a step back, alarmed by the idea.

“You sure? I thought you liked hanging out with folks who treat you as something
more than a living weapon. Who considered you part of the family. Fucked-up
family, maybe, but family nonetheless.”

Logan turned away to stare at the empty road, his mind whirling with the
decision he’d been avoiding. //I’m not a team player. I’m a killer. I don’t
trust Chuck anymore. Lotta good reasons to go.//

He stood still, a predator unsure of which way to jump, whether he was being
offered freedom or captivity. //They’re good kids who’re gonna get killed by
their idealism.//

As Logan was turning back, the silence was broken by the distant sound of a
train, the whistle causing both men to jump slightly. Scott grinned, looking a
little amused by the mutual reaction.

“I’m no do-gooder,” Logan said, scowling at Scott.

Scott didn’t respond directly. “We need better training in self-defense,
probably weapons, too. We need to be ready if we can’t use our powers again.”

“I hate taking orders.”

“You’ll take mine when we’re in the field.”

Scott’s voice was uncompromising and Logan started to grin. //Maybe the kid’ll
be a real leader someday.// “I’m gonna teach you all to kill if you have to,”
Logan said.

“We’ll teach you how not to.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

They stood a few feet apart, moonlight casting odd shadows, the only sound the
hiss and pop of cooling engines. Logan took a deep breath, bringing in the
fading scent of exhaust, the smell of trees, flowers, a nearby raccoon, and the
leader he’d just agreed to follow.

//They need me. I’m still the only one Chuck can’t read reliably, and they need
somebody to keep track of Sabretooth. They may think he’s reformed, but I’m not
gonna let him cause trouble just ’cause this bunch of kids can’t resist a devil
on the side of angels. I mean, they trust *me*, which just goes to show how
hopeless they are.//

//But what the hell. If Xavier’s gonna get ‘em in trouble, I’ll teach ‘em how to
get out of it. And besides, there’s Jeannie. It certainly isn’t gonna be boring
around here.//

Scott swung a leg over his motorcycle, hitched up the kickstand, and slammed the
engine back into gear. Logan did the same, and side-by-side, the two bikes
roared back down the road, leaving the countryside to recover in peace.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: A spur of the moment kiss sparks something more between Arsenal and Robin.

CONTINUITY: About two years after Jack Drake finds out about Tim being Robin.
This is a sequel to my ficlet “Another Time,” which I recommend you read first.

NOTES: This is for all the folks who asked for more Arsenal/Robin. I actually
bought the complete run of Outsiders to write this, so I hope y’all appreciate
the sacrifice Thanks to Te for kicking my ass on that whole “show don’t tell”
thing. I owe my upcoming first-born to Sage for two of the best and most
thorough beta-readings I’ve ever received (and also for pestering me to actually
*make* the revisions). Lastly, thanks to Stexgirl for a last-minute read-through
and cheering me on. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to take all of their
excellent advice, so for the record: Any remaining problems are entirely due to
my laziness and not the fault of Sage, Te, or Stexgirl.

* * * * *

“Sa’ah naaghaii bik’eh hozho”

(Navajo saying: “As we move continuously toward maturity, we will walk in beauty
and harmony.”)

Roy figured they’d already had their happy ending. After all, hadn’t he patched
up the whole ‘Robin loves Nightwing’ soap opera?

He was pleased to see Nightwing and Robin regain their former camaraderie with
no apparent strain. Well, Dick *was* still worked up over Roy’s kiss with Robin,
but the big lug would get over it. Although, if he made a snide reference over
dinner just *one* more time…

After all, Roy thought with justifiable resentment, it wasn’t as if he’d
instigated the kiss. Sure he’d *looked* but he hadn’t even thought (seriously)
about kissing Robin–er, Tim–until it happened.

Granted, Roy found himself thinking about it just a *bit* more than was entirely
healthy, but that could undoubtedly be attributed to the long dry spell in his
sex life.

There’d been a period (not that long ago) when he easily took the title of team
slut, but that was over now. He’d been rapidly tiring of that life already, but
the final straw was the night he came home and Lian asked him about the new
perfume he was wearing. Maybe it was just time for him to grow up, even if Ollie
had never bothered.

Roy had gone without before and frustration hadn’t killed him yet, so chances
were good it wouldn’t do so now. Besides, it wasn’t as if his life was all that
horrible right now.

Grinning, he watched Lian prance around the living room, nearly tripping over
the television as she sang something about puppy dogs. Her fine black hair
escaped from its clips and flew in her face, but she was determined to get to
the end of the song.

Roy clapped as she stopped singing and bowed. “That was wonderful. Where did you
learn that song?”

“At school, silly. We went to music with the first graders and Mrs. Gomez
teached us all kinds of new songs.”

“Taught,” he said automatically. “Will you sing me another one?”

“Okay, Daddy!”

He leaned back into the couch, clapping along as she sang about the school bus.

The phone rang just as she was finishing and she raced to get it first, Roy
pretending to dive and falling short as she grabbed the receiver. “Hello?” she
managed through the giggles.

He leaned on the arm of the couch, watching as her face lit up. “Uncle Gar!
D’you wanna hear what I did in school today?”

Roy picked up a magazine and listened to the conversation with half an ear,
noting that Lian sounded excited about something. Finally, she said, “Here’s
Daddy,” and shoved the phone at him.

He chuckled. “Hey, Greenjeans. What’s up?”

“What’s up is that we’re kidnapping your daughter tomorrow.”

“Really?” Roy smiled at Lian as she held up the picture of a cat she was
drawing.

“Mm-hmm. I heard a rumor that a certain youngster wanted to go see a certain
Disney flick and hey, I need a kid to be my cover so I can go.”

“Lian’ll love that. The Tower’s covered?”

“Yeah, most of the kids had other places to be, so we called off training for
this weekend. Vic’s on the monitors just in case.”

“Makes sense. You said ‘*we’re* kidnapping,’ who’s coming with you?”

“Oh, Kory’s coming too. She said I need a minder worse than Lian.”

“Can’t argue with that. You sure about this?” Roy tossed the magazine back on
the coffee table and put his feet up. “I mean, I don’t want to impose on you. I
know she’s a handful.”

“Are you implying that two Titans can’t handle one little girl? I know you
wouldn’t deny us a day with her.”

Hey, with Ron out of town, he could *use* a break. “Okay, but I’m not
responsible for the therapy bills or any damage incurred.”

“We’ll be by to pick her up at about 11, and get her back by bedtime, ‘kay? Give
you a rest.”

“Sounds good. Hey, Gar?”

“Yo.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time. Titans together.”

Roy hung up and watched his daughter humming to herself as she bent her head
over a coloring book. Yeah, life was pretty darn good.

* * * * *

Roy started the process of getting Lian ready well over an hour before she was
to leave. It took twenty minutes of bouncing before she was calm enough to get
dressed, and he used part of that time to pack her backpack. Juice box, crayons,
a clean shirt…he smirked as he imagined the reaction of the many criminals
he’d captured.

Thanks to persistence, he had her ready to go by the time Uncle Gar and Aunt
Kory arrived.

When the doorbell rang, Lian screamed and Roy sighed, wondering when she’d grow
out of that. Glancing at the monitor, he opened the door and Lian rushed
forward.

“Uncle Gar! Aunt Kory!” She jumped into Gar’s arms and hugged Kory fiercely.

“Hey, kiddo,” Gar said. “You all ready to go?”

“Uh-huh!” After a big hug for her daddy, she dragged them out the door without
looking back. As the door closed, Roy could hear her voice. “Did ya know Aunt
Indigo took me to the circus. And we saw the–”

Roy collapsed into his favorite chair, grinning.

Now what? He pondered the mound of laundry that threatened to take over his
bedroom, but dismissed that as being unworthy for an unexpected free day. And
there were always mission reports, but those could wait a few hours, at least.

He should do something fun. What did non-parents do for fun anyway? He thought
back to pre-Lian days, then winced. Okay, maybe that wasn’t the way to go. He
could give Dick a call, see if he was free, but he was pretty sure Dick had said
he was in Gotham for a few days, which meant courting Barbara if nothing else.

And hell if Roy was going to interrupt *that* unless it was an emergency. Those
two had enough problems without him interfering.

Maybe Connor? They certainly didn’t spend enough time together. Roy sighed.
Wait, he and Ollie were at the monastery for a retreat. That certainly cut down
on his socializing opportunities.

He’d just decided to go rent a movie that didn’t involve talking animals and veg
out on the couch when the doorbell rang. Frowning, he checked the monitor he’d
installed to see who was at his door.

A dark-haired teenager in a tight t-shirt and jeans holding a white plastic bag
smiled into the camera. Roy blinked. He’d seen the camera? It took *Dick* five
minutes to find the damn thing, but this kid had only set off the motion
detector a few seconds ago. The teen’s smile faded slightly and his finger
traced around his eyes. Like a…

“Holy shit.” Roy opened the door, trying not to look completely stunned.

“You said I should come find you. So I did.” The smile was back and he offered
his hand. “Hi, I’m Tim Drake.”

Roy shook his hand, feeling slightly dazed. “Uh, come in.”

“Thanks.” Tim strode past and Roy glanced down automatically check out his ass
in blue jeans. Not as good as tights, to be sure, but there was the advantage of
no billowing cape to peer around. By the time he’d realized what he was doing,
Tim had put the bag down on the dining room table and was watching him. How the
hell did Tim manage to throw him so off-balance?

“Not to be rude or anything, but what are you doing here?” It came out harsher
than he intended and Roy winced as Tim’s smile faded completely.

“I was sort of hoping you’d join me for lunch.” Tim crossed his arms, looking
much more like Robin than Tim. “I guess I shouldn’t have presumed.”

“Hang on.” Roy waved his hands. “I didn’t mean to sound mad.”

Tim waited.

Roy blinked at him. Hey…

“I’m confu–” Roy stopped, rewound his brain, and stared. “Wait a second, did
you…”

Tim’s lips quirked slightly.

Jaw dropping, Roy finally managed to articulate what he meant. “You got Gar and
Kory to take Lian? So you could have lunch with me?”

“Not exactly. I mean, it was their idea to take Lian.”

“Their idea.”

“Uh-huh.” Tim ducked his head. “After I mentioned to Superboy that Dick had said
you were looking tired.”

“Superboy.”

“Mm-hmm. Superboy told Wonder Girl, Wonder Girl told Kid Flash, Kid Flash told
Changeling, and Changeling told Starfire and Cyborg. Voila, they came up with an
idea.”

Roy stared into guileless blue eyes. “Jesus, you really *are* the Bat’s
protégé.”

“Thanks.” A smile flashed across his face. “I think.”

“So, why’d you do it?”

“Because you *have* been looking tired.” Tim’s answer sounded flippant, but his
face was serious, almost anxious.

Roy pulled out a dining room chair and sat down, thumping onto the cushion
harder than he’d intended. “Definitely part of the Batclan,” he muttered. He
looked up as the thought hit him. “You’ve been watching me?”

Tim shook his head and sat down in the chair opposite him. “Only as much as you
look at my butt.”

“Oh,” Roy said with a grin, “that much?” He scrubbed a hand across his head,
momentarily missing his longer hair. There certainly wasn’t any way to deny he’d
been looking. Maybe it was time to give in gracefully. “Well, what’re you
waiting for? Sit down and feed me.”

Tim pulled containers out of the bag and Roy grabbed plates, drinks, silverware,
and glasses. His eyebrows went up as he eyed the selection. “Lemon chicken,
crispy duck…you’ve got pretty much every one of my favorites here. How’d you
manage that? Did Dick tell you?”

Tim flushed. “Not exactly.”

Roy scooped out a serving of duck and scallions. “What does ‘not exactly’ mean?”

“Um.” Tim dumped rice on his plate, keeping his eyes down. “I tapped into the
records of Dick’s favorite Chinese place to see what he ordered when you were
visiting.”

Roy’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. For a moment he could only stare at Tim’s
abashed face. Until he started to laugh. “You!” He doubled over. “You’re
amazing! You sure I can’t steal you from the Titans?”

Eventually Roy managed to stop laughing and they settled in to eat lunch. That
kept their hands and mouths busy for a few minutes, and Roy cast about for a
suitable subject of conversation that didn’t involve work. If Tim hadn’t been
‘in the business,’ Roy might have asked some harmless question about a movie or
television show, but he couldn’t even be certain Tim had the *time* for those
things.

Tim looked to be in the same boat, but he finally swallowed a mouthful of
broccoli and rice and pointed to a painting that hung by the door. “That’s
really nice, but what does the name mean?”

Although Roy knew exactly what he meant, he turned to look at it again. The
picture, a watercolor of Canyon de Chelly on the Navajo reservation, was labeled
simply with the word ‘Hozho.’ Grinning, Roy looked back at Tim. “You don’t ask
the easy ones, do you?”

Tim flushed. “I didn’t mean–”

“No, it’s okay.” Roy waved at him, unable to resist a smile as he looked back at
the painting. “It’s just complicated. The word is Navajo and variously
translated as beauty, harmony, order, health, and other things I can’t think of
at the moment.”

Tim had stopped eating and was watching him. “How do you know which one you’re
using?”

“It’s contextual.” Roy grinned. “Hell, the whole language is contextual. Glad I
learned it so young.”

“So what does hozho mean in *that* context?”

“For me,” Roy hesitated, “well, I guess walking in beauty. It’s, I used to live
near there. Before Ollie adopted me.” He dropped his eyes, not seeing his plate,
but the stark beauty of orange cliffs contrasted with the green around
riverbeds, the sparse vegetation, the way you could shoot an arrow and it seemed
like it would fly forever.

“You miss it.”

Roy looked back up into Tim’s serious gaze. “Yeah,” he said eventually. He took
a forkful of food to buy some time. “Anyway, hozho is kind of the goal of Navajo
life, to keep things in balance, in harmony.”

“I guess that’s one reason you do what you do.” Tim drank some soda, looking at
him over the rim of the glass.

“Huh?”

“Well, evil needs to be balanced by good, right?”

Roy didn’t drop his fork, but it was close. “I guess I never thought about it
that way. But it’s true. We do bring a kind of hozho, don’t we?” Roy studied
him, impressed that Tim had noticed something he had never realized.

Tim ducked his head and went back to eating, clearly embarrassed by the way Roy
was looking at him.

“So, Boy Wonder,” Roy said, “I barely know anything about you. Tell me something
about Tim Drake.”

“Like what?”

Roy shook his head, throwing a balled-up napkin across the table. “Do you *have*
normal conversations with people?”

Tim automatically caught the napkin. “Not that often.”

“Okay,” Roy paused, feeling a little ashamed about the jibe, “what’s your
college major?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Tim frowned, dropping the napkin next to his plate.

“Not criminology or something?”

“Why, do you think I need to take classes?”

Laughing, Roy conceded the point. “No, I doubt anyone trained by Batman would
need Criminal Justice 101.”

“I’m getting some requirements out of the way while I decide.” Tim took a
spoonful of duck and Roy watched the way Tim’s shirt stretched across his
shoulders. “I’m taking American history, physics, philosophy. Stuff like that.”

“Philosophy?”

“Gotta take humanities. And I like it.” Tim paused, eating some duck and
obviously searching for the words. “It’s…easier than the decisions we make
every night. Bloodless debate. Considering the fate of the world without it
actually mattering.”

“Hmm.” He couldn’t figure out what to say, so he took refuge in putting more
rice on his plate.

“So, how’s Ollie?” Tim asked, fiddling with his knife.

“The same.” Roy shrugged. “Likes to remind me he came back from the dead and
therefore deserves a little respect.”

A flash of Tim’s smile. “Back from the dead? C’mon, who hasn’t done that at
least once?”

“That’s what I keep saying.” Roy leaned back in his chair, idly chasing bits of
chicken around his plate, too full to eat another bite. “So, your dad’s okay
with the vigilante creature of the night stuff?”

Tim shrugged, noncommittal. “Let’s say he’s learned to tolerate it. Barely…”

“Didn’t go well?”

“You could say that. It did make coming out easier. Once he realized I was
fighting the Joker on Tuesday nights, the occasional date with a guy wasn’t so
bad.”

“How occasional?” Roy tried to make the inquiry casual, but was sure he didn’t
fool Tim for an instant. Batboys. Couldn’t put anything over on them.

Tim’s expression went blank. “Very occasional. Went to dinner with a few girls.
Saw movies with a few guys. Found I didn’t have much time for either.”

“Yeah, I know how that is.” Roy sighed, running his finger down the condensation
on his glass.

Tim dropped his eyes. “Yeah. Trying to get my dad to accept everything was
tough.”

“I was lucky. Ollie’s liberal creds require he not even blink at things like
sexual orientation.” Roy took a drink of soda, remembering various conversations
with his foster father. Looking up, he found Tim watching him intently. “I mean,
who knows what he was thinking, but on the outside it was nothing but hearty
slaps on the back and offers to set me up with some nice guy. I can’t tell you
how disturbing *that* was, though.” He shuddered theatrically.

Tim looked down at his plate, and Roy got the feeling his memories weren’t quite
so amusing. After an awkward moment of silence, Tim went to look out the living
room window. “Nice view.”

“Yeah. I figured I’m a grown-up, so I get to have a grown-up apartment with a
grown-up view.” Roy came to stand next to him. “It’s not the best part of town,
but it’s not the worst either. There’s a park a few blocks east where Lian likes
to play. I roust the few drug dealers and gang members out pretty regularly to
keep it clean. They’re not too smart, though, ’cause they come back. You’d think
the fact someone keeps beating the crap out of them would be a clue, but
nooooo.” Roy shut his mouth abruptly, wincing inwardly at the sound of his own
babbling.

“Criminals,” Tim said in a credible Batman imitation, “are a cowardly and
superstitious lot. Also,” he switched to his own voice, “they’re often dumb as
rocks.”

Laughing, Roy glanced at Tim, whose expression had gone unreadable. Roy turned,
feeling as if he should say something, but at a complete loss what it should be.

Tim stepped closer, so they were toe-to-toe, pausing to give Roy a chance to
react. Roy just swallowed hard, so Tim reached up and gently tugged on the back
of his neck.

The over half a foot of height difference was a little awkward, but Roy forgot
about that moments after their lips touched, losing himself in the sensation of
a new kiss. Tim’s lips were chapped, but softened when Roy licked them, making
Tim breathe a laugh.

They kissed again, tongues cold from the soda they’d been drinking, then warming
up as they touched. Roy slid his arms around Tim’s shoulders, feeling the
muscles shift under the shirt, Tim’s arms around his chest. Tugging Tim closer,
Roy breathed in the warmth and pressure of his body. It really *had* been too
long, he thought, resisting the urge to tear at the shirt until it let him get
to the skin underneath.

The mingled scent of Chinese food and some faint cologne or aftershave was
adorable, as Roy thought about the effort Tim had gone to. He kissed the tip of
Tim’s upturned nose, considering the startling blue of his eyes before Tim
closed them again. Hmm, Roy thought, up close, Tim really didn’t look *anything*
like Dick except in the most superficial sense. It was just the Robin uniform
that made you think they were alike. The thought made him chuckle.

Tim pulled back, looking a question at him. Roy shook his head, unable to
articulate anything, leaning back in for more–light, teasing kisses across his
lips and chin, then back to his mouth to explore with his tongue. Everything he
did elicited tiny gasps and it was ungodly sexy, making it a challenge. A brush
here, a bite there, judicious use of his tongue, what kind of reactions could he
get? A lick up Tim’s neck to his ear got a moan and Roy grinned as he made Tim
melt into incoherence.

Tim was enthusiastic, but Roy couldn’t stop wondering just how much experience
Tim had–he’d never been interested in deflowering virgins, especially those who
were the virtual baby brother of one of his best friends.

That thought was like an ice bath, making Roy pull back and try to calm his
racing heart. “Whoa there, hang on a second. Have you…I mean, are you a
virgin?”

Tim didn’t wince, his searching expression giving Roy the disconcerting feeling
that his mind was being read, a là Batman. “That was direct.”

“I think it’s an important question.” Roy took a step back, trying to look at
Tim’s eyes instead of the red marks where he’d sucked on Tim’s neck. “I know
there are some guys who’re into that, but I’m not one of them.” Too many ways to
pressure a guy, too many kids who weren’t ready. Helping Ollie out at the kids
center had just solidified his views on having sex too early.

Tim ducked his head, arms and shoulders obviously tense. “Define virgin. Hell,
define sex.”

“Uh.”

“It’s not that easy,” Tim met his gaze, almost in a challenge. “Kissing, a
little groping, but not much more. If you’re talking penetration, then no. Why
does that matter?”

“It does,” Roy said.

“So it’s a bad thing that I didn’t want to have casual sex, or sex before I was
ready?” Tim crossed his arms.

“No, that’s not–” Roy scrubbed his face with his hands. “Dick and Bruce are
going to rip me limb from limb.”

Tim looked angry now. “Believe it or not, this is actually none of their
business.”

Roy winced. “Have you ever tried to convince *either* of them that something
wasn’t their business?” He paused, shaking his head. “Good luck.”

“Actually, I have.”

“And I think someday I want to hear that story, but I’m trying to stay on
topic.” He took another step back, but Tim followed him. “Look, there’s this
whole age thing. You’re…Jesus, I don’t even know how old you are.”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Really?” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Well, except for the part
where I’m substantially older.” Rolling his eyes, Tim stepped forward again and
Roy backed away. “Not to mention the fact I’ve got no desire to be a stand-in
for Dick.”

That got Tim’s attention and he stopped, lips pursed and eyes sharp.

“I don’t want to be a consolation prize,” Roy added, feeling noble and lonely.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Tim said finally, looking him directly in the eyes. “Not
to you or to me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Tim snorted, but it was miles from amusement. “When I became Robin I had to stop
hiding my feelings from myself. It takes a while, but I get there. I learned
from my predecessors.”

That made Roy laugh despite himself. “It’s too bad the formerly boy wonder never
learned that,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “Might have made his life
a hell of a lot easier and saved us a lot of time listening to him angst.”

“And I’ve spent the past month thinking.” Tim paused, shifting ever so slightly
in place. “There doesn’t seem to be any likelihood Dick will ever return my
feelings for him. So it makes sense to consider other options.”

Roy blinked, his stomach rolling. “That’s…” Cold, he wanted to say.

Flushing, Tim stepped toward him again, fast enough to catch his hand. “That
didn’t come out right. I meant…god, I meant I’d been so focused on Dick that I
didn’t notice anyone else.”

“Ah.” Swallowing, Roy wasn’t sure how to react.

“But after I left that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss.” Tim
flushed even harder and it should have made him look younger, but it didn’t.
“I’ve tried to figure out why I kissed you, but I don’t know.”

Back on something like familiar ground, Roy tossed his head as if he still had
long hair. “Well, I like to think I’m irresistible.”

Tim laughed, his whole face lighting up under the dark hair. “Maybe that’s it.”

“The problem is,” Roy said, frowning, “I’m at a point in my life where I’m not
really looking for a short-term thing.”

Tim paused, seeming to consider something. “I’ve heard…about Grace. And
Helena.”

“You know about them?” Covering his eyes, Roy groaned.

“Dick and I, well, we talked about you.”

“It’s definitely gonna be a battle to the death when I get my hands on him.
Considering his history with Helena…” Roy looked away. “That’s been over for a
while. It wasn’t a relationship. With either of them.” He paused, considering
his words. “Look, I’m not interested in being your experiment.”

He felt Tim’s eyes on him and he looked back.

“Who says I’m experimenting?” Tim asked, his apparently relaxed stance not
matching the tension in his voice.

“You’re eighteen! I remember being eighteen, for Christ’s sake,” he said,
shaking his head, “and I wasn’t exactly into long-term commitment.” Snorting, he
waved a hand vaguely. “Not unless you define long-term as anything more than a
week.”

“I’m not you. And I don’t have Ollie as my role model.” That tiny smile crossed
Tim’s face. “I’m not interested in short-term. Not with the life we lead. I’d
like to try…” Tim’s voice trailed off and he stepped back. “I apologize. I
shouldn’t have assumed…”

Even Roy ‘Mr. Insensitive’ Harper could see the obvious when it smacked him in
the face like a wet mackerel. “Hey. Don’t jump to any conclusions.” He reached a
hand out automatically, then yanked it back, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Look, I *did* tell you to find me. But I–”

Roy didn’t think of himself as being slow, either mentally or physically. Which
didn’t explain why he found himself backed against the wall with a determined
Tim on tip-toes kissing him while his brain was still thinking, ‘Uh…’
It was a good kiss, his lips noted helpfully. A *very* good kiss, parts lower
down chimed in. Tim was obviously a quick study.

It’s useful to know, Roy thought, that my hormones move faster than the rest of
me. Then he gave himself up to the serious business of making out.

Moaning, he leaned against the wall as Tim imitated his earlier move, kissing
across his chin and jaw, then experimentally licking at his neck. Roy slid his
hands up and down, tracing Tim’s spine, resisting the instincts that said to
grab his ass and pull him in as hard as he could. The last sensible part of his
brain chanted ‘Eighteen!’ over and over.

Roy felt Tim’s hand slide under his shirt, warm and calloused, and he gasped
into the kiss, the sensible part of his brain giving up in disgust. He tightened
his grip on Tim, walking them back toward the couch.

Roy pushed and Tim dropped heavily onto the couch. Grabbing a quick breath, Roy
straddled Tim, chuckling as Tim yanked him into another kiss. The brush of Tim’s
stomach against his tight jeans was electric and his heart jumped. As Tim licked
him, lapping like a cat, Roy couldn’t help moving his hips.

Eyes closed, he felt Tim’s hands skipping all over, alternately light and rough,
inexperienced and desiring. He reached for more skin, more contact, more of that
electricity. There was a button and a zipper in his way, but with some effort he
got past them, hazily noting Tim doing the same for him, their hands tangling
and groping.

Oh *god*, that felt good. Roy groaned at the smooth, sticky, skin gliding,
wonderful feeling. They found a rhythm, each brush of hands along skin and
crumpled clothing another reason to moan and move faster.

Tim was shaking, shaking, his hand slowing on Roy as his hips jerked and he came
with a gasp. Roy thrust against Tim’s loose grip until Tim resumed his movement.
It didn’t take long, pleasure radiating up Roy’s spine, arching his back.

“Oh,” Tim whispered as Roy collapsed on top of him.

“Mmmm,” was all Roy could say. His vision cleared, higher brain functions
resuming, and he looked into Tim’s wide blue eyes, pupils dilated. “Oh man.” He
scrambled off, tripping over the coffee table, tugging his pants back up.

Tim blinked. “Roy?”

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” The worst part was, Tim looked so *good* sprawled on the
couch, Roy wanted to crawl back, lick his stomach clean, and test the limits of
his eighteen-year-old metabolism. “I didn’t mean…” Oh god, how sick *was* he?
One minute smugly convinced he’d never force some kid and the next pushing him
around the couch. What happened to his self-control?

Closing his eyes, Tim turned his head away, a blush moving across his face. He
sat up, tucking himself away and zipping up. “I’m sorry–”

“*You’re* sorry?” Roy tried to figure out what to do with his sticky hand.
“Jesus, I practically forced–”

“No!” Tim jumped to his feet. “That’s not–”

Roy wiped his hand on his shirt with a wince. “I got carried away. I should
know–”

“Shut up.”

Still breathless, Roy watched him step closer.

“We both got carried away,” Tim said, voice so low it was almost inaudible.

Roy jammed his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t reach out to Tim. “It wasn’t
a good idea. I haven’t had time to think this through.”

“You haven’t thought about me?”

Roy felt his face grow warm and when was the last time somebody made him
*blush*? “I didn’t say that. But I wasn’t, ah, that is, I didn’t think about the
issues involved. I need some time. God, I sound like a girl.” Tim’s tiny quirk
of the lips felt like a victory.

“Roy, nothing happened just now that I didn’t want as much as you.” Tim stared
at him, seeming to will him to understand. “Maybe not what we intended…but not
a bad thing.”

“But you’re–”

“Young?” Tim glared. “I’ve been Robin since I was thirteen. Jesus, I survived
the Clench. I helped shepherd Gotham through No Man’s Land. I’ve been in outer
space. I can match every damn experience you’ve had with the Titans or the
Outsiders. What does chronological age have to do with anything?”

“Look, I just need to think about this.” Roy swallowed as Tim slowly inclined
his head. “Give me some time to think.”

A short, sharp nod and Tim turned toward the door.

“Wait,” Roy paused, not quite sure what he wanted to do, “you don’t have to go
home just yet. After all, we’ve got hours before Lian comes back. I was planning
to watch a movie with lots of car chases and fight scenes to mock. Care to join
me?”

Tim studied him, face carefully blank. “Provide the popcorn and it’s a deal.”

There was no way this was going to work, Roy thought as they went to the video
store. He couldn’t offer Tim whatever it was he needed, but he also couldn’t let
him just walk out the door and lose a new friend. He didn’t have so many of
those that he could waste them indiscriminately.

* * * * *

The first Roy had heard about the new Robin was from Dick. It wasn’t long after
Jason’s death, when Dick dragged his sorry butt back to the Titans, nearly
flattened by guilt and pain at Bruce’s curt dismissal.

Everyone took turns commiserating with him and Roy could still remember Dick’s
alternating jealousy and admiration as he described the new kid.

“He figured out who we were,” Dick said, sprawled out across a couch, his whole
body sagging. “Can you believe it?”

Roy whistled. “He *what*? Bruce must’ve freaked.”

Even through his grief, that got a small smile. “It’s complicated. But he’s been
investigating us. He figured out what happened to Jason and how Bruce has been
acting and he marched in and informed me that Batman needed a Robin. Practically
dragged me back to Gotham.”

Roy leaned forward. “You were tempted.”

“Hell, no. I’m not Robin, I’ll never be Robin again. I don’t miss that.” The way
Dick’s shoulders hunched belied his words, but Roy chose not to call him on it.
“This kid’s going to be a better Robin than I ever was.”

“What?” Roy choked, certain he’d misheard.

“He’s right. Batman needs a Robin and this kid may be just the answer. He seems
a lot more stable than Jason and he’s sure as hell smart.”

“I guess so if he cracked the mystery that’s pissed off a thousand villains.”
Roy knew he was no mean detective, but he wondered if *he* could have solved the
puzzle from scratch. “How’d he do it?”

“Well, he had an advantage.” Dick paused, a familiar flash of pain moving across
his face. “He was at the circus the night my parents died.”

Roy ran into the new Robin a few times at those mass gatherings that generally
only happened when the universe was about to end, but his respect only grew over
the years, fed by stories told by a frequently amused Dick, or through the
superhero grapevine.

“Not as fast with the quips as our boy Nightwing was,” Changeling said, “But he
makes up for it by being sharp enough to cut himself.”

When the Titans encountered Young Justice in the Optitron headquarters, Roy
noticed that Robin had grown. Not so much his body–although he’d certainly been
working on that–but his whole demeanor. Leadership had been good to him, Roy
thought as he watched Robin keep a close eye on his team even in supposedly safe
surroundings. And he saw the way that team–almost unconsciously–revolved
around him and made sure they knew where he was.

When STAR labs called for help, Roy watched Nightwing and Robin sort out their
teams. He hadn’t seen them work together and was impressed anew by their skills.

The moment when Superman snapped Lilith’s neck would always stick in Roy’s brain
as one of the most surreal experiences of his life. Followed closely by the
realization that fixing their original robot opponent might be the solution to
the problem.

With one arm broken, he needed help. Somehow Robin ended up at his side and Roy
found he was smart. Tough. Everything Dick had said he was and more.

They worked together effortlessly, practically reading each other’s minds,
getting the robot later named Indigo back on her feet. Robin had to be upset
over the loss of his teammate and friend, but Roy was impressed that it didn’t
seem to affect his work at all. Indigo took off moments after they completed the
repairs.

His injuries catching up with him, Roy leaned on Robin as they staggered back to
the fight with new optimism. They arrived in time to see Donna die, her body
falling, Indigo destroying the Superman robot just too late to save her.

Roy’s knees buckled and all he remembered later of that moment was Robin’s arm
around him, holding him as he absorbed the shock, too hurt in body and mind to
do anything else.

* * * * *

Roy hadn’t seen much of Robin after that, but he kept a closer eye on the
exploits of Batman, somehow feeling a bit proprietary about this Robin. Okay,
Robin was as good-looking as his predecessors, but he had something else,
something Roy couldn’t quite define.

He’d never really thought he might find himself *dating* him, of all things. The
kiss outside Outsiders HQ had been pleasant, certainly, but Roy figured it for a
fluke after Dick’s rejection. And yet, two weeks after lunch in his apartment,
dating they indubitably were. And it was nothing like any of his previous
relationships.

When he was with Tim he found himself wanting all those sappy things he’d given
up on years ago: holding hands, soft kisses, laughter, in-jokes that nobody else
got. He wanted to make Tim forget about Spoiler, forget about Dick.

Roy had never realized just how sexy brains could be until he began spending
time with Tim. They tried to avoid shoptalk, but some of it was inevitable.

Voice just loud enough for Roy to hear him over the jukebox playing “I Heard It
Through the Grapevine,” Tim explained the previous night’s adventure, moving
silverware and sugar packets around the Formica table.

“The hostages were over here,” he said, pushing aside his half-eaten pancakes,
“and the gang had set up their explosives in these areas.” Empty glasses took
their places.

“How long did you have?” Roy asked, studying the table with a frown.

“About two minutes. Not enough time for Batman to get there with the equipment.”
Tim glanced up at him.

Leaning his chin in his hands, Roy considered and discarded various options.
“I’ve got two solutions, but you’d almost certainly have lost a couple of
hostages.” He tapped a finger on his jaw. “I give up.”

Tim gave him a tight Robin smile. “I triggered the explosives here,” he said,
pointing to his empty orange juice glass.

Roy stared.

“I told you I knew the approximate composition of the warehouse walls *and* how
much C-4 they’d stolen, right?” Tim ran a hand through his hair. “I made some
rough calculations about how much force this center wall could take and found it
was unlikely to send more than small debris at the hostages.”

“You calculated that on the spot?”

“Mm-hmm.” Sliding a spoon out of the way, Tim moved the sugar hostages through
the gap. “Once the wall was damaged, I brought the hostages out this way. We
made it out of the building before the other explosives blew. Total injuries: a
few broken bones.”

Roy grinned. “Impressive.” Ducking his head, Tim blushed a little and Roy
chuckled as he swatted Tim’s head, amused by his sudden bashfulness.

Glancing up, Roy saw their waitress hovering and smiled at her, automatically
noting how it made her blush. “Check?” he called to her and she nodded
furiously, scurrying away. “So,” Roy said as they put their table back in order,
“haven’t you gotten any queries from the big guy yet about your whereabouts?”

Tim narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Oh. No, he doesn’t track me as closely
these days. Besides, he thinks I’m liasing between my team and yours.”

“You lied to Batman?” Roy hissed, hands gripping the edge of the table hard
enough to leave marks in his palms.

“A lie of omission, if you’re picky.” Tim shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee.
“I didn’t correct his misunderstanding. Besides, I *am* learning a lot from
you.” Tim’s lips quirked in that adorable little smile.

Roy shook his head. “It makes me nervous.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.” Tim said the famous last words with a completely
straight face.

* * * * *

Sometimes Roy had to remind himself that this relationship couldn’t possibly
work. But Tim always came back for more.

Roy hadn’t had a lot of serious relationships. A lot of sex, sure, but the
success of a long-term relationship had generally eluded him, just as it had his
foster father.

With Grace, with Helena, it had been all about sex, about stress release with
someone who understood the pressures he was under.

With Cheshire, it was adrenaline and attraction, two fast-living people who
*knew* they had no future together. Roy wondered if things would have been
different if he’d known about Lian immediately, but he doubted it.

He’d thought Donna was his future for a while, until he realized she was more
interested in his bad boy reputation than in the real him.

There’d been men, of course, but that had most often been about sex, not
companionship. Fellow CBI agent Jack, who helped him forget Cheshire, then moved
on. Sex with good-looking men he’d met in bars.

Hell, he’d never had any problem getting someone–male or female–into bed with
him. The right outfit, a flash of a grin, a low-voiced suggestion…yeah, he
enjoyed the sex. But there’d been nothing that smacked of permanence.

And that, he’d told himself for a long time, was the way he liked it. Until
recently. Until Tim showed up and smiled at him through a fall of black hair.

It wasn’t easy, but Roy and Tim took advantage of every snippet of time–dinner
in an out-of-the-way Gotham restaurant, racing motorbikes down a deserted
highway, an hour sparring in Roy’s small gym in the apartment…

They were in that gym now. The room had started out chilly, because Roy knew the
peculiarities of his workout room, but it warmed up quickly.

Roy circled to the left, not taking his eyes off his opponent. “That all you
got?”

Tim prowled opposite him, and Roy was amazed as always to see how different Tim
was in training. The way he moved, with no wasted motion and a grace all his
own. “Trash talk?” Tim asked, flexing a wrist to check range of motion.

“Never hurts to try.” Roy feinted forward with his left foot, grinning when Tim
didn’t shift at all.

“Hey, if I were you, I wouldn’t waste my–” In the blink of an eye, Tim launched
from a standing position, a blur in gray sweats.

Roy ducked to the right, grunting as Tim’s foot smacked into his shoulder. He
made a grab, but Tim evaded him, dancing back.

“Too slow, old man.”

“Old man, huh?” Roy snapped a kick with his right foot.

Tim grabbed the foot and flipped Roy backward. When he landed on his back, Tim
was there, jumping on top of him.

Roy was already in motion, rolling them, but his hand slipped in the sweat on
Tim’s arm. His elbow jammed into the mat and Tim took the opportunity to flip
and pin him. Roy grinned up at him, testing the grip on his arms. He saw Tim’s
breathing change at his grin and laughed. “Okay, tough guy, now what?”

“This.”

Roy tilted his head as Tim tried to devour his mouth. Warm, wet, pressure, who
needed to breathe anyway?

Roy’s heart was racing when Tim pulled back. “Now that I’ve got you where I want
you,” Tim began.

“But for how long?” Roy twisted his body, planting his feet to get enough
leverage, tossing Tim across the floor.

They both jumped to their feet, Roy trying to forget how good the kiss had felt.

But it didn’t work, the memory coming back at odd moments. Each time, he
reminded himself of all the reasons a relationship couldn’t work.

He waited for Tim to get tired of him, but it didn’t happen. Lian frankly adored
the newest addition to her large collection of aunts and uncles, and constantly
asked when he was going to visit. Tim adored her in return. It was hard to tell
who he smiled harder for, Lian or her daddy, and his patience with her moods and
chatter was impressive. Tim shook his head whenever Roy commented on it,
reminding him that some people actually *liked* children.

Watching Lian and Tim zigzag across a Brooklyn playground in an impromptu game
of tag, Roy wondered what it would be like to have a lifetime of this. He
stretched out on the grass, enjoying the sunlight on his skin and ignoring the
giggling teenage girls on a nearby bench.

Laughing, his face red with exertion, Tim dropped onto the grass beside him,
fanning his red tank top. “You know, I’ve gotten a better workout from your
daughter than from last night’s patrol.”

“Slow night?”

Tim leaned forward, eyes bright. He was never sexier than when he was talking
shop and the tank showed off his arms and shoulders quite satisfactorily. “Slow
in a manner of speaking. I did all the groundwork on that murder-for-hire ring,
right? Weeks of stakeouts and computer work?”

“Uh-huh, you were talking about it last week. What happened? Bats decide to take
over?”

“Nightwing happened. Turns out the whole thing ties in with a case down in
Bludhaven, but he had no idea we were on it, so he swoops in,” Tim’s hands flew
through the air, “*right* into the middle and he’s kicking ass left and right. I
swear, even Batman was surprised.”

“Now *that* I’d pay to see.”

“So we’re standing on that rooftop, just watching, and Dick’s putting the
smackdown on them. Even for him it was pretty impressive. By the time we jumped
down, there was barely anyone left.” Tim flopped back on the grass, grinning.

“Nightwing didn’t leave you enough goons. My heart bleeds for you, El Freako
Birdboy. Speaking of Gotham, when do you need to get back?”

Tim stretched out on the ground and Roy watched with appreciation. “Oh, I think
I’ve got another hour before I have to leave. I’ve got to stop off in Bludhaven
and drop off some new equipment.”

“Nightwing gets all the cool toys from Batman. All I ever get from Ollie is
trick arrows and bad advice.”

Tim slapped his arm. “Hey, it could be worse. Ollie does a hell of a lot less
glaring.”

Roy laughed at a sudden image. “Hmm, can you see Ollie as Batman? God, he
couldn’t keep up the grim exterior for half an hour before he’d be throwing
quips around.”

“Scarier thought? Bruce as Green Arrow. Just imagine him with the beard.”

Lian threw herself down between them. “What’s so funny?” They only laughed
harder at the pout on her face when they didn’t answer.

A life of this didn’t sound like a bad idea at all, Roy thought. He shook his
head to dislodge the thought.

* * * * *

Another two weeks went by. Dinner got cancelled by reason of giant blue robots
in New York. A Gotham Knights game never started due to an attack by Mr. Freeze.

Finally, they said to heck with it and arranged to meet at Tim’s place to watch
a movie. “I’m not ruling out the possibility,” Roy said into the phone as he
washed dishes, “that aliens might decide to invade your apartment, but at least
we have a chance of spending some time together while they’re invading. You take
the thousand on the left and I’ll take the thousand on the right?”

“Sounds good,” Tim said. “I’ll feed you if you bring a movie.”

“I’ve gotta be home to tuck Lian into bed, so let’s make it early. I’ll get
there at about 4, okay?” The phone started to slip and he grabbed it with a
soapy hand, tucking it back between shoulder and cheek.

“Sounds good. I can’t wait.”

“Me neither.”

There was a short silence. “Hey,” Tim said, “I’d better go do some studying
before I head out on patrol, or I’m going to flunk Shakespeare. I’ll see you
tomorrow.”

“Give it a rest, you’re incapable of flunking. Later, man.”

He heard Tim take a breath. “Love you, Roy.” And he hung up. The phone slipped,
dropping with a splash into the sink, but Roy just stared at it.

Was he hallucinating? Granted, his previous hallucinations had always involved
more pink elephants and fewer declarations of love, but there was always a first
time.

Had Tim just…did Tim really…

Roy hung up the phone. This wasn’t going the way he’d expected.

* * * * *

Roy showed up at Tim’s apartment a little late, having uncharacteristically
dithered about whether or not to go at all. When he couldn’t find any good
reason to cancel, he finally drove to Gotham, blasting the radio loud enough to
drown out any inconvenient thoughts.

Jogging up the stairs to Tim’s third floor apartment, the latest Jackie Chan
flick under his arm, Roy found those thoughts coming back. What the hell did he
think he was doing–

“Hey,” Tim said with a grin, opening the door, “I was just wondering if you’d
been called away to Burma or something.” He stepped back into the tidy main
space of the small apartment.

“No, nothing like that.” Roy shrugged out of his coat and evaded a hello kiss as
he hung it up in the tiny closet by the door.

A surprised-looking Tim took the movie and tossed it on the couch. “So, eat
while we watch the movie?”

“Sure.”

Habit stronger than any worrying, Roy followed Tim into the kitchen area–
separated by a half-wall–to grab plates and such while Tim finished dinner. It
shocked him a little to suddenly realize he knew this kitchen as well as he knew
his own. Whether he was looking for a saucepan, a mug, or a spoon, it was nearly
automatic to grab it.

He noticed Tim keeping an eye on him, but he couldn’t figure out how to
articulate what was wrong, so he talked about the happy ending of the Outsiders
latest investigation until the movie started.

Once they’d finished slurping spaghetti and meatballs, Tim leaned over and Roy
put his arm around him. It felt too good, too comfortable. Roy swallowed, unable
to completely focus on the movie.

Tim laughed. “Oh man, that was probably the most fake punch *ever*. Did you see
how far away his hand was?”

“Mm-hmm.” He hadn’t seen.

“And I know Robin’s the acrobatic one, but if I wasted time in a fight doing
that particular backflip, Batman’d have me grounded for a week. Well, maybe Dick
could get away with it.”

“Yeah.”

Tim glanced over at him, but didn’t comment, just nuzzled against his shoulder.
Apparently he’d decided to let Roy tell him what was wrong when he was ready.

After a few more fight scenes, order was restored and Jackie’s character rode
happily off into the sunset. The credits rolled and Tim tilted his head to look
at him.

Roy looked away from the shrewd eyes and Tim leaned up to kiss his cheek.
Turning, Roy captured his lips, pushing back his doubts long enough for a long,
very sloppy kiss.

Tim grinned into it, twisting on the couch so they were facing each other more
directly. The next kiss was deeper, and Roy had to pull back to take a breath,
listening to Tim’s heart pound.

Tim leaned forward but Roy pushed on his chest. “Wait.”

“Hmm?” Tim glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s early yet.”

“I know, but I really should go home. Lian and Ron are probably there already
and I remembered I promised to help Lian with her homework.” He was babbling
again, damn it. Roy hated when he did that.

Tim’s expression was analytical. “Sure,” he said, “if you promised, that’s
important.”

“I’m sorry. I just…I need to go.”

“Okay.” Tim caressed his face so quickly it was like he’d imagined it. “I’ll see
you later.”

“Later.”

* * * * *

From: birdguy@tt.secure.net
To: arsenal@out.secure.net
Subject: Tuesday

I’m free after my last final. Dinner in the city? – T

From: arsenal@out.secure.net
To: birdguy@tt.secure.net
Subject: Re: Tuesday

I can’t. Another time. – R

Roy hit send, then stared at the computer, uncertain why he’d said that. Nothing
was scheduled for that evening. Well, time with Lian, but he could have brought
her along. Tim was always thrilled to see her. He…

Shaking his head, Roy resumed his statistical analyses of metahuman prison
escapes. He was no Batman, but he had a theory about who was providing outside
assistance and it might be time to nip that in the bud.

From: birdguy@tt.secure.net
To: arsenal@out.secure.net
Subject: Re: Tuesday

Okay, how about Friday? Bruce is going to be out of town and you can work out
with me in the Cave. You know you love making fun of D’s old costume. – T

From: arsenal@out.secure.net
To: birdguy@tt.secure.net
Subject: Re: Tuesday

I doubt it. I’ll give you a call when I’m free. – R

Annoyed at being pushed, Roy hit send.

* * * * *

A week passed. Lian asked where Uncle Tim was. A second week passed. Ron
pointedly asked his plans. Roy fobbed them off with distractions.

“You need to get laid,” Grace said to him after a training session, eyeing him
with that knowing grin as she sauntered into the weapons room.

“Fuck off, Grace.” He went back to inspecting a gun without bothering to look at
her.

“C’mon, I know the signs. You get edgy, grumpy–”

“I’m not grumpy!”

Grace smirked, leaning across the table. “Uh-huh. You just keep telling yourself
that, honey. Hey, you know where to find me if that’s what you want.”

Roy picked up a rag and scrubbed at a spot of excess oil. “I’m fine. Touched by
your concern, of course.”

“If you’re still hung up on Nightwing, that’s fine, but if you get any more
high-strung, we’re gonna have mutinies. I swear it’s worse than after you got
shot.”

Gritting his teeth, Roy put down the gun. “I’m not hung up on Nightwing. And I’m
not going to fuck you to prove it, so go bother someone else.”

“Fine.” Grace shrugged, muscles rippling as she strolled out the door.

“Good riddance,” he muttered as he went back to cleaning. “I’m not edgy,” he
said aloud, scowling at the gun. “Where does she get off saying that?”

Okay, he was having some trouble with focus. And he’d nearly sprained his ankle
jumping off a platform. But that was just because he wasn’t sleeping well.

Which had nothing to do with…anything. And the sooner he stopped thinking
about…anyone, the sooner everything would go back to normal.

He picked up the next weapon, determined to get on with things. Before he could
start cleaning, the door opened. Roy didn’t move as a costumed Robin stepped in,
face set and grim. They stared at each other.

It wasn’t Tim who broke the impasse by stalking over, it was Robin–every line
of his body angry as he came to stand in front of the table. “Just out of
curiosity, *Arsenal*, can I ask what crawled up your ass and died?”

“Since you’re not a member of the Outsiders, *Robin*, what the fuck business is
it of yours?”

Robin snorted and–through some intangible process Roy couldn’t define–became
Tim. “Well, that answers *that* question.”

“What?”

“I was wondering if you were being an asshole or if it was my imagination.”

“I’m trying to work, kid. Go home and we’ll talk later.”

Tim shook his head once. “Kid? Someone in this room is being immature, and
here’s a hint: It’s not me. Now, we can do this the hard way, where I kick your
ass until you tell me what’s wrong, or…no, there’s only the hard way.”

“What are you talking about?” Roy couldn’t look at him, so he went back to
cleaning the gun, only to have it knocked out of his hand by a batarang. “What
the fuck?”

“What am I talking about?” Tim glared. “Well, a couple of weeks ago we were
making out on my couch and suddenly, you’re avoiding me.”

“Maybe I just got tired of dating a kid.” He stood up, stepping back from the
table.

The remark got Roy the clenched jaw he’d expected and he felt a twinge in his
chest. To his surprise, Tim shook his head, looking amused. “You are *so* full
of crap,” he said. “I’d expect this kind of behavior from high school kids, not
you.”

“I’m sorry I led you on, but this…thing isn’t going to work.”

“If you just wanted to end our relationship, you’d have said so. Something’s
bugging you and I’d be a hell of a friend if I walked away now.”

Roy couldn’t stand the sympathy. “Didn’t you hear me? Get lost!”

Tim shook his head. “I’m not leaving until I believe it’s really what you want.
Don’t think you can make me leave by being rude–I’ve worked with Batman for
years. Trust me, he’s the master at this passive-aggressive crap. You’re just a
rank amateur.”

Roy held his ground as Tim stepped closer and peered at him. “Comparing me to
Batman,” Roy said, clenching his fists. “That’s just low.”

Tim ignored that, watching him as if he might make a run for it. “I get that
you’re trying to push me away. You’re scared because of what I said on the
phone, right? What I don’t get is *why*.”

“I’m not scared,” Roy growled, crossing his arms and then uncrossing them when
he realized how defensive that looked.

Tilting his head, Tim’s expression turned thoughtful, as if he’d been presented
with an interesting puzzle. “Well, you’re not scared of Nightwing or Batman. So,
it’s more subtle than that.”

“Thank you, Dr. Freud. Shall I talk about my mother now?”

Tim took a deep breath. “Oh. I guess I should have realized.”

Roy couldn’t respond. Damn, he hated dealing with the Batclan.

“Roy,” Tim hesitated, then stepped closer. “I’m not going to leave unless you
really want me to. I’m going to do my best to stay alive. I’m not going to get
bored with you. I’m not Cheshire or your parents or Brave Bow or Ollie.”

“I didn’t say you were. Don’t try and psychoanalyze me, damn it!”

“I’ve gotten attached to you. You’re smart, sexy, funny, and your daughter’s the
cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Tim came closer, moving like he was approaching a
wild animal. “I’m not going anywhere. I told you I’m not experimenting and I
meant it. I’m not using you.”

For a moment, Roy couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t find the words. “Why me?”

Tim sighed. “The reasons I just gave are as close as I get. I wa–” Tim stopped,
eyes narrowing. “You figured I was in this for the sex.”

“Maybe. You’re eighteen.”

“Jesus, Roy!” Tim stood absolutely still, vibrating with annoyance. “I didn’t
fall off the apple cart yesterday. I’m in *college*! Do you think I couldn’t
have found somebody to have sex with, if that’s all I wanted?”

“Why haven’t you?”

“Because, newsflash, you idiot, I want *you*! I’m sorry we pushed too hard to
begin with, and I’ll wait as long as I have to in order to let you be
comfortable with my age, but I’m not going to wait because you’ve got some half-
assed idea that I’m going to dump you for a shiny college student.”

Roy closed his eyes and really thought about what Tim was saying. He was right,
he’d been pushing Tim away because he was scared he was going to leave him.
Damn, he really *did* hate dealing with the Batclan and their near-psychic
ability to read people. “I…”

“Roy, listen to me.” Tim was within touching distance now. “I love you. I don’t
say that lightly.”

“Come home with me,” Roy said.

Tim blinked several times. “I’m supposed to patrol tonight.”

“Tell the big guy you’re busy. Tell him to go stuff it. I don’t care. Come home
with me tonight.”

Roy watched Tim’s breathing go shallow, then leaned over, taking him in his
arms. He was tired of being noble. Noble could go to hell and take common sense
with it.

When Tim’s arms slid around him, it was the strangest thing, like a key in a
lock, the feeling that all was right with the world. When their lips touched,
nothing mattered except Tim’s tongue, pulling Tim closer, showing Tim just how
much he’d missed him, wanted him, cared about him.

Without speaking, Tim broke the kiss and slipped a communicator from his sleeve.
Eyes never leaving Roy’s face, he dialed by touch. “Bruce? It’s Tim. I can’t
make it this evening, something’s come up. Uh-huh.” Tim started to grin but kept
his voice steady. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Call if there’s an emergency. Mm-
hmm. Bye.”

Tim slipped the communicator back in its pocket.

“Ready?” Roy asked.

“More than ready.”

They made it out of Outsiders HQ without running into anyone, which Roy could
only consider a blessing from whatever deity or deities watched over him. It was
torture getting into his car and letting Tim ride the Redbird away, but secret
identities demanded Tim change out of his uniform elsewhere.

Waiting outside his apartment building, Roy peered into the night and wondered
what he’d do if Tim didn’t arrive. Fortunately, it was only five minutes before
the cycle roared up, Tim’s face flushed under the streetlights as he jumped off.

Roy went up the steps first, conscious of Tim’s eyes burning into his back the
entire time. He wanted to throw him down in the middle of the living room and
momentarily cursed the complicated life that didn’t allow that.

As Roy opened the locks, he took several deep breaths, steadfastly not looking
at Tim. Ron was just turning out the lights and heading toward his own room as
they came in.

“A good evening to both of you,” he said, not even pausing on his way to his
bedroom. “Lian fell asleep some time ago.”

Roy and Tim stood in the middle of the room, staring at each other, until Roy
stepped forward. “We can’t exactly be as noisy as I’d like,” he said. “Maybe we
should have gone to your place. I don’t think I’ve thought this through.”

“I think there’s been entirely too much thinking.” Tim’s voice sounded hoarse.

“Bedroom?”

“Probably wise.”

Roy waved Tim in, shutting the door behind them and locking it. That act seemed
to destroy the last of his patience and, within moments, he was ruthlessly
stripping Tim’s clothing away, pausing only to suck or kiss various body parts
and listen for the gasps.

Roy never remembered exactly how it worked, but they fell onto the bed,
stripping out of clothing while trying to keep as much contact as possible. He
kissed and licked every available bit of skin.

The room was lit only by moonlight coming through the window, and Roy let go
long enough to grope with one hand for his bedside lamp, wanting to *see* Tim,
make sure there could be no misunderstandings.

Tim crawled on top of him and Roy guided his hands, encouraging him with moans
and whispered words. “Whatever you want,” he said as Tim’s hands set him on
fire. He bucked up as Tim took him at his word. “Oh yeah,” he breathed.

Tim’s muscles felt incredible under his hands–Roy couldn’t get enough of him,
rubbing, caressing, massaging everything he could reach. At this rate, neither
of them was going to last very long.

“Do you want to be in control?” Roy managed to ask, holding Tim’s shoulders and
trying to catch his attention.

“I don’t know,” Tim whispered against his chest, licking a stripe from one
nipple to the other, making every nerve ending sing.

“Maybe next time,” Roy said, rolling them both over. “I’m tired of waiting.”

“Good.” The word dissolved into a moan as Roy rubbed their bodies together, skin
sliding and hairs tickling as Roy slid down Tim’s belly.

Roy licked everything he could reach, holding Tim down as he shuddered, tasting
salt and soap. Tim’s hands tried to grab at his hair, but slid right through the
buzz cut as Roy nuzzled his way across Tim’s firm stomach.

He glanced up, surprised when he saw Tim’s eyes open and looking at him. For a
long moment, they lay still, staring at each other. God, was he just making the
same mistake again?

“No thinking, remember?” Tim touched his cheek.

Roy pulled himself back up the bed and into a long tongue-tangling kiss, lust
tempered by a desire to get it right this time. A warm hand stroked his back,
calluses tickling as fingers skated down his spine. Roy grinned into the kiss,
then pulled away. Tim’s breathing was unsteady, his soft hair disarranged, eyes
wide, and Roy licked a slow circle around his ear, just to listen to the
whimper.

Tim’s hand moved lower, grabbing his ass and pulling him close.

“Mmm,” Roy moaned, rocking against him. Hair and muscle and skin and god,
waiting any longer really would kill him. “Mine,” he whispered, sliding down the
bed to nose through musky hair, deliberately brushing his lips across the head
of Tim’s dick.

“Yours,” Tim gasped. “Definitely yours.”

A lick made Tim squirm and Roy grinned up at him. “If you can still talk, I must
not be doing this right.”

“I think you’re–oh–doing fine.” Tim shook under his hands.

Another long lick and Tim’s whine echoed in the room, followed by panting. Roy
stroked up Tim’s thighs, enjoying the feel of coarse hair and hard muscle,
letting Tim relax for the moment. He let one hand gently rub at a thigh while
the other wandered up toward Tim’s mouth. Tim didn’t need a hint, grabbing Roy’s
hand and sucking on his fingers.

Roy sucked in the head of Tim’s dick, feeling Tim’s half-scream around his
fingers. His world dissolved into sensation and pleasure, as he focused in on
the taste and feel.

* * * * *

Some sweaty, hazy time later, Tim nuzzled against Roy, looking more relaxed than
Roy had ever seen. Eyes drooped half closed, Tim rubbed their cheeks together as
Roy licked his neck.

Tim chuckled, lazily rubbing at the spot. “I’ve been slimed.”

“You’ve been more than that,” Roy said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Tim’s soft smile was gorgeous. “I know.”

Looking down, Roy ran the hand that wasn’t pinned up and down Tim’s back. “How
you doing?”

“Hmm?”

He hesitated. “Are you, I mean, did you–”

Tim kissed him, just a light brush of their lips. “Are you asking if it was good
for me?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Roy flushed, feeling faintly ridiculous, but…

“Roy?” Tim dragged his attention back with another kiss. “It was very good for
me and I seem to recall you having a pretty good time too.”

“Yeah.” Roy continued to rub Tim’s back. “There’s just so much going on, I don’t
want to screw this up.”

“You won’t.” That was the serious Tim voice, one step away from Robin’s voice.

“You’ve got a hell of a lot of confidence in me.”

Tim pulled him close, burying his face in Roy’s neck, lips tugging gently at his
skin. “It would take both of us to screw this up. And that won’t happen.”

Roy drifted into a comforting half-doze, as Tim lay his head down on a pillow
and closed his eyes. Every once in a while, he woke up enough to check that Tim
was still there, and kiss him lightly on the face.

He glanced at the clock at one point, noting how late it was. “When do you need
to get back to Gotham?” he whispered in Tim’s ear.

“I don’t have any early classes,” Tim said, not opening his eyes but tensing up
just a little.

Roy was confused by that reaction for a moment before realization dawned. “Stay
the night?”

He’d guessed right and the tension drained out of Tim. “I’d love to,” he said,
smiling.

Roy kissed Tim one more time and then reached over to turn off the bedside
light, curling up around the warm body in his bed.

* * * * *

Another day, another invasion averted.

Roy shook his head at the surrealism of his life as he entered the rec room at
Titans Tower, currently filled to the brim.

This particular invasion had been stopped by the combined trickery and firepower
of the Outsiders and Teen Titans, when the Titans wandered into the middle of an
Outsiders investigation. Things got murky, but thanks to the leadership and
teamwork of Nightwing and Robin, it all worked out with minimal injury to
everyone involved.

Well, except the invaders. Who got their asses handed to them on a platter. Roy
grinned at the memory and leaned against the wall to watch his team and the
Titans mixing. For reasons he couldn’t explain, things went surprisingly well on
those occasions when they got together–surprising considering just how much
room for disaster there was.

But Grace and Starfire always glared, turned up their respective noses, and
retired to separate corners of the room. And thankfully everybody seemed to have
come to terms with Indigo’s continued existence, although it had been tense at
first. But she’d learned a great deal about human interaction since he’d formed
the Outsiders and she was able to disarm the few who might have said or done
something with her guileless charm. At the moment, she was busy talking to Gar,
so Roy turned away.

Dick was in the corner speaking earnestly to Vic about something and Roy thought
about joining them, until he felt a familiar presence at his side. Without
turning his head, he let a slow grin slide onto his face. “Fancy meeting you
here.”

“Yeah. Quite a surprise,” Tim replied. “Your team did a great job out there.”

“So did yours.” Roy glanced at him. “Your teamwork is a lot better than the
original Titans.”

“I think we’ve had more incentive.”

Tim was obviously thinking of Lilith and Donna, so Roy put a hand on his
shoulder. “I understand.”

“I know you do. That’s why…” He stopped, eyes sparkling. “So…”

“Yes?”

Tim’s lips barely moved and the words were practically inaudible. “Would you
like to come see my etchings?”

Mouth dry, Roy nodded. “I’d like that. I’ll meet you in the upper hall in five
minutes.”

Tim nodded and disappeared.

Roy worked the room efficiently, meandering to each of his team members and
congratulating them on their excellent work in the recent battle. He could see
Cassie watching his progress, although she was trying to be subtle, and groaned.
It was somewhat ridiculous, but Tim was going to have to talk to her. The last
thing they needed was an amorous Wonder Girl chasing him around.

He even stopped to have a quick word with Dick, because it would look suspicious
otherwise. “Hey, Vic and I were just talking about some joint training
exercises,” Dick said, leaning back in his chair, his sprawl somehow taking up
more space than should have been physically possible.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Roy said. “I’ll find you later.” He was already
eyeing the doorway, wondering how soon he could leave.

“Something wrong?” Vic asked.

“Hmm? No, nothing’s wrong. I just have some things to take care of. Carry on.
Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He nodded at them as he left, but got nervous
at the expression on Dick’s face. Damn it, he thought, could you be a little
more obvious? Maybe you could have jumped on a table and shouted, ‘Hey, I’m
going to go screw my boyfriend now!’

Once again, Roy pondered the way Tim made him act like an idiot, like a virgin
who’d never been kissed, for god’s sake. Nobody else had that effect on him, no
one had ever made him want to be innocent again.

He strode up the hall, and only years of practice with Nightwing and Batman kept
him from jumping when Tim appeared out of the shadows, cape folded over his arm.
Roy grinned–Tim knew how much he liked to watch him walk. Something about the
way Tim stood, he obviously couldn’t wait much longer.

“Let’s–”

The rest of Tim’s words were lost when Roy grabbed him, kissing as if they
hadn’t seen each other in months. Post-mission adrenaline, a portion of his
brain noted calmly. Need to watch out for that. That’s gotten you in trouble
before.

Tim kissed him back, hands roaming all over his back until he stiffened and
started to pull away. Roy was confused, then he heard the voice behind him.

“There you…oh, fuck.”

Roy didn’t turn, just looked down at Tim, whose breathing had gone erratic.
“It’ll be okay,” Roy said quietly. He kept one arm around Tim as he turned to
face Dick. “Hey.”

Dick’s hand was twitching, as if he wanted to throw a batarang or a punch. “Hey?
That’s all you can say?”

“You’d rather I shouted ‘It’s not what you think’? My life’s enough like a bad
movie already, I don’t need to actively encourage it.” He felt rather than heard
Tim’s snicker.

Dick’s hands dropped to his sides. “I know it’s what I think. I just don’t know
what to say.”

“Don’t say anything,” Tim said. “Turn around and go back to the party.”

Both Roy and Dick looked at him. He’d stopped looking shell-shocked and now
seemed amused. “C’mon, Dick. If you’d found Roy and Grace or Roy and Wally
snogging in the hallway, you’d have chuckled and turned around immediately.
Probably teased them later, but that’s it.”

Dick was obviously at a loss for words.

“Tim’s right,” Roy said.

Dick and Tim looked at each other and Roy felt superfluous, an outsider to their
relationship. “You’re right, I’d laugh,” Dick said, voice cracking, “But…none
of them are like a little brother to me.”

Tim sighed. “You’re going to have to accept that I’m growing up.”

“With Roy?”

“With Roy.” Tim stepped out from Roy’s arm. “We can talk about this later,
okay?”

“Okay,” Dick said faintly.

Tim turned and tugged Roy along with him. Roy followed him down the hallway and
into his bedroom. The door shut behind him and he raised his eyebrows at Tim.
“Just one question.”

“Only one?”

“Well, one for now.”

“Okay. What’s the question?”

“Snogging?”

Tim shrugged. “Superboy met up with this British guy when he was trying to learn
a bit about magic and….”

Roy gave up trying to resist. He grabbed Tim’s shoulders and kissed him, feeling
the cape slide out of his arms onto the floor. “Never mind. Tell me later,” he
mumbled against his mouth.

Tim pulled on him until they sprawled together, half off the bed. It wasn’t the
most comfortable position, but Roy was reluctant to stop kissing and licking
long enough to move.

“So, this is snogging, huh?” Roy murmured, sucking sweat off Tim’s neck.

“Yeah.” Tim ran the hand Roy wasn’t lying on up onto Roy’s head, pulling him
closer. “Now do that again.”

Roy laughed, breathless, and fastened his teeth where Tim’s neck and shoulder
met, biting hard through the uniform. Moaning, Tim squeezed him harder and Roy
tried to remember why he’d wanted to stop earlier. Memory took a few moments to
trickle through sensation.

“Tim.” His only response was the feeling of Tim’s hand sliding down his chest
and he grabbed for it. “Tim!”

“Mmmm?”

“I don’t think this is a good idea. Not right now.”

“Why not?”

Roy nuzzled against Tim’s hair, relishing the feel of the smooth strands. Tim
was *never* allowed to get a buzz cut like his. “We’re coming down off a battle
high. Our teammates are downstairs. *Dick* is downstairs. Almost certainly
figuring out the best way to castrate me.”

Tim leaned his head against Roy’s shoulder again, a warm and solid comfort. “Way
to break the mood,” he said, smacking Roy’s shoulder.

“Yeah, sorry ’bout that.” Roy concentrated on the feeling of Tim tucked up
against him and let the rest of the world disappear for a while. Right now, he
needed the comfort more than the release. After all, there was still one big
hurdle left in a very long day.

* * * * *

Roy jogged down the steps, knowing what he would find before he reached the rec
room. He’d deliberately told Tim to wait a few minutes before coming down, so
that he could be the one to face the music.

“Roy.”

“Dick.” Roy stopped and looked down the hall to the doorway his teammate leaned
against.

Dick glared at him, then turned and entered the small meeting room. With a sigh,
Roy followed, closing the door behind him. “What’s up, Short Pants?” He leaned
against the circular table in the center, projecting casual with all his might.

“What the hell is going on?” Dick asked, his posture half-threatening.

“I’m dating Tim. Didn’t we establish that already?” Roy took deep breaths,
willing himself to stay calm. He tried to channel Connor.

Dick paced across the room, almost kicking a chair out of his way. Abusing the
furniture was *never* a good sign in the Batclan, Roy thought. “Dating.” Dick
turned and glared at him some more. “So that’s what they call it these days.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Okay, *now* I get to say ‘It’s not what you think.’ Yes,
dating. Dinner, goodnight kisses, movies. It’s been a long time, but I seem to
recall that’s dating.”

Dick paused, studying him. “You’re serious.”

“Yes, I’m serious!” Okay, that was nearly a shout, so Roy took another deep
breath, shaking tension out of his arms. “I care about Tim. He’s not, he’s not
Grace or some cheap fuck.”

“Damn straight he’s not.”

“So we agree on something.”

Dick’s mouth opened, then closed. He crossed his arms, and Roy relaxed, knowing
that meant his friend wasn’t going to punch him. “When…I mean, how long has
this been going on?”

Roy did a quick count. “Seven months. It’s been serious for about five. Knowing
Tim, he could probably give you an exact number.”

Dick shook his head. “That long? I didn’t…I can’t believe I didn’t know.” He
turned and went back to pacing around the table, finally looking up at Roy. “He
means a lot to me.”

“I know.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. He makes *me* look like a kid.”

Dick laughed at that. “I know what you mean. I’m sorry I…” He waved a hand.

“I get it. I’m still not entirely sure what he sees in me.”

“Roy…”

“Sorry, just my insecurities speaking, as usual.” He grinned, although he wanted
to grimace. Why the hell had he said that?

Dick’s look said he didn’t buy the grin for a second, which was the difficulty
of having friends who’d known you so long. “You know, Tim’s not the only one I’m
worried about.”

“C’mon, you know you get off on protecting Tim from bad ol’ Roy.”

Now Dick was frowning, and Roy knew he’d said the wrong thing. “Okay, you’re
officially worrying me,” Dick said, stepping closer. “Make up your mind. Do I
need to protect him or you?”

Roy waved his hand. “Neither of us, damn it. We’re doing just fine without
anyone’s help.”

“Uh-huh.” Dick looked unconvinced. “Look, Roy, I know–”

Roy shook his head, unreasonably annoyed. “If you’re done with the lecture, I’m
heading back to the party.”

He stalked out of the room without waiting for a response, taking a few minutes
to walk the shadowy back corridors to calm down.

When he returned to the rec room, his eyes automatically found Tim, who was
playing poker with Cassie. He shot Roy a worried glance and started to stand,
but Roy shook his head. Feeling eyes on him, he looked for Dick. Yep, Dick was
looking worried too.

Roy deliberately turned away to sit down with Indigo, who was patiently
listening as Gar and Shift explained chess. The back of his head itched from the
feeling of both Dick and Tim watching him and he made an effort to seem normal.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tim approach Dick and whisper something in
his ear. Dick looked startled, but he gave that small headshake that Roy knew
meant ‘not now.’

He should reassure Tim. He should apologize to Dick. He should just get over
himself.

Oh yeah, Tim was going to have a lot to say about this.

* * * * *

Roy was hoping for a bit of a reprieve, but less than 24 hours later, Dick
entered the Outsiders HQ control room. “Hey, Arrowboy, look who’s come to
visit.”

Roy turned, sighing as Tim–in his Robin outfit–came in behind Dick. They
looked at each other and Dick glanced between them. “Uh, I’ll be beating up some
practice dummies if you need me. Just don’t kill each other. I’d hate to have to
explain it to Batman and Green Arrow.”

“So,” Tim said, leaning against the console next to him, “any chance you want to
tell me what happened?”

Roy sighed, glancing at his half-completed monitor schedule for the HQ.
“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh. Dick shows up in Gotham and gives me an hour-long lecture about your
past and how I need to take care of *you* and you expect me to believe nothing
happened? Just how dumb *am* I, anyway?” Tim scowled, smacking his shoulder.

Roy stared resolutely down. “Dick and I talked. That’s it.”

“I repeat: how dumb *am* I?”

“Screw you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” There was a laugh in Tim’s voice.

“It’s a promise if you’ll drop this.” Roy shook his head. “I’m fine. Dick is
fine. No blood was shed.”

“As long as we’re not seeing a repeat of the ‘Tim’s going to leave me’ incident,
I’ll let it go.”

“It’s not that.” Roy drummed his fingers on his keyboard. “Just a moment of
doubt when faced with the guy who got me through heroin addiction.”

“I love you, heroin or not.”

Swallowing sharply, Roy looked away, but Tim’s hand on his chin made him look
back. “You still don’t believe me,” Tim said, voice soft.

Closing his eyes, Roy couldn’t think of a response. How could Tim expect him to
believe it? Tim hadn’t seen, hadn’t lived through it, hadn’t been *betrayed* the
way Dick and the others had.

“Roy?” Stroking Roy’s cheek once, Tim leaned back against the console,
analytical face back in place. “Whatever you’re thinking, I’ll almost guarantee
it’s wrong. You really don’t get it.”

“Get what?” To his own ears, his voice sounded rusty.

“I *admire* you.”

Roy stared.

Tim smiled, shaking his head once. “You survived. You beat the addiction. That
takes courage on a level I can’t imagine.”

Roy’s hands dropped from the keyboard to his lap and he was left speechless.

“I love you,” Tim said, voice firm and strong now.

“I…I love you, too.” Roy felt like an idiot saying it and he was glad nobody
else was there to see him blush. He was willing to swear that Tim said it
sometimes just so he could watch Roy’s face turn red.

Tim leaned forward and pulled Roy into a hug, kissing the top of his head. The
smell of kevlar was faintly comforting, the feel of Tim’s arms and lips even
more so.

* * * * *

Another month passed, a bit blurry as Roy juggled Tim, Lian, Ollie, Connor, and
his work. But somehow even the blur was satisfying, he thought, staring at the
computer screen. Time with Tim had become an unmitigated joy.

Outsiders HQ was pretty much deserted, which was why Roy was finally getting
some work done. Glancing at his watch, he estimated Lian and Ron would be home
in about two hours, which gave him some time before he had to head out.

Buried in the problem of how to describe why they’d accidentally blown up a
bank, he barely noticed the ring of his cell phone. “Yeah?” he said into it,
trying to find *just* the right euphemism for “explosion.”

“Hey,” Tim said on the other end of the phone, “are you free Saturday night?”

Roy typed a few more sentences into his report, cell phone tucked between ear
and shoulder. “I can be. What’s the plan?” Maybe they could do another
motorcycle ride out of the city, he thought idly.

“Um.”

Roy stopped typing, suddenly worried, and grabbed the phone. “Tim?”

“Um, I was thinking you might come to Gotham and we could have dinner with my
dad and Dana.”

Roy relaxed, grumbling as he looked at his still-to-do list. “Pull the other
one, man, it’s got bells on.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Oh god.” Roy’s head hit the desk with a solid thunk.

“Look at it this way.” Tim paused.

“Please tell me this is a late April Fool’s joke.”

“It’s either that or dinner with Batman.”

It was a moment before Roy recovered his voice. “So, uh, what time do they want
us there?”

* * * * *

As he and Tim drove up to the Drake Gotham brownstone, Roy tried to remember the
last time he’d been this nervous. He was fairly certain it had involved nuclear
weapons or a vast number of demons infesting Star City.

He distracted himself by trying to remember if he’d *ever* had to “meet the
parents” before. Nothing came to mind, which made it all worse. He was too old
to be doing this for the first time, damn it. He briefly amused himself by
trying to imagine Cheshire’s parents before going back to the need to impress
Jack Drake.

It wasn’t that the man could stop their relationship–hell, Tim didn’t live at
home and Batman would pay for Tim’s college in a heartbeat, if necessary–but
Tim wanted the man’s approval. It made things more difficult, but considering
his tenuous relationship with Ollie, Roy could certainly understand.

His nervousness wasn’t helped at all by the fact that normally imperturbable Tim
looked like he was going to explode out of his skin, fingers tapping in no
particular rhythm on the seat, and even an occasional tapping toe. “Are you sure
it wouldn’t be easier to talk to Batman?” Roy asked, putting the car in park.

“I’m beginning to wonder. At least Bruce *knows* you.”

“I’m not entirely sure he *likes* me, though.”

“That doesn’t count. He doesn’t like anybody.”

Taking a deep breath, Roy got out of the car, resisting the urge to check his
hair in the mirror or something equally feminine and absurd. The front door
opened and Tim’s stepmother stepped out, beaming at the two of them. Well, that
was a good sign, Roy supposed.

Dana hugged Tim the moment he made it to the top of the steps and Tim hugged her
back. She whispered something in his ear and let go.

“Dana,” Tim touched Roy’s shoulder, “this is Roy.”

Roy held out his hand. “Mrs. Drake, I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“Please call me Dana,” she said, shaking his hand. “And I’m pleased to meet you.
Tim has told us…almost nothing about you.”

“Why am I not surprised?” He shared a conspiratorial grin with Dana, while Tim
sighed in mock exasperation.

“Come in. Tim, your father’s in the living room.” She hesitated, obviously on
the verge of saying something else, but she changed her mind, opening the front
door and walking inside.

Tim looked more nervous than Roy had ever seen him, although he doubted anyone
outside their small community of do-gooders would be able to see it. It was all
about the tension in his shoulders and the way his fingers twitched.

Roy sighed, remembering Tim telling him about his dad’s initial reaction to his
son’s other life as Robin. Did the man have any idea how much danger he’d been
in, waving a gun at Batman? Probably not. In any case, if Tim had brought home
another eighteen-year-old, even a guy, it wouldn’t have been quite this nerve-
wracking. But Tim’s father had a history of worrying about older men tampering
in his son’s life, which made this evening a question mark large enough for the
Riddler.

The living room was classic upper middle class, the kind of thing Ollie would
sneer at as mildly bourgeois, then completely ignore. The room didn’t have a
great deal of personality, Roy thought, but his upbringing hadn’t been precisely
normal, so what did he know? There were a few pictures of Jack, Dana, and Tim,
pieces of art that were very Dana, and furniture in standard earth tones.

Jack Drake stood when they entered the room and Roy wondered if he always looked
quite that unhappy, or if it were in Roy’s honor. Jack’s clothing looked like
he’d deliberately resisted dressing up to meet Roy. Roy suspected the slightly
frayed cuff on the shirt was intentional, but Dana had probably insisted on the
nice slacks.

“Dad,” Tim said, “this is Roy.”

“Roy.”

Jack held out his hand and Roy shook it, smothering a chuckle at Jack’s attempt
to outgrip him in some macho test. Roy thought about using some of his own
prodigious hand strength to make a point, but decided against it. “Very nice to
meet you, sir.”

“Tim.”

“Dad.”

There was enough history buried in those two words, Roy thought he could
probably write an entire novel. A tense silence fell over the room, thankfully
broken almost immediately by Dana.

“Well,” she said with tremendous false cheer, “the rolls have a few minutes, but
I think we can sit down.”

It was going to be a long evening, Roy thought as he obediently followed her to
the table, set under the brownstone’s large windows.

After a few minutes of inconsequential chatter over gazpacho, battle was joined.

“So,” Jack said to Roy, who sat across the table from him, “what do you do? I
know you’re not in school.”

Roy was ready for this one and he and Tim had discussed the options. “As I think
you’ve guessed, I’m in the same business as Tim.”

“Which one are you?” Jack put down his spoon and studied Roy’s face. “You’re not
Nightwing.”

Tim choked and Roy couldn’t look at him. “No, I’m not. My present code name is
Arsenal and I lead a team called the Outsiders.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Dana said.

Roy grimaced. “We do have a tendency to make the news. Usually whatever they say
is wrong, though.”

“The Outsiders.” Jack frowned. “Didn’t you–”

“They work with the Titans sometimes,” Tim said quickly. “And Roy has known
Nightwing since his own days as a Titan.”

Jack looked annoyed at being cut off, and Roy hoped Tim knew what he was doing.

Dana jumped in. “Oh, Tim said you have a daughter.”

“Yes, her name is Lian.” Roy couldn’t help his grin of paternal pride.

“Who’s the mother?” Jack asked.

“Jack!” Dana turned pink, while Tim went white and started to rub his forehead.

“What? It’s a legitimate question.”

“Yes, it is,” Roy said. There was dead silence as he faced Jack over the table.
“Her mother is out of the picture. Our…relationship was a mistake and the only
good that came of it was Lian.”

Grasping at straws now, Dana jumped in again. “Do you have a picture?”

“Of course!” Roy had his wallet out before Jack could say anything. “Here’s a
good one.” He held out the wallet to Dana.

Her face softened and she smiled at him. “She’s just darling.”

“She is,” Tim said. “Runs us ragged and talks a mile a minute, too.”

“The next picture’s my favorite,” Roy said.

Dana flipped to the next picture and giggled, looking up at Tim. Dismay on his
face, Tim turned to Roy.

“Relax,” Roy said, “it’s not *that* one. I promise, I threw out of every copy of
you teaching Lian the chicken dance. No, this is Coney Island.”

Tim sighed. “You had me worried.”

Dana held out the wallet to Jack. “Isn’t this adorable?”

Roy could only agree. It really was his favorite photo: Tim and Lian crammed
into a Coney Island bumper car. By a quirk of fate, Roy had snapped the photo at
exactly the right moment and captured them on impact with another car. They
clutched each other, dark hair flying, with matching grins of satisfaction and
glee.

Jack looked at the picture for a long time. Tim and Dana stared at each other in
obvious anxiety, while Roy went back to eating his soup. If he was going to
crash and burn, it might as well be on a full stomach.

“You have a lovely daughter,” Jack finally said, eyes flicking briefly to meet
Roy’s before he looked away.

“Thank you.” Roy nodded, taking back his wallet.

Conversation moved back to the inconsequential as Dana asked Tim about his US
history class. These details managed to get them through most of the meal, with
Jack unbending enough to make polite conversation.

Dessert got a bit touchy when Jack insisted on asking after Steph, but Tim
stifled that with a single glare. Roy tried to decide if that had been a jab at
his gender or his occupation–finally concluding it had been both, since he was
fairly certain Tim’s dad didn’t know Steph was Spoiler (or the temporary Robin).

“Tim, why don’t you help me clear the table?” Dana asked as Jack ate the last of
the chocolate mousse. There was a brief exchange of glances and Tim nodded.

Roy crossed his arms and waited as Dana left the room, interested to see that
she’d forced this confrontation. Obviously there was more to her than the
friendly stepmom. Tim shot Roy a pleading glance–which Roy interpreted as ‘He’s
a pain, but don’t kill him, please’–and followed her.

“So,” Jack said slowly, “you’re dating my son.”

“Yes.” Several smart-ass responses leaped to mind and Roy saved them up to tell
Tim later. They stared at each other and Roy felt as if he were on trial.

“You understand my concerns,” Jack said. “He’s my son. He may not think so, but
he’s just a kid.”

This guy must get along great with Nightwing, Roy thought. “No offense, but
you’re wrong. He hasn’t been a kid for a long time. He’s been places and seen
things you can hardly comprehend. Tim’s too polite to point that out, but it’s
true.”

Jack shook his head in denial.

“I’m a father. I get it, okay? If I could keep Lian this age forever, make sure
nobody ever touched her or hurt her, you know as well as I do that I’d do it.
But I can’t.”

“Tim deserves better than some glorified bounty hunter.” Jack practically spit
the words at him.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m any prize either, but I’m here.” Roy looked past Jack
into the mirror hanging on the wall, trying to see what Tim saw in him. “Until
and unless Tim changes his mind, you’re stuck with me.”

“It seems like I don’t have a choice.”

Roy took a deep breath, looking the other man in the eye. “Sure you do. You
could disown Tim. Tell him to never darken your door again. Take him out of the
will. Whatever you want.”

Jack pushed himself back from the table, a touch of fear on his face. “I’d never
do that.”

“Good.” Roy felt his own heartbeat drop back toward normal. “Then your other
choice is to accept that Tim doesn’t *need* your approval, even if he wants it.”

Closing his eyes, Jack turned away. “I don’t much care for being lectured by my
son’s *boyfriend*.”

“Fair enough. I don’t much care for being treated like some predator trying to
corrupt your son. Ask him who chased who and then we can talk about it like
adults.” Roy was trying to channel Connor again, with limited success. He was
going to have to talk to his brother about this whole Zen thing.

Jack’s shoulders tensed up and Roy counted his breaths until he saw them slowly
relax again. “You’re right,” he said finally.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Tim said from the doorway.

Jack turned and Roy tried to look like he’d known all along Tim was there.
“Tim?”

Tim glanced at Roy. “Give us a few minutes?”

“Yeah. I’ll just be in the kitchen.” As he passed, Roy let his hand rest on
Tim’s shoulder for a second.

He found Dana sitting at the kitchen table looking faint. “I think it’s going to
be okay,” he offered. “They didn’t look like they were going to kill each
other.”

“Good,” she said, twisting her hands together. “Their relationship…”

“I get it. Someday I’ll tell you about my foster father.”

Roy sat down at the table and in moments, the pictures in his wallet were back
out, and Roy was telling every cute Lian story he could remember. Dana laughed,
looking more relaxed than she had all evening. Tim was lucky to have her as a
stepmom, Roy thought, glad she was obviously on their side.

Finally, Tim leaned his head back in the room. “All clear. Everyone alive and
accounted for.” Dana stood up and went to hug him, and Tim grinned at Roy over
her shoulder.

Roy was somewhat reluctant to leave the safety of the kitchen, but he let Tim
pull him back to the living room. He didn’t want to look cowardly, after all.

Jack managed a polite nod when he entered the room, and if he wasn’t precisely
thrilled with Roy, he and Tim seemed to have come to an understanding. Dana
brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ears and eyed the room with the air of
someone used to breaking the tension between father and son.

“Since I’ve seen all of Roy’s pictures, perhaps it’s time to embarrass Tim by
bringing out some of his,” she said with a smile.

Tim groaned, burying his head in his hands and Roy laughed. “Oh, I’m sure he was
a sweet baby.”

Dana grinned back. “I won’t embarrass him *that* much. Well, not this visit at
least. I’m sure we have some slightly more recent photos.”

Roy winced as Dana pulled a photo album off the shelf, realizing that older
pictures would probably have Tim’s mom in them. Whoops.

Tim and his father–with occasional comments from Roy and Dana–talked sports,
while Dana flipped through the album with Roy.

From there the conversation moved to politics, which in any other household
might be a hot button issue, but compared to what they’d already weathered that
evening, it was a positive relief. Jack completely forgot his previous animosity
for a while, as he and Roy had a lively debate over the Luthor administration’s
foreign policies.

Eventually Roy glanced at his watch and he and Tim nodded at each other. Tim was
on patrol this evening and Roy had some research he wanted to do before going to
sleep. They made their farewells.

Jack managed a marginally polite smile and goodbye, and hugged Tim. From the
relief on Dana’s face, that was obviously a good sign.

Dana hugged Tim and Roy as well, to the latter’s mild embarrassment. “I’m very
glad we got to meet you,” she said, “and I hope we’ll see you again soon.”

“Thank you for a lovely dinner,” Roy said. “And I’m sure I’ll be around.”

They made it all the way to Roy’s car before sighing with relief.

Roy leaned back against the door, grinning at Tim. “See? That wasn’t *so* bad.”

Tim groaned. “I think I’d rather go up against the Joker, Riddler, and the
entire Injustice Society than do something like this again. At least there I
know what I’m supposed to do and I’m allowed to kick ass.”

“C’mere, you.” Roy held out a hand and Tim fitted himself in between Roy’s legs,
nuzzling against his neck. “‘s all good, right?”

“Right.” Tim leaned his head up for a kiss.

As their lips were about to touch, they both heard a small sound from above and
behind them. Roy closed his eyes. “Oh shit.”

Batman dropped silently down beside them. Folding his arms across his chest, he
waited. “Well?”

“Um…” Tim paused. “It’s not what you think?”

“That’s it,” Roy said. “I’m dead.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: “From his own experience, Dick knew that awakening heroes from nightmares was fraught with danger and the strong possibility of bumps, bruises, and bloody noses.”

CONTINUITY: I’m kind of ignoring current Robin continuity, okay? This takes
place a year or two from the “present.”
DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to DC Comics. I just fantasize and worry
about them.
NOTES: The title comes from the last stanza of Christina Rossetti’s poem,
“Uphill.” I got this idea from two random DC scenario generator results: “Dick
Grayson/and any black-haired character” and “A former member of Young
Justice/needs to be comforted after a nightmare.” Thanks to Illmantrim for
reassurance and Alexis for prodding me to find some kind of a point.

* * * * *

It was pure chance Dick even noticed. Padding through his living room toward the
kitchen, in search of coffee, he happened to glance at the couch where Tim had
collapsed hours before.

To Dick’s surprise, silent tears coursed down Tim’s face and his body convulsed
under the afghan.

“Tim?” He took a step closer before realizing the other was sleeping. “Shit,” he
said aloud. From his own experience, Dick knew that awakening heroes from
nightmares was fraught with danger and the strong possibility of bumps, bruises,
and bloody noses. “Tim,” he said again, but Tim curled his legs closer to his
chest and continued to shake.

Perching on the edge of his recliner, just out of reach, Dick began to speak,
steady and calm. “Tim, it’s me. It’s Dick. I’m here and I need you to wake up.
You’re dreaming and whatever you’re experiencing, it isn’t real. Please wake up.
I promise everything’s okay. We got the bad guys last night, remember? You
crashed on my couch after we broke up that heroin smuggling ring. Please wake
up.”

Gradually, Tim stilled and the tears slowed. When it seemed safe, Dick stood and
walked closer, being sure to make noise as he walked. “Tim, it’s time to wake
up. Everything is okay.”

Tim’s eyes opened–unseeing as yet, but definitely well on the way to
consciousness. “You with me yet?” Dick asked, crouching down beside the couch.

“Wha…?” Tim blinked, staring around the room. He looked both old and young at
that moment and Dick was reminded of when Tim first showed up on their doorstep,
how he’d been uncannily self-possessed. Dick had envied that aura of self-
possession.

“It’s okay,” Dick said, dragging himself back to the present, “you’re in my
apartment. It was a dream.”

Tim sat up, eyes shocky. “Yeah, a dream.” He put a hand to his cheek, then
looked in disgust at the tears he wiped off. “Lemme grab a shower and I’ll get
out of your way. Gotta get back to the dorm at some point.”

“Whoa!” Dick grabbed his arm. “Hang on a sec there. Are you okay?”

“Fine. It was just a nightmare.” Tim looked like he was struggling to not yank
his arm away. “No big deal.”

“No big…” Dick let go and stood up, turning away so Tim wouldn’t see his face,
surprised at how pissed he was. The sound of Tim standing made him spin around.
“Where are you going?”

“To take a shower. I just said that. Are you having trouble remembering things?”
Tim smirked at him.

“Ha. Funny. Sit down.”

“But–”

“Sit.” It wasn’t often that he used The Voice out of costume.

Tim stayed standing just long enough to register protest, then sat on the couch,
crossing his arms. Dick took a deep breath, centered, and sat next to him. “I
know a thing or two about nightmares and that was no ordinary nightmare. Can we
talk about it?”

“We’re guys, we don’t talk about these things. Can I go now?”

Dick took another deep breath. “Yeah, maybe we don’t talk about these things if
we’re *Batman*! But you’ve got me worried.”

“You can stop worrying.” Tim blinked and Dick could tell he was figuring out how
much to reveal. Goddamn secretive little squirt. “It’s just been a long couple
of weeks, that’s all. Run in with the Joker and all. So it’s nothing, see?”

“Uh-huh. Nothing.” Dick sighed, propping his elbows on his knees and burying his
face in his hands. “You drive me insane, you know.”

He felt Tim shift. “Dick…”

“You’re just like Bruce.”

“I’m not!”

“Uh-huh.” Dick tilted his head sideways to look at Tim. “It’s like you two are
in some manlier-than-thou contest. You won’t win. Nobody does stoic better than
him. Believe me, I know.”

Tim’s face went still and he studied Dick, which might have disconcerted Dick if
he hadn’t been raised by Batman.

Dick tapped a finger on his knee, wanting to shake some sense into Tim. “Talk to
somebody,” he said. “Don’t deal with this on your own. If you don’t want to talk
to me, how about Superboy? Or Alfred?”

Tim’s face closed off even more. “I’m fine.”

“Why does everybody always say that when it’s obvious they’re *not* fine?” Dick
threw his hands in the air and got up to pace back and forth in front of the
couch. “‘Oh look, I’ve got a fucking *spear* stuck through my leg. Don’t worry,
Dick, I’m fine.’ Or the ever popular, ‘My entire life has just gone to hell, but
leave me alone ’cause I’m fine.’ Do you people think I’m stupid or something?”

When he risked a look at the couch, Tim’s eyebrows had nearly hit his hairline.
“Way to repress, dude.”

“Don’t screw around with me when I’ve got a good rant going.”

Tim swallowed a laugh. “Right.”

“And don’t think I’m distracted from the fact that you’re having nightmares but
you’d rather suffer in silence than talk about it.”

“What’s there to say?”

“In my experience–which you might recall is greater than yours–talking about
the screwy parts of our lives makes dealing with them easier.” Dick crouched in
front of Tim, trying to catch his eyes. “And if you say ‘But I’m fine,’ I swear
I’ll make sure Batman puts you through the worst training regimen of your life.”

Tim glared, but his heart wasn’t really in it, which made Dick even more certain
they needed to have this conversation. He sat on the floor, leaning his back
against the recliner facing Tim. “So, what was it? Your parents dying? Your team
being tortured?” He tapped his chin. “What other fun nightmares have I had? Oh
right, there was the time I thought my parents were throwing me out of the
circus.” He kept his voice light.

“It wasn’t that. It wasn’t any of that. It was dumb,” Tim said.

“If it came out of your subconscious, I’m sure it was many things, but dumb
wouldn’t be the first word that would leap to mind.”

Tim stared at the opposite wall, obviously not seeing the Mondrian print that
hung there. “I wasn’t Robin.”

Dick winced. He’d certainly had his share of nightmares that revolved around
that subject in some way, and many of them had involved Tim or Jason. This might
not be the best moment to point that out, however.

Tim went on while Dick’s mind was still racing. “I wasn’t Robin and so I didn’t
know what to do.”

“Didn’t know what to do about what?”

“Everything.” Tim’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Bruce died after Jason
did and you tried to take over and then you died.”

He kept his voice steady, despite the way those bald words clutched at his
heart. “And?”

“And the clench and the earthquake and everything else, but I couldn’t do
anything. It was my fault. I had to watch everything fall apart.” Dry-eyed, Tim
stopped staring at the wall and stared at his hands instead.

Jesus, this was just like Tim. “I don’t think that’s stupid.” No response and
Dick sighed. “I think it might show that you have an overdeveloped sense of
responsibility, but that’s no deep shock to me.”

Tim glanced up at him for an instant. “So, is this psychotherapy session over?
Send me a bill.”

“You just get funnier by the moment.” Dick wanted to pound his head against a
hard surface. “Look, I think it’s significant that you see everything falling
apart without you.”

“So I think I’m more important than I really am?”

“No!” Dick slammed his hand on the floor, but the carpet kept it from being
really satisfying. “Goddamn it, you know that’s not what I mean. You push
yourself too hard, you expect too much of yourself.”

Tim’s gaze was steady. “If so, I learned from the best.”

Nodding, Dick acknowledged the point. “Would you buy ‘Do as we say, not as we
do’?”

“Not really. What’s with the sudden concern?”

Now *that* hurt. “It’s not sudden.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tim, I…” Dick sighed. “Look, I know I haven’t exactly been there for you, but
I’d like that to change. I guess…maybe it took this incident with the Joker
for me to realize just how fucked-up our little family is. Because that’s how it
works around here: We take people for granted until they nearly die, then we
freak out.

“I’m worried you’re stretching yourself too far–college, Robin, the Teen
Titans. Your encounter with the Joker scared me. I wish I’d been there to help.”

Tim pursed his lips. “So that’s what this is about.”

“What?”

“You were off with the Outsiders when I got hurt and you’re feeling guilty
because *you’re* overcommitted, so you figure I must be overcommitted too.”

Dick groaned, banging his head against the recliner behind him. “I can’t just be
worried about you?”

“When is anybody in our circle ever ‘just’ anything?”

“We’re not talking about them. We’re talking about you and me.”

“How romantic.” Tim wiggled his eyebrows.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Blow it off or change the subject whenever a conversation gets touchy-feely
emotional.”

“I told you, I learned from the best.”

Dick sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. “All this before coffee. Man, I
*must* care.” When he looked up, Tim was back to staring at his hands. “I’m not
trying to interrogate you. I want…hell, I don’t know what I want. Forget it.
Go take your shower.”

Dick closed his eyes, sudden weariness overtaking him. What he really wanted was
to go back to bed and pull the covers over his head, and for a moment he
despised the sense of responsibility that meant he would press on with
Nightwing’s work no matter what.

Dick sighed as he heard Tim stand up from the couch. He was tired of trying to
help, tired of trying to be the healthy person in the lunatic asylum. After a
few moments in which he didn’t hear the shower, he opened his eyes to find Tim
sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

“Yeah?” Dick asked.

Tim shifted. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.” He shook his head.

“No, really.” Tim touched his knee. “You just caught me at a bad time. I haven’t
been sleeping well, with the nightmares, and it’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

Dick let out a long, slow breath. “I understand. And I should know better than
to pound on you at a time like this. It’s just rough to see somebody else
hurting.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.” They shared bleak smiles, thinking of their
friends and colleagues, not to mention their mentor.

Swallowing, Dick looked away, unable to look Tim in the eye. “I really am sorry
I haven’t been that helpful. I guess…there’s still a part of me that sees you
as my replacement. In the back of my brain there’s a piece that never quite gave
up the resentment when Bruce took on Jason and then you.”

The silence dragged on, but Dick couldn’t look back at Tim. He felt small and
petty, a bit unbelieving that he hadn’t realized this until now. But it felt
like the truth now that he’d said it aloud.

“I’m not your replacement.”

“I know.”

“Not as Robin, not in Bruce’s life, not as a member of the Titans.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

The faintly amused tone got his attention and Dick finally looked at Tim. “I
guess I do now.”

“Good.”

“Hey, who’s supposed to be helping who around here?”

Tim’s laughter was genuine, and it warmed Dick’s heart to hear. “That’s Robin’s
job, you know. Keeping the big boys in line.”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” Dick found himself able to laugh as well, looking Tim
over. “So, let’s start this over. How *are* you?”

“I’ve been better, I’ve been worse,” Tim said with a shrug. When Dick snorted,
he held up his hands. “What do you want me to say? I don’t get enough sleep,
I’ve got nightmares from all the crap I’ve seen over the years, and I’m lucky if
I can remember what day it is in time to get to the right class. Is that
better?”

“It’s a start. Now promise to devote a few minutes to thinking how we can help
you with these problems.”

“I promise.” Tim put a hand over his heart, the corner of his mouth twitching in
a probably unconscious imitation of Bruce when he was humoring you.

Dick paused, considering his next words. “If something happened to you, things
*would* fall apart, you know. Not because you weren’t Robin, since I’m living
proof that Robins can be replaced. But because you’re you and it’d nearly kill
all of us to lose you.”

Tim ducked his head, picking at a loose tuft in the carpeting.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“Okay, I hereby release you from the touchy-feely stuff. Get out of here.” Dick
leaned over and ruffled Tim’s hair.

Tim grinned and swatted at his hand. Then he sobered. “Thanks, Dick.”

“Thank *you*, Tim. And any time. This time I really mean that.”

As Tim went to get cleaned up, Dick levered himself off the floor with a groan,
his body choosing this moment to remind him of a few punches he’d failed to
block the night before. Stretching, he thought about everything that needed to
get done. The list was only getting more pressing the longer he stood there, and
none of it was going to happen unless he got that coffee.

But Dick stood in his living room, a grin spreading across his face. It felt as
if a weight had lifted off his shoulders, a weight he hadn’t recognized until
today. How ridiculous of him to waste so much unconscious energy on something so
unimportant.

Now it was time he stepped up to the plate for one last set of responsibilities
and watched out for his successor, his kid brother, his friend.

The sound of splashing water prodded Dick into movement and he went to the
kitchen to scrounge up breakfast for both of them. Maybe–just maybe–there was
hope for his dysfunctional family.

–end–

Uphill
by Christina Rossetti

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.

by Mara

Summary: Bernard tries to help Tim.

Bernard sat on the bench next to Tim trying to study him without being observed.
Something was obviously bothering him, he’d been incredibly lethargic and not
nearly as mysterious as usual, available at a moment’s notice to hang out. Most
unusual.

Strewing a handful of bread into the lake, Bernard tried to come up with yet
another way to find out what was wrong. Every attempt so far had been
sidestepped, evaded, turned into something else…Tim was damn good at that,
which made Bernard even more curious.

“So, uh, this isn’t exactly your normal hangout,” Tim said. “Why are we here?”

“I thought you could use a change of scenery. You look awfully peaked, you
know.”

“So you’ve said.”

“And it is my bounden duty to cheer you up.”

“With ducks?” Tim smiled slightly.

Bernard nodded. “It is a well-known fact that no human being can look at a duck
and be upset.”

“Really.”

“Penguins, too.”

Tim actually chuckled, holding out his hand for some bread. He threw it with a
little greater force than was exactly necessary and Bernard watched the ducks,
well, duck. When he looked at Tim, he saw the other boy blushing.

They watched the ducks splashing around for bread as the sun crept slowly
overhead and occasional bikes swooshed by on the path behind them.

Tim shifted on the bench, suddenly appearing uneasy and a moment later, Bernard
heard footsteps.

“Tim!” a voice called.

Bernard turned around to lean on the back of the bench, but Tim just stiffened.
Eyes widening, Bernard watched the approaching hunk with sincere appreciation.
Where oh where had Tim been hiding this one, with his dark hair, square jaw, and
corded muscles that looked eminently lickable?

The hunk barely even noticed him, so focused was he on Tim, who still hadn’t
turned around. “Conner,” Tim said, his voice holding an emotion Bernard couldn’t
quite pinpoint.

Conner stepped around the bench. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Have you.” Tim crossed his arms. He seemed…different.

“We haven’t seen you…” Now Conner shot a look at Bernard. “…around the old
neighborhood.”

“There’s a reason for that.” Tim seemed *older*, that was it.

“I know, but we miss you.” Conner stuck his hands into the back pockets of his
jeans, making his plain black t-shirt stretch even further across his chest.
“*I* miss you.”

Tim sighed and Bernard felt a twinge of jealousy. There was obviously history
here, things he’d never be a part of, things Tim would refuse to explain. Oh
Bernard, my boy, he thought, I told you not to fall for this one. He’s going to
break your heart just as he’s obviously broken Conner’s.

“Look, can we not do this now?” Tim asked.

Pas devant les enfants, Bernard thought. Not in front of the children.

“Then when?” Conner looked ready to follow him forever.

“How about never?”

“Not an option.” Conner smiled and Bernard caught his breath. Okay, that
*proved* Tim was straight, because no gay man could possibly resist *that*.

“Con…” Tim shook his head. “How are the others?”

“Bart’s freaky as always, growing like a weed and eating five times his weight
at every meal. Cassie and Diana are on the outs again, so Cass is cranky. Gar
had a…ah, run-in with Kory’s garden, so they’re fighting. The big guy’s mood
is so foul, even Clark’s been avoiding him. He misses you, too. Clark said so.”

“Fuck off, Con.” Tim stared at the lake.

“Never. You’ve helped me too many times. Now it’s my turn.” Conner rocked back
on his heels.

Bernard was sure he’d been forgotten, but Tim turned to look at him, expression
rueful. “Everybody seems to want to help,” he said.

Shrugging, Bernard tried to look casual. “That’s what friends are for.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Conner said, bestowing a blinding smile on
Bernard.

“I need to go home,” Tim said, standing up. Conner grabbed his arm and Tim made
an abrupt move before he stopped, every muscle tensed.

The frozen tableau made Bernard’s chest ache, even though he knew he was missing
most of the undercurrents. But he’d never seen Tim exhibit so much emotion, and
for that he found himself grateful to this Conner person.

Although they weren’t speaking aloud, there was obviously communication going
on. Finally, Tim broke the silence. “Let go.”

“Or what?”

More silent communication as Tim’s bicep flexed in Conner’s grip. “I’m not
coming back. My dad says it’s too dangerous.”

“You don’t have to…you could…” Conner shot an agonized glance at Bernard.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account. I’m fascinated.”

Tim glared at both of them and Bernard caught his breath–this was definitely a
side of Tim he’d never seen. “Con, I’m going home. You’re going home. Tell
everyone I’m fine.”

Conner looked at Bernard. “Is he fine?”

“No, not at all. He’s a basket case.”

“Bernard!”

“It’s true. You are.” Bernard shrugged. “You need help, my dear boy.”

“There, you see?” Conner said in triumph.

Shaking his head, Tim twisted his arm to break Conner’s hold on him. “You’re
both crazy, that’s what I see.”

Bernard sighed theatrically. “If Tim wants to wallow in misery, there’s little
we can do to convince him otherwise.”

Conner looked adorably confused and Tim rolled his eyes. “Lay off, Bernard. I’m
going home.”

“Tim…” Conner began.

“Oh, never mind him,” Bernard said, taking Conner’s arm and leading him away.
“Why don’t you and I get some coffee and you can tell me all about…the old
neighborhood?”

“Bernard.” Tim stood in front of them and he hadn’t even seen him move.

“Yes?”

“I said, lay off.”

“Well then,” he said with a smile, “why don’t *you* go have coffee with Conner?”

Tim closed his eyes. “Fine.” He turned and walked away without waiting to see if
Conner followed.

Conner grinned as if the sight was familiar. “Thank you,” he said to Bernard.

“I’m never going to understand him, am I?”

“No, probably not. If it helps, I don’t understand him either.” Conner smiled.
“Thank you. He’ll be okay, I promise.”

Bernard nodded and watched him jog up until he walked next to Tim. He stood
there until they’d disappeared behind the trees, then sat back down on the
bench.

“Well,” he said to the ducks, “it’s just you and me. I don’t suppose you know
any good gossip, do you?”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: When Bruce Wayne becomes Dr. Gregory House’s latest patient, House’s hidden past might just be disclosed.

CONTINUITY: No spoilers for House. Some spoilers for DC big events Identity
Crisis and War Games, although this isn’t set in the same continuity. Clear as
mud? Righto. Just roll with me on this one, ‘kay?

NOTES: This is…an AU? A crossover? Elseworlds? Something like that. The idea
was originally Marcelo’s, but once I saw the show, I *had* to do this. Huge
thanks to Smitty, Marcelo, Euphiechan, and Smurf for the helpful betas and
telling me I wasn’t utterly insane to try this. I’m told that you can read this
without knowing DC comics, but I’m not certain if you have to know House, MD or
not.

* * * * *

House cursed under his breath as his leg twinged. Leaning on his cane, he walked
faster toward the hospital entrance, half his mind listening to Wilson’s
concerned lecture about something or other, the other half trying to remember
how many Vicodin he had left.

When his cell rang, he didn’t bother to look at the number. “What?”

He should have looked.

The voice sounded much older than the last time he’d heard it, but he would
always know the deep tones. “Tim, we need your help.”

“Right, like I’ve never heard *that* one before. And I told you not to call me
that.”

“There isn’t time for your attitude. I need your medical expertise.”

“Oh.” He stopped in front of the doors, not seeing his surroundings. “I’ll
pencil you in then.”

“Really?”

“For the tenth of never. Goodbye, Bruce. Don’t call me, I won’t call you.” He
snapped the phone shut and briefly considered throwing it, but Cuddy might take
exception to him breaking a window. She was so picky about those kinds of
things. Damn Bruce for trying to rope him in again with a stupid outbreak of the
bird flu in Vietnam or something. Whatever it was, other doctors could handle
it.

“House?”

Wilson’s agitated voice finally penetrated the red haze of his mind. “Yes?”

“What’s wrong?”

House glared at his forgotten companion, ignoring the stares from hospital
visitors and patients streaming by. “Just an old acquaintance presuming on a
nonexistent friendship. Don’t you have nurses you should be screwing now?”

He stomped through the sliding doors, leaving a stunned Wilson behind. You’d
think he’d never been rude to the man before.

* * * * *

Twenty years of practice and a pill enabled him to forget about the call as he
shuffled papers on his desk, wishing for an office that wasn’t quite so open and
well-lit during daylight hours. Even after all these years, he still craved the
dark.

He booted up the computer, burying himself in a case study JAMA had been
pestering him to write up for months, the jargon flowing automatically.

When his office door opened and shut, he didn’t bother to turn. “I gave at the
office.”

“I could name a dozen ways you’ve changed,” an amused voice said, “but letting
just anyone walk in on you is the most amazing.”

House’s head shot up and he found himself speechless as he spun in his chair.

“Hi, Tim.” Dick slid into a chair across from him, a small wince showing that
he, too, had aged. His hair was only lightly streaked with silver and his face
had somehow remained almost as boyish.

“I’m not Tim anymore.”

Dick crossed his arms. “Well, if you act like a sullen teenager, I’m going to
treat you like one.”

House slammed the book he’d been consulting onto the desk, wishing he could
break something. Dick’s head, maybe. Unfortunately, even if Dick was showing his
age, he’d continued to work out for all those years.

Which left House with the one weapon he’d continued to train: his mind. “I take
it Bruce sent you, thinking I’d be a softer touch for my ‘big brother.’ Well, it
won’t work.”

Dick’s eyebrows shot up. “I doubt very much he thought anything of the kind. No,
he sent me because he thought you needed to accept him as a patient before he
showed up.”

It hit like a jab to the diaphragm, stealing his breath and leaving him
speechless for the second time in five minutes. Irrelevantly, he almost wished
Cameron, Foreman, and Chase were there, because it was a sight they’d never
witnessed.

He was stalling, House noted. “He’s sick?” Damn it, all those years and he
sounded like that young boy again, the one who wanted to know why Dick wouldn’t
come back and be Robin, the one who took the job instead.

“Of course he’s sick.” Shaking his head, Dick frowned at him. “He told you so.”

“No, he didn’t.” Back on the solid ground of argument, House thumped his desk.
“In typical Bruce fashion, he said he needed my medical expertise, but he
carefully left out the minor fact that *he* was sick! I assumed it was some
problem for the Justice League, a pretext to talk since you’d found me.”

“Mmm, we found you several years ago, but it was a good thought hiding so close
to Gotham,” Dick said, watching him with that familiarly disturbing intensity.
“Fooled us for quite a while. What’d you do to Kon and Bart, by the way? They
actually turned white when I tried to convince them to tell me where you were.
And they’ve both gotten much better at eluding pursuit.”

“Kon had no right to tell you where I was last time.”

“Forget it.” Dick waved a hand. “The issue is still that Bruce is sick and the
only doctor he trusts is you, now that Leslie is gone.”

“Fine. I can tell you what’s wrong.”

“Without seeing him?”

“He’s old. Lesson over, next patient, goodbye, don’t let the door hit your ass
on the way out.”

Dick frowned, and House resisted the instinct to give in. He wasn’t that kid any
longer. “Ti–Greg, it’s not that. It’s more serious.”

House leaned back, grabbing the pill bottle from behind the monitor without even
looking, popping another pill just to watch Dick try not to flinch. “He’s Bruce
Wayne. He can pay for any medical care out there.”

“He wants you because he knows you’re the best.”

“I don’t care.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Too bad. Now get out before I call security and have you thrown out.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” Dick stared at him, eyebrows narrowed.

“Just try me.”

Dick opened his mouth then closed it. Standing, he marched out of the office,
shoulders slumped, unable as always to hide his emotions.

House didn’t watch him through the glass door all the way down the hall.

* * * * *

Wandering into Cuddy’s office, House tried to look as if it was his idea to
visit. “Just couldn’t go a day without seeing me? Be careful, people might guess
about our torrid affair.”

She glared, but it was a half-hearted attempt. “Sit down, Dr. House.”

“Ooooh, if the principal makes me sit, it means I’m in *real* trouble. What is
it this time? Did some little old lady from the clinic complain that I told her
she was ugly? Because if that’s it, I can explain–”

“Shut up.”

“Ooookay.” He should have seen what was coming. In fact, only willful ignorance
could have kept him from seeing it coming a mile away. After all, his patients
played the same game with him practically weekly, and they were less-skilled
than Cuddy.

Cuddy looked at him with her usual long-suffering expression. “What’s this about
you refusing to treat Bruce Wayne? He’s offering the hospital a lot of money and
this time nobody’s asking you to endorse a drug.”

“Ah, but money is the root of all evil. I’m simply leading you away from
temptation.”

Folding her hands on her desk, she rolled her eyes. “The biblical quote, as you
know, is that the love of money is the root of all evil. I’m fairly certain that
curing the sick is considered a good use of money in most religions. Except
perhaps yours. What *is* your religion, anyway?”

“Religion? Don’t be ridiculous. Next thing you’ll be suggesting I try praying
for my patients.”

“Some people like that kind of thing.”

“And some people sacrifice chickens and goats, but that doesn’t mean you want me
to practice Santeria in the hospital cafeteria.”

Her expression turned pained and a twitch started above her left eye. “At this
point, chickens and goats are the least of my worries. Bruce Wayne is being
admitted this evening. I want your team on it.”

“So because he’s rich, we should drop everything and go cure his heart disease?”

“How do you know he’s got heart disease?”

“I don’t! That’s not the point! The point is that this hospital clearly only
cares about patients if they’re millionaires.”

“Just once, could you possibly look at a patient without giving me a hard time?”

“Oh, but that’s my special treat.” He made a face at her.

“Dr. House, what in the world do you have against Bruce Wayne?”

He’s an arrogant jerk. He fired me. He wouldn’t let me do the only thing that
ever mattered to me. “He’s rich.”

“I don’t care if he’s Donald Trump. He’s a patient. You will treat him.”

House opened his mouth to continue the argument, but suddenly imagined the
stream of superheroes that would haunt him until he did this. Not only would Kon
and Bart beg him to help, they’d probably send *Superman*. Clark would be
earnest. And noble. And caring. He’d probably say how much everyone missed him.
And he’d mean it, damn it. Better to give in before he had to deal with that.

“Fine.” On principle, he glared at her and pounded his cane extra hard as he
went out the door. As a bonus, she looked worried that he’d given in so easily.

* * * * *

House was thankful everybody was accustomed to him not bothering to visit
patients and nobody would think twice when he sent Cameron to do all the icky
work of actually talking to Bruce.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t make himself *completely* unavailable or people would
start to wonder. He stuck to his usual hiding places, where Wilson or his team
could find him if things got really dire.

He sent Cameron to get a complete history (good luck on that), Foreman to get
started on all the bloodwork, and Chase to do something or other useful, and was
preparing to hide out in the OB waiting room when he realized he was supposed to
be in the clinic.

Frowning, he ran through a couple of excuses, but couldn’t think of one that he
hadn’t already tried. Besides, anybody who thought he was hiding would assume
he’d run away from the clinic.

Strolling in, he waved grandly at the nurse. “Your finest waste of time, my good
woman.” She rolled her eyes and handed him a folder.

It was a perfect hiding place, he thought with a grin as he entered Exam 2.

He got the door halfway closed before looking at who awaited him in the room.
“Damn it,” he said, thumping his cane against the floor as he glared at Babs.

She rolled her wheelchair forward. “You know, most people say ‘hello’ when they
see me. Maybe they’re just more polite than you.”

“*Everyone* is more polite than me. What do you want? I agreed to take the
case.” He sat down in a chair with a thump.

“And you haven’t set foot in his room,” Babs said. “You haven’t even *looked* at
him.”

Babs had allowed her hair to gray rather than dyeing it, which didn’t surprise
him. And her argumentative expression was exactly the same as when she’d refused
to take him on as Oracle’s assistant 20 years before.

“I never look at patients if I can avoid it,” House said in his most bored tone.
“Patients only lie to me and make my job harder.”

Her eyes widened. “Jesus, Tim, what’s happened to you?”

“I’m not Tim!” He jumped to his feet, intent on escaping, forgetting for the
first time in years about his leg. It gave out under him and he staggered and
nearly fell, hissing in pain. “I’m not Tim,” he said again, clutching the edge
of the exam table to stay upright. “How many times do I need to tell you people?
I know you’re not stupid, so what part of ‘My name is Gregory House’ do you not
understand?” Knives shot up his leg all the way to the hip and he blinked back
tears. With one hand he held the table and with the other he fumbled open the
bottle and popped another pill.

Babs frowned at the bottle, but he ignored her.

“I’ve got my team working on Bruce’s case. They’re the best. I know, because I
trained them myself. If he can be cured or stabilized, we’ll do it. Don’t ask
for anything else because you’re decades too late.” He leaned over and grabbed
his cane, staggering toward the door.

“You know that the others give you some slack because of your leg,” she said,
almost shouting. “But I don’t. I think you hide behind your injury. I think you
hate the fact you weren’t injured on the job. And you might recall some of us
have it worse than you.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” he said, his hand on the door handle.

“Tough shit.” She rolled her wheelchair up behind him, bumping the back of his
ankles. “I wanted you to come work for me, but you weren’t ready, you were still
too angry. You needed to get away from the mess for a while and you did. I tried
to get in touch with you, but by that point you were running away too fast.”

House stared at the white door.

Her tone got sharper. “I’m sorry. We’re all sorry. We’ve told you that before.
Will you ever forgive us?”

“No.”

House expected her to come after him, but he made it safely to the elevator.

* * * * *

“Something about this case is bothering you,” Wilson said over the rim of his
coffee cup an hour later.

“Excuse me?” House lowered the issue of Teen People he’d stolen from the clinic
waiting room.

“Bruce Wayne. His case bothers you.”

Snorting, House went back to his examination of Britney Spears’ breasts. “All
patients bother me. Especially rich ones.”

“No, it’s something more than that.”

“Do I look like I’m especially bothered?” House looked pointedly at his feet,
propped up on a low cement wall, and his coffee and danish, which he’d been
enjoying in solitude before Wilson showed up.

“Yes.”

“I won’t bother to ask what tortured logic allowed you to reach that conclusion,
but I can assure you I’m no more disturbed than normal for a day in which I have
to spend two hours wiping the noses of obnoxious children and reassuring their
moronic parents it isn’t bubonic plague.” He snapped the magazine back up.

“Look, I wasn’t planning on eavesdropping, but I overheard a conversation.”

“Really. Imagine that. People in a hospital talking. What will they think of
next?”

“A conversation between Bruce Wayne and someone named Dick.”

House did not move a single muscle, but his mind raced.

“They were talking about how you’d refused to see him. How much they missed
you.”

Damn them. “Missed me?”

“I got the impression that you knew them. That you had known them for a long
time.”

“They said that?” House lowered the magazine again. “In front of you?”

Wilson recoiled from his expression. “Well, they didn’t know I was there, but–”

“Oh, they knew you were there, I’ll guarantee it. The day those two don’t know
who’s listening in, is the day I dig their graves. Strike that. I’m going to
kill them right now.”

Even at House’s top walking speed, it only took the shocked Wilson a few moments
to catch up to him and House cursed his leg for the millionth time. “I don’t
understand,” Wilson said. “How do you know Bruce Wayne? Why are you so mad that
I know it?”

“I worked for him. A long time ago.” He gritted the words out, knowing if he
didn’t answer, Wilson would keep asking.

“Then why hide the fact?”

“Because I hate his guts. Somehow I think that foolish idealistic doctors like,
say, Cuddy, might think this compromises his care.”

“Cuddy figures you hate everybody. I don’t think she’s worried about that.”

House scowled harder, a group of student nurses scattering out of his path like
bowling pins as he stomped toward the elevator. He wanted to go up the stairs,
but knew if he tried that, he wouldn’t be able to walk for a week. As he stared
at the elevator door, trying to develop Superman’s heat vision, he tried to
ignore Wilson, who’d begun to smirk. “What?” he finally snarled, unable to stand
it.

“It’s an actual emotion. I’m excited. We don’t get to see anything but annoyance
from you very often.” He cocked his head to one side, still smirking. “You
really hate this guy but you agreed to let your team treat him. What in the
world happened?”

“None of your business.”

The elevator dinged and House got on. Wilson followed, still studying him. “I’ve
never seen you like this.”

House ignored him, concentrating on twenty different ways to kill a man lying on
a bed. If Dick was there, he’d have to get through him first, but that was just
fine. Babs would have escrima sticks somewhere on her chair, but he was ready
for that. Cass might be a problem, though.

It took everything he had not to break the glass door opening it, but he
managed. Through the haze, he made sure no nurses were present and turned to
look at Wilson, who’d followed him. “Out.”

“House, I–”

“Out. I told you it’s none of your business, so get out, damn it.”

Wilson turned away without speaking; distantly, House realized he might have
gone too far, but it was too late to take it back. The other man paused, but
sighed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Smacking his cane on the floor, House turned to look at Bruce and Dick. “Just
what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I–” Dick started.

“And don’t even try to play innocent! You knew damn well he was listening. You
knew he’d talk to me. By now you probably know everything there is to know about
this place, so don’t even try to pretend.” He was shouting, which was probably a
bad thing, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

“It–” Bruce tried.

“You come into my hospital and interrupt my work and what the hell happened to
secrecy anyway? Did that fall by the wayside along with me? Maybe I should just
open the door and yell that I used to be–”

“Tim!” Bruce’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through his shouting in a way he
remembered he’d always hated.

“Don’t call me that.” His voice was quieter but Dick’s eyes widened at the tone.

Bruce looked as impassive as always, although House automatically catalogued
wrinkles, new visible scars, and a faint tremor in his left hand. “Fine. Dr.
House, you need to calm yourself so we can discuss this rationally.”

“You want to discuss this rationally? Let’s start with a rational discussion of
how the hell I’m supposed to treat you when I know you’re lying.”

A flash in Bruce’s eyes. “I’m not lying.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure when the lovely Dr. Cameron came in to take a medical history
you told her all about where you got that scar down your left side. Or did you
give her the usual crap about car accidents and skiing in Switzerland?”

“How I got that scar is not relevant.”

“Oh, so you’re a doctor now? I’m the doctor around here and *I* decide what’s
relevant, not you. If you know what’s wrong with you, you don’t belong here.”

Bruce right hand clenched in his blanket. “If you’d come to take the history, it
wouldn’t have mattered.”

Staring at the ceiling, House wished he could pray for patience. “That may be
the stupidest thing you’ve ever said, although it’s got some pretty stiff
competition.” He stepped closer, staring down at Bruce. “Do you think I’m some
lone vigilante doctor? I may be a maverick but I’ve got paperwork, a boss, three
sidekicks, and colleagues who read over my cases to try and catch me screwing
up. There’s no way I could hide that kind of information here.”

Bruce seemed startled, brow furrowing. “I didn’t–”

“Think of that? Obviously. Having Leslie around spoiled you. Welcome to the real
world.”

“But I did get you to come see me, even if it was only to yell.”

As House slammed the sliding door shut behind him, he thought he heard the clink
of glass breaking. He didn’t pause long enough to check. Let Maintenance worry
about it.

* * * * *

When the kids came back to report to him, they all looked like they were
marching to their doom–obviously reports of his tantrum had made it through the
gossip mill in record time. It was probably in the staff newsletter already, he
thought, tossing his GameBoy onto the table; the clatter made Cameron jump and
nearly drop the folders in her hand.

But–fortunately for them–they’d waited long enough for his temper to cool back
to its normal simmer. “What’ve you got?”

Nobody wanted to be first and a silent battle raged in twitching lips and
sidelong glances.

Sighing, House gave up, waving his cane at them. “I’m not going to bite your
heads off. At least today. Foreman, what’ve you got?”

Standing, he limped to the whiteboard to take them through the case. For the
moment it was The Case and not Bruce Wayne, because he couldn’t afford to think
about the patient right now.

“What’ve we got for symptoms?” he asked.

“Fever spiking at 104 and fatigue.” Foreman ticked them off on his fingers as
House scribbled down the list.

“Numbness and weakness in the fingers and toes, as well as some diffuse pains,”
Cameron added.

“Transient ischemia and severe headache,” Chase said. “Oh, and three separate
occasions of partial visual loss.”

“Memory problems not accounted for by age,” Cameron said, flipping through her
notes.

Fortunately, all three of them were looking elsewhere, so they missed House
starting when he heard that. He closed his eyes, imagining for a moment how
frightened Bruce must be by that particular symptom. “Give me possible
diagnoses,” he said, forcing himself to concentrate.

“Brain tumor,” Foreman said.

Cameron shook her head. “Maybe, but they scanned his brain twice.”

“Do it again.” House tapped his toes. “Chase?”

“Vasculitis,” Chase said with a sigh. Everyone just stared at him. “Never mind.”

“Some kind of nerve problem?” Cameron asked.

“Doesn’t explain the fever, does it?” House tapped the board.

“It could be anything,” Foreman said, slamming shut the book he’d been
consulting.

House rolled his eyes. “Oh good, maybe you’d like to tell the patient that.
‘Sorry, it could be anything, so I decided to play a round of golf instead.’”

“I didn’t say that.” Foreman scowled at him.

“What, did you think this fellowship was going to be easy? ‘I’ll work for Dr.
House. I’ve heard he takes all the *easy* patients.’”

“Dr. House…” Cameron looked like she was on the verge of a pout.

“Chase,” House snapped, “I want a CNS angiogram and a spinal tap.”

He blinked. “Right.”

“Foreman, besides the brain scan, I want you on the bloodwork. Gimme everything,
I don’t care how obscure.”

He nodded, scribbling notes to himself.

“Cameron, get on with the research. Focus on the nervous system. Tell me this
isn’t something obvious and boring everybody has missed so far.”

She scowled but nodded, picking up a notepad and a thick stack of books.

All three looked like they’d been through a major disaster: Chase drained his
coffee cup like it was the elixir of life, Foreman’s frown was permanently
etched, and Cameron had dark circles under her eyes.

“Go. Cause trouble,” he said, waving them out of the room. Chase and Foreman
couldn’t escape fast enough but Cameron hung back.

Damn, he thought. Not now.

“Dr. House?” she said.

“Don’t bother.”

“Excuse me?”

He sighed heavily. “You’ve heard that I yelled at our patient today, so there
are only a couple of possibilities: First, you want to be sympathetic about
whatever got me so upset; second, you want to give me a friendly lecture on
being nice to patients; or third, you’re fishing for information about what I
was yelling about.

“So, to get it out of the way: I don’t want sympathy, I hate patients, and I’m
not telling. Get to work.”

“Do I even need to be here for this conversation? You seem to have both parts
down.”

“Then go.” If there was one topic in this world he didn’t want to talk about,
Bruce Wayne was most certainly it, beating out his leg, his feelings, and his
nonexistent sex life.

“Dr. Wilson told me you know the patient.” Cameron crossed her arms.

Tapping his cane on the floor, House stared at her, but she held his gaze
steadily. On one hand, it was nice to see her toughening up, but he rather
wished she wouldn’t use her newfound toughness on him.

“What do you know about Bruce Wayne?”

He pretended to think. “He’s been number one on People’s Sexiest Rich Men list
seven times. He likes romantic walks on the beach and pretty girls, which you
most definitely are. Okay, he’s a bit old for you, but the money should
certainly make up for that. I won’t introduce you, though. You’re on your own
there.”

She even ignored that. “You always tell us we need to know everything about a
patient to treat them, but you’re not giving us all the information.”

“I know it. You don’t need to.”

She studied him for a moment. “You make it very difficult to be nice to you.”

He stood, leaning on his cane. “I do, don’t I?”

“I wonder why?” Her eyes widened and her mouth narrowed and he groaned–it was
her diagnostic expression, the one she got before she proposed a theory.

“I didn’t hire you for your psychiatric expertise.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond, stomping out of the room at his top speed.
For a moment, he remembered the burn in his thighs after running across the
rooftops, the muted thunk of a line launcher catching its target, the smell of
cordite on his clothing.

The squeaking of his shoes sounded louder than usual, an awkward counterpoint to
the tapping of the cane, noises he couldn’t disguise as he went down the hall.

* * * * *

The Gotham crowd seemed to have finally grasped his point and they avoided him
over the next few days. The hospital staff didn’t know what was wrong, but they
knew an extra-bad Dr. House mood when they saw it, so they avoided him too.
Cameron, Chase, and Foreman were all stuck with him, but they walked on
eggshells and he didn’t snap at them *too* much more than he would normally.

Wilson gave him a reproachful look later that day, but seemed resigned to his
rudeness and didn’t bother to try and get him to apologize.

House almost apologized just to see the look of confusion on his face, but
decided against it at the last minute, lest Wilson come to expect it.

They were narrowing in on Bru–the patient’s diagnosis and they’d even managed
to avoid any exciting infarctions and such. It was boring. Booooring.

House leaned back in his chair, shifting his foot on the footstool and wincing
as his leg protested. What should he do while his assistants were off
administering treatments and searching PubMed?

Well, there was an hour until General Hospital, but he could always make fun of
CNN, so he decided to turn on the television. He slid his leg carefully down and
reached for his cane.

“Hello,” Cass said from the doorway.

House cursed under his breath as he dropped his cane. Damn it, he hated being
out of practice, he thought. Cass had always been able to sneak up on him,
whether she was in costume as Batgirl or not, though.

Cass picked up the cane and handed it back to him before dropping back into a
relaxed stance. An untrained person would never notice, but to House’s eyes, it
was obvious that she was perfectly balanced and able to kick serious ass without
moving from her position.

“Unhappy,” she said with a frown.

House snorted. “Like *that* takes any expertise with body language. All you had
to do was ask anybody around here.”

A smile flitted across her face, which had a few lines he didn’t remember around
the eyes. “True. Love what you do, though.”

House turned his head, although he knew it wouldn’t stop her from reading
everything there was to know. “It’s important.”

“Yes.”

He kept staring out the window, watching the pitiful trees outside swaying in
the breeze even as he felt her step closer.

“It *is* important, Tim.” She put a hand on his cheek and he looked at her,
confused. Her face was intent, trying to communicate something to him, but he’d
never been as good at reading body language.

“Thanks for the inspiration. You can go back to being a faithful sidekick now.
Until Bruce decides *you’re* no longer useful.” Not that he was bitter or
anything.

Cass shook her head. “You don’t understand. Bruce is proud of you. Sorry for
what happened.”

House bowed his head, the memories visceral as ever: meaningless hymns echoing
off church walls, black clothing scratching his skin, food crumbling in his
mouth like ashes.

Knowing his dad’s murderer was alive in Arkham and Steph’s was still at-large.

* * * * *

The rain fell unheeded across his back as Tim slammed an informant against the
wall. “Where’s Black Mask?”

“I can’t–” The goon’s head made a hollow sound as it thudded against the brick,
and a few brick chips fell to the ground.

“Tell me or I’ll rip your arm out of its socket,” Tim hissed.

“No way!” The man spluttered as rain cascaded over his nose and mouth, but he
shook his head. “You don’t do that kind of stuff, kid. Everybody knows that.”

“Your boss killed a lot of people these past few days.” Tim was nose to nose
with the goon. “One was my girlfriend. Don’t tell me what I do.”

The man’s eyes rolled up in fear, then focused behind him.

Tim didn’t bother to turn. “Leave, Batman. This is my collar.”

“Robin, stop.”

“Stay out of this.”

“Stand down, Robin.”

The voice came closer, but Tim ignored it. “I’ve got to do this for her.”

“We’ll get Black Mask, I promise you, but not like this.” Batman was two feet
behind and to the right.

“I don’t believe you. You didn’t even tell me that she was dying. I didn’t get
to say goodbye.”

“This isn’t the way–”

Batman grabbed for his arm, but Tim was already moving, throwing his goon to the
opposite wall, hoping it would knock him out. Tim ducked under Batman’s hand,
rolling out of reach.

They faced each other in the dark of the alley, the rain dampening the garbage
that littered the ground.

“Don’t try and stop me, Batman.”

“I have to.”

“*We* have to,” Nightwing said, limping into view as Batgirl leaped down from a
fire escape overhead.

“To hell with all of you.”

“If you do this,” Batman said, “I’ll expect to find your uniform back in the
Cave by morning.”

Nightwing murmured a quiet protest, but Tim and Batman both ignored him as they
stared at each other.

Tim gritted his teeth. “So be it. You’ll have the uniform after I have justice.”
He threw down a handful of smoke pellets and was gone.

* * * * *

House put his head in his hands. He hated those memories. “Damn it, go away. I
don’t want to think about what I almost did.”

“No. Can’t run this time.” She knelt in front of him.

“Cass, I can’t forgive him.”

“For taking Robin. And for Steph.”

He nodded slowly. “She wasn’t ready to be Robin. He knew that.”

“Not your fault for leaving.”

He sat up quickly. “Of course not.”

“Not his either.”

“Bullshit. You’re making excuses for him the way everyone always has. I got
tired of it.”

Cass waited until he looked at her. “We miss you. Everyone is sorry. Time to
stop hating. She would want that.”

He didn’t know what she saw in his face, but she nodded. Leaning over, she
kissed his cheek and left.

* * * * *

When Wilson wandered in an hour later, House still sat with his forehead leaning
on his cane.

“Is something wrong?”

“Definitely,” House said without lifting his head. “Have you noticed that the
Republicans control the executive, legislative, *and* judicial branches of the
government? That’s wrong.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then you’ll need to be more specific.”

House could hear Wilson sigh and sit down. “You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine
at the best of times, but since Bruce Wayne showed up, you’ve been impossible.”

“So?” House stared at the vinyl floor, wondering why hospitals always had the
ugliest patterns. Did they get a discount on the stuff?

“I’m curious. For instance, why you never told me that you worked for him.”

“It was a long time ago.” House snorted. “But that was in another country and
besides, the wench is dead.” He’d never noticed how apropos that quote was.

“Speaking of wenches, who was the woman you were talking to when I passed by
before? I saw her with Bruce Wayne yesterday.”

“Cass. Her name is Cassandra.” She’s poetry in motion, House didn’t say. She
could kill you a hundred different ways with just the objects in this room. She
loved Steph as much as I did, but she stayed with Bruce.

“That’s it? No details?”

House looked up. “No.”

“Look, I know you don’t want advice from me–”

“Goodness, Doctor, how’d you get to be so smart?”

Wilson ignored him with the ease of long practice. “But it seems to me that
you’ve got some unfinished business with Bruce Wayne if he can get you angry
after so many years. I know you hate emotional stuff, but you need to deal with
this.”

House shook his head. “That’s what Cass came to say. Well, she used fewer
words.”

“And?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“I know you hold a grudge until it dies and then visit its grave, but what did
he do to you?”

The answer was automatic. “Took away the only thing that ever mattered to me.”

Wilson shook his head in confusion. “Medicine?”

House stared at him.

* * * * *

Bruce’s face looked almost as stern in repose as it did awake, House thought.
But he looked old. And tired. Nothing like the monster of his memories.

Although if he was going to be honest, Bruce had *never* been the monster of his
memories.

Bruce’s eyes opened. “Tim?”

“Hi, Bruce. Got a minute?”

“For you?” The smile spread across Bruce’s face. “Always.”

House limped over to the visitor’s chair, hiding the wince as he sat down. “I’ve
had a few visitors recently.”

Bruce frowned. “You know I didn’t tell them–”

“I know.” He shook his head. “I didn’t come to complain about that.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I…” House took a deep breath. “It’s been pointed out to me that perhaps I
need to get over myself.”

Bruce coughed. “I don’t know that I would have put it precisely that way. We
both made mistakes.”

Staring at the floor, House took another breath. “Medicine is important to me.”

“I’m glad.”

House looked up into Bruce’s concerned expression and shrugged. “Life goes on.”

“That it does.” Bruce nodded slowly.

The silence was uncomfortable and House filled it. “So, how’s Gotham?”

“The usual. Poison Ivy’s mad at the Joker and we had to clean up half of
Robinson Park. The Penguin continues to make money illegally. Now that Two-Face
is–”

House sat upright so fast he nearly fell off the chair.

“What?” Bruce looked around for whatever had House so alarmed.

He grabbed the phone and paged his sidekicks. “If it was a snake,” he muttered,
“we’d all be dead from venom by now.”

“I wasn’t bitten by a snake,” Bruce said, obviously concerned for his sanity.

House gave him a withering glance. “Metaphor, Bruce.”

Cameron ran into the room and skidded to a stop, looking around for the
emergency.

House held up a finger. “Wait for it…”

Chase and Foreman piled into the room behind her, and all three stared at him.

“Vasculitis,” House said with satisfaction.

Foreman and Cameron stared at him, then stared at Chase, whose jaw had dropped.
“I always say vasculitis–”

“And I always tell you you’re wrong. Because you’re always wrong. But this time
you were right.”

“But we–”

House interrupted him again. “It’s hypersensitivity vasculitis caused by
exposure to a specific substance. Removal of the allergen plus a good round of
steroids should clear up all his symptoms.”

“What substance?” Cameron asked, eyes going unfocused as she mentally paged
through her notes.

House looked at Bruce, whose eyes were wide as he looked back. “Pamela?” Bruce
asked.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“What are you talking about?” Foreman asked.

“He knows. How many times have I told you that everybody lies?”

Cameron blinked. “Over five hundred, I think.”

“That was rhetorical.”

“I know.” She grinned at him.

“Smartass.”

“Better than a dumbass.”

House shook his head. “What are you standing around for? Order this man a course
of corticosteroids and then go home and get some sleep. I’ll monitor to make
sure I’m right.”

“You’ll–” Chase closed his mouth with a snap.

The three of them looked at each other and were out of the room in seconds.

“They’re good kids,” Bruce said into the silence.

“Yeah. They’ll get over that eventually.”

The room was silent again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable now. The dim lighting
felt familiar and for a moment House fell back in time to the dark of the Cave.

“What now?” Bruce said.

“Now you get better,” House said with a shrug. “You go home, back to kicking
supervillain ass and making the new Wonder Girl nervous.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t belong in your world anymore.” It twisted his guts to say it…but it
was true. “I belong here. I’m damn good at what I do.”

“I know you are. That’s why I’m here.”

Even after all these years, House still wanted to grin at the rare praise and
Bruce’s expression, the one that said ‘You got all the hostages out alive. Good
work.’

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “I know that look.”

“What look?”

“It’s the same one you had when you wished you could tell your father. Who do
you want to tell?”

House looked away.

“Do you trust this person?”

“Does it matter?” The anger was back.

Bruce didn’t rise to the bait of his tone. “Yes. This time you might convince
me.”

The floor tried to drop away and House gripped his cane for support. Another
shock like this, he thought distantly, and he’d be a patient in his own
hospital.

“Do you trust this person?”

“Yes.” He didn’t have to think about it. “With all of our lives.”

Bruce nodded once. “Okay.”

* * * * *

Wilson strode in, brow furrowed with concern. He stopped dead in his tracks when
he saw House sitting comfortably next to Bruce. “House? You paged me. Is there a
problem?”

“You’ll want to sit down for this.” House gestured at a chair. “I have…we have
something to tell you.”

Giving House an odd look, Wilson sat down. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“That depends, I suppose.”

“On what?”

“On how you feel about spandex. And capes.”

Wilson stared. “What?”

–end–