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“God be with you!” The traveling merchant bids them and then he’s gone as quick as light.
Jason stuffs his brand new pack of cigarettes and lighter into his leather jacket, breathing out the smoke with every step.
There’s almost an innocence from being here in the cusp of spring and summer. It holds the kind of innocence that Jason doesn’t think he’s ever experienced on a count of the tragedy of Jason Todd, biography pending, with full emphasis on the tragedy. Except when he looks to his left, he watches with bated breath.
Jason couldn’t do this the normal way. He doesn’t know if he could do normal, even if he tried. But he asked this guy he’s been crushing on on a date after building up all his courage to do so. It’s just his luck that it happened halfway across the world on a mission, scantily dodging away from certain doom.
They’re due for a rest stop anyway, and he doesn’t know if this counts as a date, but he hopes that it is. He hopes that the stuttered words come out intelligible. Jason wonders if those prayers will keep.
“I know you like your wheels, but the roads are pretty small and narrow in these parts.” Jason looks out into the quaint town they’d found, along with the several just like it as they pass by. “We should probably just walk.”
Tim looks at him, silent ever since he popped the date question. Jason doesn’t know if he should even be hopeful for an answer at this point. It’s dragged on long enough for him to get antsy.
His mind travels back to the past two years, and especially the past five months. Their team-ups have been sparse but dense, and he won’t knock the amicable patrolling routes. But through all of that: has Tim ever shown any signs that he’s mutually interested in Jason? Is he blind to it all? Is he bleeding out in some alleyway, imagining a world where Tim Drake would go on a date with him?
Hell, they’re not even in Gotham. The buildings are brightly-colored, there are healthy plants lining the narrow streets and equally small balconies. The steps are tiny and the brickwork is completely bare in some places, but they’re most assuredly intact. Those are all huge red flags if he’d ever seen it.
Why would Jason ever step foot out of Gotham—
“If you manage to figure out where these guys go to spend their free time,” Tim finally says, “then we’ll see.”
From there, the answer had been quick and easy (and not just because Jason’s eager for that date).
It’s the watering hole on the outskirts of town with community gardens, flowers and veggies alike frame the building with pride. The scenery is open and beautiful, and it’s like Jason’s stepping into the Sound of Music. But that’s where the traffickers they’ve been chasing have been hiding out when they’re off the clock, and Tim’s quick to find out where they hole up the rest of the traffickers after that.
It’s a shot in the dark, though, on whether or not to remind Tim of the deal-not-deal he’s made. He’s already grasping at straws here, unsure if Tim’s even interested or if he saw a chance to get through this case quicker. Does Tim even remember it? Maybe he does and he’s electing to forget it for all eternity, which would certainly save Jason the embarrassment.
The inherent vulnerability of being this fucking cringe, truly.
“Are we going to the beach?” Tim finally, finally speaks up, ambling out of the bathroom of their cozy little inn. And look, they’d shared a room but not the bed. It’s poetic and just his luck, really. “I know it’s close, but I don't know if I’m ready for that.”
Jason can’t figure out why Tim wouldn’t be ready for the beach. Gotham’s toxic climate has given them callouses a hundred times over, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he says, “Okay, then that crosses out the beer bath and spa idea.”
Tim raises a brow, stepping further into the room with hair wet dripping at the edges onto his sweater, but he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He looks up at Jason curiously, seemingly trying to catch him out. Though, admittedly, it’s not so open that Jason can make out any other emotions hidden in his features.
All this time and he’s still trying to read Tim, pick up the cues and pray that he isn’t misstepping.
His heart’s racing too fast, the proximity is eating at him and he hasn’t even decided on whether they should go someplace romantic or somewhere more neutral to lessen the pressure—and the embarrassment, but that’s more for him. Jason's just full of it lately.
“Let's go down to the riverside front and see what cafes they have.”
Jason blinks, staring into the middle distance or somewhere right above Tim’s head, and refuses to swallow. He doesn’t want to give the guy even more signs that he’s nervous, though he’s pretty sure that Tim catches every microexpression. Tim’s just talented like that.
It’s a shock to walk along the water. The cobbled path beneath his soled feet accompanies the cool breeze hitting his face nicely. They’ve each got jackets over hoodies on, a beanie on Jason’s head while a scarf wraps around Tim’s neck.
Their hands brush against each other’s as they take their stroll. However, not once do either of them reach out and close the distance. Jason can’t decide whether or not that’s a good thing. It’s still cold out, but they’re close enough to each other that it doesn’t quite matter.
Though, as far as Jason’s concerned, the ambiance is striking. He watches as the breeze blows over Tim’s free-flowing locks, fingers reaching up to thread through it. He fluffs it into a style that’s not unlike end-of-patrol chic minus the red eyes desperately craving sleep.
Tim’s calculating gaze, his default state if anything, sets unto the world like he’s trying to figure out all its dreadful little secrets. He’d tell the guy not to go looking, but Tim solves cold cases in his free time. It's a wonder whether Tim’s ever looked at Jason that way, or if Tim’s looked at him at all.
One thing’s for sure, Jason feels wild with hopelessness when Tim turns toward him and smiles.
It’s a sliver of a thing. It hardly makes a dent in the scathing remarks and actions making up their sordid history, and yet he feels like he could fly across the river with something resembling adoration.
“If you keep looking at me like that, I might prefer diving into the water.”
Jason hums, for once not so caught off guard. “I don’t think it’s radioactive enough. It’d strip all your calluses, and then how would you survive Gotham’s acid rain?”
Tim rolls his eyes with his lips parted as if to huff in amusement. “It’s not holy water, Jason. It won’t wash away your sins.”
Jason can already feel himself tipping towards the guy, leaning closer as if itching to burn in his orbit. He wants to make Tim laugh and maybe he will by the end of the day.
“It might as well be,” he mutters, seeing how he can almost see the bottom of the river. The water in Gotham could easily be solidified and scooped out like gelatin. “Hey, what about we go to the red sea?”
Tim laughs out in surprise or shock or genuine delight, but either way, Jason is quick to preen.
“That’d be even worse.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He turns to inspect the cafes along the path. “You’re salty enough as it is.”
For his troubles, Tim punches Jason's shoulder and rolls his pretty blue eyes, but all Jason can do is laugh.
“Let’s go in here,” Tim says. His head tilts toward the garishly orange building with a striped awning.
It’s quaint, the edges of the wall that meet the floor a wreck with dirt and grime. It pulls him back to the hotspots of lower-middle class Gotham, but he figures they’ll never be the same. For one, this building doesn’t have severe health code violations and for two, it has an appropriately spaced out floor plan.
This doesn’t stop Jason from side-stepping a patron with poor situational awareness. However, it does give him an excuse to get even closer to Tim and that’s all he really needs. Even if this (probably) date hasn’t quite been what he envisioned.
He really needs to curb his expectations a bit. Just a bit.
They get their orders, Jason beating Tim to payment only marginally, and the smile that loosens his lips and makes Tim’s eyes roll carries them to their table.
Then it begins: Jason points out something mundane, but with good chances that Tim knows about the niche, and Tim starts telling him about the historical significance of Venice’s drainage system. It’s an engineering marvel so he says, while Jason is lulled into a sense of calm. Jason might be okay with silence—as long as they aren’t fighting—but Tim clearly needs the sound bites.
“Couldn’t have picked a better week!” One big, burly guy says a table over. “Those red knuckleheads aren’t even from here. Now my cousin and uncle’s behind bars.”
Speaking of sound bites.
Jason raises a brow at Tim, who’s put his coffee down and is staring right at Jason. He’s got a better view of the big guy while Tim’s got a front row seat to the guy’s tense companion. Neither of them are letting up on the insults toward two particularly red vigilantes in the area recently.
They’re disgruntled relatives of the traffickers. The traffickers weren’t big on their lonesome, but they had extended families. Jason can’t imagine why these guys would stick by them, though, as scummy and rotten as they were. He had a fantastic time knocking their heads together that Tim can assuredly attest to.
“We’ll pay them a visit, don’t you worry, Erik. Adam’s staking out the hotel they’re staying at.”
The intel is clearly wrong, thank the gods, but it sparks something in his chest to be hunted. It’s not a new sensation by any means, and yet the last thing he wants is for Tim to experience that.
Jason can take care of this right here and now, though at the expense of their (very likely) date. You talked about your weird interests and hyper fixations on dates, right? (Would that mean their patrols together are dates, too?)
But Tim reaches out to grasp at his hand, heat instantly burning at the site of their connection. Every hair on his arm seems to rise to the occasion and mark his ears red in the process. Jason needs a hiatus from romance books.
“Later,” is all that Tim says, eyes boring into his own, and Jason is annoyed to find himself acquiescing.
So, instead, Jason finishes his mocha muffin and stands up to get another. All the while, more people start to congregate around the two guys hunting for them. This would all be funny, and maybe he and Tim will laugh about it later, if it weren’t for the alarming number of people that now surround their table.
They talk, but Jason can’t make them out, not until one loudly proclaims, “Hey, isn’t that one of the reds at the counter?”
“Height and build checks out,” and that’s all the warning he has before he hears someone’s head get slammed against a table.
Jason turns around only to find Tim dispatching the group of angry patrons with ease, the scarf acting as a makeshift cover over his mouth. It’s a wonder, the fluidity of movement. Jason’s been privy to so many, yet it awes him time and again. He wonders idly what they’d said while he was several feet away, what they could’ve said to change Tim’s mind, but now it doesn’t matter.
What matters is how he manages to light the shirt of the big, burly guy and how that quickly spreads to the wooden tables. It matters how Tim kicks away the tables to allow innocent patrons to flee the building. It matters when Jason tucks and rolls after Tim shoves him out of the way and toward the exit.
He refuses to leave without Tim, so he circles back despite the heat that climbs to the ceilings. Even though the fire singes off the sleeves of his jacket and he’s coughing up a lung from the carbon dioxide, he trudges his way through to the central brawl. He’s only just quick enough to pull another guy away from Tim before the sprinklers activate with prejudice.
Jason’s a little loopy between the smoke inhalation and the whole ‘ Tim dispatched several guys on his own without breaking a sweat’ bit. He files it away to think about later.
They cough amidst the abating flames, and nearly trip over all the knocked out guys courtesy of the scarf-protected Tim, but they’re walking away from this one.
He pushes the doors open, hair a little stinged and clothes practically falling off his body from how torn up it is. Looking to his right, Tim isn’t faring much better. He’s seen the guy in all manner of vulnerable and yet it shocks him each time Tim lets his guard down around him. It’s humbling. It’s terrifying.
“Well, that went better than I thought.”
“You,” Tim starts, only to scoff in disbelief. “You sounded like Dick for a moment there. Since when are you a glass half-full kind of guy?”
“Don’t go badmouthing me, now.”
“It’s not, not when you’d been doing it all yourself the entire day.”
Jason furrows his brows at Tim with several questions racing through his mind, though none of them verbalize. They trudge their way down the alley, then they hoist themselves up some overturned crates and over the half wall.
Once, they’re back on their own two feet, Tim says, “It was written all over your face. You were overthinking everything.”
“I was trying to make this date as pleasant as I could make it,” Jason says defensively, sadly. “Given the circumstances.”
“Wait.” Tim holds out a hand over Jason’s chest to stop him. “You’re telling me that was a date? Really?”
Something small and fragile in him goes from warm and squishy to dried up and cracking. Jason hadn’t been sure at the start of it, but along the way, he really thought—
“Wasn’t it?” And he truly despises how weak his voice is at that moment.
The silence that proceeds to close in on him, constricts him in a way that makes it difficult to breathe. Jason learned at the ripe young age of being too young to remember how to make a run for it when things get too hot to handle. Now that he can fight his way through and have solid chances at winning, he tends to pick the other side of the spectrum. This, though? He falls back into old habits and he’s scanning for exits.
Tim grabs him by whatever’s left of his hoodie and pulls him into a— a kiss.
The neurons firing away in his brain all seem to halt in the face of yet another jarring instance. He would like to get a refund on this whole brain melting thing going on. How can one person get him so torn up and wanting?
“You know, you’re supposed to kiss back, right? It might give a guy the wrong idea, except you’ve been beating around the bush all day and that seemed like the right course of action.”
Jason stares wide-eyed and wild-eyed at Tim, who’s still got his fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie. “I’d always wondered about that. They do it all the time in movies and books, but a kiss doesn’t quite say anything concrete. At most, it denotes a sexual interest—”
Tim kisses him again, and okay, Jason genuinely gets the addictive quality of it. He’s got the urge to hold onto Tim and not let go, and even when they come up for air, Jason’s unwilling to let the distance last.
“I like you and I liked this date,” Tim blurts while panting like he’s run a marathon and Jason’s right there with him.
“I think you’re a human disaster while simultaneously thinking that you deserve someone way better than me, but hey, we both know I’m pretty selfish and I want you anyway.”
Tim squints slightly, challenging. He can tell Tim wants to argue some point of what he’d just said, heaven knows what. But then the telltale smirk graces the edges of Tim’s lips, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Glad we’re on the same page. I want you right back.”