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Tim is awake and typing methodically at the Batcomputer when Steph gets back from patrol at around three in the morning. You’d think sub-zero temperatures and the holiday would inspire criminals to stay indoors, but since Steph had just spent an hour longer than usual stringing up attempted muggers from lamposts the opposite seemed true. There’s just no winning these things.
Tim seems busy so she goes about her business without disturbing him and heads over to the showers. She honestly deserves a nice hot shower and she is absolutely taking advantage of the ridiculously good water pressure the Cave has. She's finished, changed into civvies, and is about to head upstairs to sleep when she hears Tim going into a violent coughing fit, the painfully harsh noise echoing throughout the cave. It doesn’t last much more than thirty seconds, and he barely pauses before going back to typing. Steph pauses for a moment, then walks over to the computer and stands behind him, watching the detailed mission report grow on the lowest screen. He doesn’t seem to have noticed her at all.
“You know,” Steph says, leaning casually over the back of the chair. “It’s actually really unhealthy to be up this late when you are sick and also, according to your medical records, don’t have a spleen.”
Tim makes a vague sound of affirmation and continues typing, his eyes weirdly glassy in the blue light of the computer screens. There’s a cold mug of coffee to his left that he’s apparently forgotten about, and his cheeks are slightly flushed despite the cool temperature of the Batcave. Definitely a fever then. Steph sighs.
“That wasn’t a hint, Tim.”
He sighs, and finally turns to look at her. “I can’t sleep,” he says flatly. “And this report needs to be written.”
“Uh-huh,” Steph says, raising an eyebrow. He looks terrible, which is saying something because he always looks like he’s living off of ramen and three hours of sleep. “Have you taken your meds?”
Tim glares. “Yes. Leave me alone.”
Steph gives him a look of supreme displeasure, and he holds her stare for a few seconds before another coughing fit hits him. While he was distracted, she leans over and shuts the computer off, then sits smugly on the edge of the console and waits for Tim to stop coughing. Which. Takes a while. Honestly, if she hadn’t been concerned before this would definitely have done it because it sounds like Tim’s about to cough up a lung.
By the time he’s finished he’s breathing hard, and Steph has decided that this is a red-level threat, which means she can and will use Alfred as a coercive tactic.
“Are you sure you don’t want to cough a little more? I think some people in China didn’t catch that.”
“If you left then you wouldn’t have to hear it.”
Steph makes a show of considering it for a moment. “Nah,” she says, grinning. “It’s much more fun to bother you until you take care of yourself.”
Tim tries to glare at her again. It’s a valiant try, but it’s also quite hard to be intimidating when you’re all hunched over in a chair like a small, angry raccoon. Steph would give it a solid three out of ten on the Bat scale.
He doesn’t seem to have noticed that the computer is off yet, either.
“So are you going to go to bed, or are you gonna just sit there and look grumpy?”
“Rest is for the weak.”
“You know you really shouldn’t believe everything you read on the internet.”
“I’m an adult and I can do what I want.”
“Wrong! Alfred is the only person who is allowed to do what he wants. Speaking of, I’m pretty sure he’d prefer it if you weren’t sitting in a cold, damp cave, making yourself worse. He's got enough on his hands with Bruce without you adding to his troubles.”
Tim blinks. “That’s a low blow, even for you.”
“Why, thank you.” She flips her hair to punctuate the sentence.
Tim shivers, and pulls his (thankfully socked) feet up into his chair. It has the effect of making him look four years younger. God, if Steph had a picture of this. The blackmail potential is too much.
It’s at this point that his attention wanders back to the computer screen. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, and he stares at it.
“So,” she says, drawing the word out. “What’s the game plan? Outwit me with your patheticness? I admit, I expected more of you.”
Tim sneezes, but makes no other reply. His eyelids are starting to droop, but he’s battling the drowsiness stubbornly. By blinking. A lot.
“You’ve really only got two options here,” Steph says, taking pity on him. “One. You start acting like a sensible person and come upstairs with me. Two. I carry you upstairs, physically, by myself, and get to brag about how I kicked Red Robin’s butt for at least two weeks. It’s really your choice.”
“How generous of you.”
“Yup.”
Tim sits stubbornly for another minute, then sighs and stands up slowly. Steph mentally high-fives herself, then hops off of the console and gently grabs Tim’s arm. He accepts the support without acknowledging it.
“You know,” she says casually, while they’re slowly walking up the stairs to the second floor. “I don’t think you ever told me how you managed to lose your spleen.”
“It’s not exactly a thrilling tale,” Tim says dryly. He’s a little out of breath, but the stairs have definitely woken him up. “I got into a fight that I wasn’t prepared for and got stabbed.” He pauses for a moment, and glances up. They’re not quite half-way up the flight. “I thought I was going to die. I didn’t. There’s not much else to tell.”
Oh. She hadn’t realized… “That was when Bruce was…”
“Gone. Yeah.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “Not exactly the best time.”
“It's always not the best time, isn't it,” she says quietly. “Almost like it's impossible to associate with Batman and not get screwed over.”
Tim doesn't smile. “He tried, for a while, you know,” he says, something elephant in his expression. “To cut us all off. To protect us.”
“Yeah, well,” Steph says bitterly. “Look what good /that/ did.” She thinks of the scars from hours of torture that cover her hands, her arms, her whole body. “And it's only taken him, what? Three dead kids for him to figure out it wasn't working?”
Tim looks at her, his eyes pained, and opens his mouth to say something. She cuts him off.
“Don't try to defend him." Her voice comes out in a harsh whisper. “I know what he did hurt you too. He betrayed your trust--betrayed both of our trust. He gave me Robin without your consent and I was too caught up in my own problems to see how much it hurt you.”
“Don't,” Tim says, his expression pinched. “I--we both know I handled that poorly. I shouldn't have gone along with Bruce. We both made mistakes, but you had no support system. You couldn't have known. It was--” He breaks off, runs an unsteady hand through his hair.
“A fucking mess,” Steph finishes, startling a laugh out of him. She offers him her arm and they continue up the stairs.
“Yeah,” he says. “It really was.”
They're silent for the rest of the walk. Steph gallantly opens the door for Tim, who rolls his eyes at her. He's about to go through when she speaks again.
“Tim. I'm--I’m sorry.”
He turns back to look at her, the light from the hall illuminating the exhaustion on his face. “It really wasn't your fault,” he says. “If either of us needs an apology it's you. You didn't deserve the crap Bruce gave you.”
She blinks. It’s weird how something as simple as Tim, who once had been one of the people trying to keep her out, acknowledging his--Bruce’s mistakes makes her feel--relieved. It’s like he’s finally broken down what remained of the wall that kept her isolated, apart from the family, and is standing in the ruins, offering her a hand. And it doesn’t fix everything, doesn’t magically make her anger dissipate, but. It helps.
“Thank you,” she says softly. Her voice doesn’t shake.
Tim smiles at her. “Robins have to stick together, right?”