Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In Tim’s defense, he wasn't really looking to adopt a pet.

Not really, anyways. Sure, he entertained the idea on nights where the soft whurr of his computer as it ran its various analysis and his own racing thoughts were his only company in the Perch. On nights where Titan’s Tower was empty for all save him, where the white noise was both crushingly silent and devastatingly loud all at once. When he dragged himself home from dealing with W.E, socially exhausted from dealing with people all day. Where a noisy night of patrol led to a utterly silent night in one of his safe houses. 

The idea of a little furry friend, all trust and affection and unconditional love sounded nice. Something to keep him company when the Tower was empty, when he returned to his renovated theater apartment. Something soft and fluffy, cathartic to pet. Something to tell his woes to that wouldn’t judge. It would just listen and even if it didn't understand it’d still be there. Something to combat the quiet, the loneliness that sometimes sank so deep into him that it seemed to settle into his very bones, dragging him down, down into a thick fog that seemed to lay over him some days like a thick blanket.  

Not to mention that Bart would probably love having a pet at the Tower.  

But Tim isn’t so foolish to do anything beyond entertain the thought. He’s a vigilante, and an international one to boot. And while he hasn't gallivanted around continent to continent for some time, that could always change at the drop of a hat, at the mere mention of a case . He couldn’t bring a pet into his life only to abandon the poor thing while he went trekking around Europe for leads on some case or another. And though part of the charm of a pet is that unconditional love and forgiveness, Tim would rather not put a pet in the position where it has to forgive at all. 

But he has still entertained the thought. Let his gaze linger too long at the dogs and cats that bark and meow sweetly at him when he passes by the open house adoptions at a shelter positioned on his way to W.E. 

So the end result honestly isn't too surprising. 

Half his usual patrol finds Red Robin perched atop a gargoyle right above the alley between Willow Street and Fourth. It’s been an oddly quiet night, and all Red has intercepted was a purse snatching that the victim really seemed to have on her own. (It’s Gotham. The people here are often just as tough as the criminals, and she had really good aim with that pepper spray.) So he’s taking an unneeded breather, crunching through a granola bar, watching his breath puff out in soft clouds into the crisp autumn air. Debating whether or not to turn in early. Despite the sense of stagnation that comes with such a silent night, he does like the silence. Because the silence means nobody is being robbed, being shot, being stabbed. Silence in this case is good, so Red closes his eyes to just enjoy it.

A tiny, sharp cry stops him mid bite. 

Red’s eyes pop open. Ears that aren't as sharp as his would have never caught it, but Red is a Bat after all. The first thing he notes is that it's such an odd little cry, so tiny . The other thing he notices is that it seems to be coming from the dark alley directly below him. There’s no real reason to check it out, but there's also no consequence for looking into it either. It’s a such a quiet night. He can spare the time to indulge his curiosity. He tucks the granola bar back into a pouch, before dropping down soundlessly into the alleyway. It takes his eyes a second to parse through the dark to find what he’s looking for, but he spots them.

They’re cats. Two kittens to be exact.

Red Robin sinks into a crouch to study the two kittens. One’s a grey and white tabby, the other a calico with a little bobtail. Outside of the calico, the gender of the kittens isn’t apparent.

They’re not in a box, in the rain, like he supposes most kittens end up. They don't even look particularly pitiful. Instead the two are milling around a dumpster, play fighting with all the uncoordinated movements characteristic of a baby animal- all toddling feet and too-fast movements, tumbling over both each other and the general landscape. Either they don’t notice him, or they do and are entirely unconcerned. A quick survey over the alley says they’re likely sleeping under the cover of the discarded rotted wooden beams set against the dumpster on an old and ratty blanket, and they don't seem to be sickly or injured from a distance.  

Despite being in a dirty alleyway littered with trash, broken glass, and the occasional discarded needle- and the distinct lack of a mother cat- the kittens look no worse for wear.   

Red decides to leave it be. The kittens seem too robust to have been left along long. It isn't like he can stay here staring down two kittens long anyways- the rest of his patrol route awaits, quiet as it is, and he doubts any mugger would take a night so Red Robin can study some cats.  

He makes a mental note of their location- he can send Damian after them later, help supplement his literal pet project. He's been putting a lot of his focus and energy as Damian Wayne into getting some of the less than stellar animal shelters and adoption agencies up to code and better. Alongside hiring better, more experienced staff, he's been going about ensuring the education for the others on the needs of their animal and donating money to provide the space and funds needed to make the change to be a no-kill shelter. He's been going about it in his usual brutish and pushy nature, but it's been getting the job done. Tim has to admit he's pretty proud of the little gremlin. The public is too, utterly charmed by the usually prickly and abrasive Wayne pouring so much love and heart into the betterment of animal care.

Tim often wonders if they'd find it so cute and charming if they knew Damian thought the animals of Gotham to be worth more care than the socialites of Gotham. 

The thought makes him snort as he pulls himself standing. With the pop of a grapple gun he’s swinging, and the kittens are once again left alone with the gloomy Gotham night.

________________________

The kittens are still there the next night when Red Robin drops down into the alleyway, taking two punks with tire irons along with him, downing one with a solid elbow to the back of the neck and taking out the other with a roundhouse kick directly to the temple. The young man they were terrorizing only spares enough time to nod his thanks before disappearing into the night.

And it’s not like Red Robin expected them to have up and moved in a day, but they’re still there alone. They still seem relatively alright, two balls of fur all tucked into a ball as they snooze. Red watches them for a few moments more- and when nothing seems to change, he zipties the thugs, leaves the kittens to their sleep, and returns to the rooftops.

And they’re there the next night. And the next. And the next.

Night after night, the kittens are still there. Sometimes they're sleeping, other times playing, sometimes gnawing on old trash. The nights get colder and colder, and Red has yet to see a mother cat. The kittens still seem ok, if dirty, but Red questions if he should interfere. Clearly somebody is caring for the kittens, providing food and water, if not shelter and care. And Damian has been up to his neck in his current case, which is apparently the dismantling of an illegal dog fighting ring. It's been absorbing all of his time.

So they're still here.

Red- Tim- worries his lip. It won't be long until winter hits and it grows bitterly cold- too cold for a pair of small kittens and a ratty blanket.  

'If they're still here tomorrow night, ' Red decides, 'then I'm taking them to a shelter on my own.'

That doesn't come to pass. Not when the Titans send an emergency ping and call their leader to the Tower, his presence necessary to tackle San Fran's next big bad.

And in between leading his team, wrangling a demon uprising, and kicking some weird goat demon so hard he knocks out it's teeth, he forgets all about two small kittens living in between Willow Street and Fourth. 

________________________

It isn't until early November that things change.

As time creeps closer and closer to winter, the seasonal shift always finds Gotham choked with rain. The sky stays overcast endlessly and it rains at all hours, day and night, on and off. And the rain is always painfully cold. Even the local goons are more bundled up than usual. 

It makes patrol a little miserable, especially on stakeouts where it rains the entire time, on brawls that last longer than a few kicks and well placed bo strikes. Tim's usual Red Robin gear is excellent for repelling rain and keeping him warm, but his more experimental stealth suit based off his time in the Ünternet doesn't have the same heat retention and resistance to Gotham's unforgiving rains. It lacks the same thermals woven into the Kevlar as the new suit hugs his frame a little more, the swap from cowl to domino lets his hair breathe, but also totally lacks a shield to rain. 

Tim isn't stupid. He knows all these limitations the Ünternet suit possesses. That's why it's still experimental. He's working out the kinks. The cowl is still more recognized than the domino, but at the very least some crooks are running when they see it. That or they've learned in Gotham, it's best to not challenge any cape.

His night has been quiet, though. That's usually the case though. Seasonal and weather shifts usually bring a lull in criminal activity as the criminals in question find a way to combat the weather. For the Bats, it means a quick break to regroup, breathe. For Tim, it means more time to work on his cases.  

He's just pressed a button on his harness to call for the new and improved Redbird (no glider or wing pack on this suit, though he doesn't need it now,) when he remembers where he is.

Between Willow Street and Fourth.

The kittens.

There's no way they can still be there. Damian's dog fighting case wrapped up while he was still in San Fran- his phone is connected to the Batcomputer, and he gets updates when reports he's tabbed are accessed. And it's been days, almost a week now. Damian surely would have come for them by now.

They can't still be there. 

Red Robin drops down anyways.

The alley is just as disgusting as it was before- the smell of wet dumpster trash almost overpowering as Red carefully picks his way across the alley to the dumpster. He leans down and peeks under the soaked rotted wooden beams.

There's nothing but a wet ratty blanket.

He sighs in relief. Of course they're gone, whoever has been feeding them probably took them in from the rain, made sure they were warm-

" Miaow ?"

Only his Robin training stops him from flinching. That was definitely a meow. A kitten's meow.

They're still here.

Before he can begin a frantic search, there's another tiny meow, and then there's the little calico kitten wiggling her way from under the dumpster. She waddles over to him, damp but thankfully not soaked, and sniffs his fingers when they're offered to her. When she butts her head against his fingers, Red runs a hand down her back. She smells strongly of trash, she's pitifully thin, and she's trembling. 

The little grey one is nowhere to be seen. He searches and searches for almost half an hour, but there's nothing. 

Just a little wet calico kitten, all alone. 

Red's- Tim's- heart clenches.  

His decision is made before the Redbird even pulls up, ready to accept him and his little wet acquisition tucked carefully into his arms.

________________________

The nearest shelters are all closed, a quick search on his phone reveals. Closed for three straight days in observance of Veteran's Day. No pick ups, no drop offs, just staff coming in and out to check on the animals. They would be closed anyway, seeing as it's nearly three in the morning.

Sure, Tim could always make the trip further out, past Gotham even, to find an open one, but most shelters close to observe holidays. Meaning he'd have to hunt hard to find an open one, and then go through the process of a surrender. At nearly three in the morning. 

The mere thought gives him a headache. 

So instead, Tim puts a hoodie and sweatpants on over his suit and makes a trip to the rundown 24 hour pet supermarket that he's seen more than once on his patrol route. He picks up a bottle of kitten shampoo, a tiny cat nail trimmer, two jingly toys, a few cans of kitten food, a little kitten bed, a bowl, and a little red collar with a bell. Enough to house a kitten for a few days and ensure the tiny hellion doesn't destroy his Perch.

The exhausted clerk at the counter had eyed him when he came in so late, hood drawn up and eyes down, but was more than helpful when he revealed his little ball of sad wet kitten. The kindly older man perked right up and guided him around the store, pointing out things he'd need as a 'first time cat dad.'

He didn't have the heart to tell the kind clerk he planned on dropping the kitten at a shelter as soon as they opened.  

But the clerk was patient, understanding- though he did laugh when Tim looked totally out of his depth at the amount of collar choices.  

"You'll want somethin' with a bell," the man had said with a fond smile, grabbing a red collar with both a bell and a bow and passing it to Tim.  "Kittens are rambunctious little things, like ta get inta all sorts o' trouble. Real helpful ta be able to hear where the little monster is off ta now." 

He'd sent Tim on his way with an armful of cat supplies, a covered litter box and accompanying litter, a free red blanket the calico kitten is currently wrapped in, and a soft order to "take good care a' her, now." 

He somehow manages to get it all to his Gotham Perch without dropping anything.  

Bat training.  

Came in helpful everywhere. 

Tim shuffles in awkwardly, dumping everything but his small wet acquisition on the floor near the door. He can always come back for it. His kitten- the kitten stays wrapped in her blanket, no longer quivering as bad as before.  

First things first- a bath. The little calico smells strongly of trash, and Tim doesn't want that smell lingering in his apartment long after the kitten is gone. So after he strips out of his suit and into some comfy sweats, he fills his sink partway with warm water and gently settles the kitten in. Surprisingly, she doesn't fight him- just slumps in his hands and shudders. He tries not to let that worry him as he scrubs the dirt and grime from her fur, lets it sit to kill the fleas under her coat.  

He trims her nails, cleans out her ears, and wipes her eyes and nose- and after about 30 minutes of scrubbing and re-scrubbing to kill the smell, he's got a little clean, warm, dry ball of kitten. She'd dozed off again while he was towelling her down, so he just clips her new collar around her neck and sets her and her blanket onto her new cat bed. He can coax some food into her in the morning.  

Tim runs his hand down her back to her little bob tail and back up, scratches behind her ears. She stretches out in her sleep and- 

And aw man, she's purring. It's a rattly and shaky noise, and Tim wonders if she has some sort of respiratory infection he should worry about- but she's purring. And it's loud for her tiny size. 

His heart melts. 

Only three days, he reminds himself as he scoops up her cat bed with her in it, carrying it to his bedroom so he can keep an eye on her. Three days, Tim. Until the shelters open. Then you can drop her off, and she can get a real home. 

Tim pretends he believes that as he dozes off to the sound of her rattly purr. 

________________________

There's something touching his face in his sleep.  

It's poking gently at his nose, cheeks, eyelids, gentle pats with something soft, but definitely insistent. Tim snuffles slightly and tries to ignore it, turning over. He's so tired. And it's one of the rare days he isn't expected at W.E, and he completely plans to sleep until his back aches from lying down. 

Then there's something scraping his cheek, rough like sandpaper and not at all pleasant, and then there's little teeth on his ear-

And then a shrill mow right in his ear.  

Right. The kitten.

She has other ideas.  

Tim groans, lethargically swiping the kitten away from his face, where she'd started poking his cheeks with her paw again. "I'm up, I'm up, stop it kitten." 

She falls off his chest, landing near his side. She clambers back up his chest anyways, only to tumble down into his lap when he sits up, meowing with alarm. She looks befuddled and offended as she rights herself.

Tim can't help but chuckle as he drags his hands down his face. 

"You really gotta wake me up too? It's...aw man, it's only 8?"

A quick check of his phone confirms he's only slept four hours. Seriously? He was really settling in for a solid ten hours today too. He drags a hand down his face, then tries his best to glare at the kitten in his lap.  

She stares back, lets out another ear piercing mow, and promptly starts gnawing on his fingers. 

Tim sighs and accepts he's lost this fight.

"Right. Let's get some food in you."

________________________

A quick shower, ratty t-shirt and shorts, and fifteen minutes finds Tim sitting at his kitchen island, sipping a chai tea and watching the kitten scarf down what has to be half her body weight in a mix of wet and dry kitten food. He's not surprised she's hungry- the alleyway couldn't have provided the best selection of food, and he'd been too tired and worried about getting her clean last night to try and also make her something to eat. 

He'd fed it to her in small increments so she wouldn't make herself sick, and he watches her as she finishes off the last of her bowl.

His tablet sits beside him, open to a half assed draft of his report for W.E. His reports usually start like that- basically nonsense and strings of letters as he collects his thoughts and replaces the nonsensical bits with charts and graphs and long stretches of financial information he and his investors already know. He makes a point of texting Bruce to let him know he'll be taking patrol off for a few days under the guise of a well needed break . With how much Bruce has been pestering him to take a breather, he knows B will go through changes to ensure Tim gets all three days he's asking for undisturbed. He still assures that he'll be working on W.E things remotely and running comms for the Titans if necessary, because dropping all work would simply be too suspicious.

It'll keep the rest of his family off his back too. The last thing he wants in the entire Bat peanut gallery storming his Perch to get a look at the kitten.

He hums softly, pulling his phone close to him to do a bit more cat research while his- the kitten licks her paws. A quick Googling and flipping through cat sites told him the kitten was likely about four to five months old- she has most her teeth, if they're tiny, and her coordination, while awkward at times, is still more confident than a kitten who's only a few weeks old.  And he was right- she's a girl. Nearly all calicos are.

He slots that information away in a mental folder he's started calling 'Not Immediately Useful Information.' It contains things like knowing the Eiffel Tower is six inches shorter in the winter and that China throws away over 2 billion chopsticks a year. 

It's a really big folder. 

He watches his newest acquisition finish cleaning her paws, then she wanders her way over to Tim's feet, miaowing and demanding his attention. Tim sighs.

"Needy, aren't you kitten?" 

"Miaow." 

He chuckles as he scoops her up and settles her into his lap. She pulls herself up onto the island, sniffing her new surroundings curiously. Tim keep a sharp eye on her, gently guiding her away from the edges where she could fall, and moving his cup of tea away when she tries to dip her head in to drink.  Her adventure comes to an end when she, in true cat fashion, starts batting at a spoon to push it off the island top. Tim huffs, scoop her up, and dumps her back in his lap. 

She seems content enough, getting comfortable by kneading Tim's lap. (Tim's very glad he trimmed her nails in the bath.) 

He sighs softly and turns his attention back to his tablet and drafting his W.E quarterly report. If he starts absently scratching behind the kitten's ear, relishing in her rattly purr, well. 

Nobody will know but him.

Chapter Text

Jason shows up halfway through the first day. 

Of course he does.

He shows up as he usually does- with zero fanfare, through the window, and somehow bypassing Tim’s security system that is decidedly not Bat style. He's going to have to up his security game again. He’s starting to think Jason takes it as a challenge whenever Tim upgrades his security measures. 

It's not like Jason has his own code or anything. That would just be silly.

Because Jason is allowed in his safehouses, so long as he resets any security codes when he leaves, replaces any utensils he uses, stops eating all of Tim's goddamned cereal, and doesn't attempt to murder Tim in his sleep if he's there.

Since Jason has made a real attempt on his life.

Several times. 

With his fists, a batarang, a knife, a gun. 

But they’ve been better, since then. An actual discernible point would be hard to find, but Tim would have to say it’d be around the time Red dragged a bullet riddled Hood to his nearest safehouse, plucked all the lead out of him, and stitched him up before collapsing onto his couch. 

The morning found a slightly woozy with blood-loss Jason making waffles of all things at his stovetop, and giving Tim a right bitching about his syrup choices. Because “yer a goddamned rich boy, yeah? Ya can afford the good stuff, not this corn syrup bullshit. Cryin’ fucking shame, baby bird.’

Tim had been so baffled he'd just sat down at the table (which was set and had a cup of coffee already ready, what the fuck) and blithely responded that it wasn't often he made himself waffles- and by often he meant never- and even he wasn't nice enough to try and weather Alfred's. Hence, no real syrup.

Jason had scoffed at him and called him a 'fuckin' helpless millennial'.  

Tim rightfully took offense.

From there, it just seemed like they collided more and more- either on purpose or accident. It was strange to say the least, because before, the most interaction Red Robin and Red Hood had were the occasional nod of acknowledgement as they passed by the borders of their patrol routes and the even rarer meets for information. Now it seems like they're colliding every other week, every few days, teaming up even more. Red was even asked to come along on a bust of one of Falcone's warehouses- as backup, sure, but it was Hood who asked. Not Bruce, worried about Jason's safety like he still obviously was, not Dick, still vainly trying to use his numerous friends and connections to keep an eye on Jason, not even Babs, who had the least reservations about pulling every thread she owned to keep one of her own as safe as she could. Because Tim would have gone to any of those calls. But it was Jason who reached out and that made it light-years different. 

An odd tentative relationship of 'co-workers who occasionally stitch each other up' evolved into 'friends who occasionally stitch each other up.'

    And suddenly Tim’s Perch was Tim’s Perch and also Jason, which was an odd and startling development that Tim wasn’t sure he minded. Sure Jason could be an ass at the best of times, cocky and abrasaize and more often than not grating on every nerve Tim had and then some, but he was company that understood his particular hangups with the Batfamily, understood what it meant to never be number one. And he was better company than Tim would have ever expected.

In any case, Jason is in his Perch. He’s not on his couch, feet up on the coffee table like Tim’s told him a thousand times to not do, eating all his cereal. He’s not at Tim’s desk with a handful of folders for help with a case that they would pour over until the night called; when Red and Hood made for the streets. He's not even curled up on the lumpy but comfortable loveseat with a book chosen from the stack already sitting at the foot of the couch, a cup of tea that Tim only keeps for Jason cooling on the coffee table.

Instead, he’s crouched on the floor, the Hood left on the coffee table along with his .44s. His shoulders are shaking minutely, and for a moment Tim's heart leaps into his throat. Of course Jason is probably here because he's hurt. It's still daylight, the exact opposite of prime patrol time, but Jason lacks the same daytime social obligations that the rest possess in the form of flighty C.E.O Brucie Wayne, innovative R&D Director Tim Drake-Wayne, charming Detective Grayson, and bratty but fiercely intelligent Gotham Heights student Damian Wayne.  Jason could waltz around Gotham during sunup to do his vigilante business if he so pleased.

Tim suspects that he only operates at night because it's easier, and it's what he's used to. He viciously tries to make everybody forget he was once Robin, but everything he learned while he was the second Robin had settled deep into his bones and his instincts and his fighting style- which is more brutal and aggressive than when he wore the pixie boots, but distinctly noticable if you knew where to look.

Tim doesn't even manage to take one step before those shoulders shake harder, and is suddenly joined by the rumbling tenor of Jason's voice. A noise Tim has come to know intimately as Jason laughing.

Then he hears a tiny miaow.

Of course.

He sighs, the bit of adrenaline that had shot through his veins evaporating like steam on hot asphalt. Instead he sets down his empty cup of chai tea heavily onto the island. Loud enough to alert Jason of his presence before he speaks or approaches. He's learned it's always best to give Jason a heads up.

Otherwise, you could wind up slammed into a wall with a gun pressed firmly into your temple and a thick forearm crushing your windpipe. 

That was always fun. 

(That hadn't happened in a while, since before Jason went on a little vacation and detoxed from the Pit.)

"Why did I give you a code if you clearly never plan on using it?" Tim questions as he approaches, shifting towards Jason's side as opposed to his back. He trusts Jason well enough, but it's easier to keep Jason calm by staying out his blind spot. God knows he tenses up when people approach him from his own blind spot- back left. 

Jason huffs out another laugh, pulling his hand higher as the kitten wiggles her little butt and leaps for it. She totally misses, but points for enthusiasm and perseverance, because the calico kitten rolls back onto her paws for a second attempt, meowing with affront. Jason guffaws.

"Gotta jump higher than that, lil' bit," he gently chastises, running his fingers down the kitten's head to her little bob tail. She wiggles around to try and bite at his fingers. He turns to Tim, grinning lazily.

"Sup, replacement. When'd ya get a cat?"

"Last night. Just fostering her for now," Tim replies, as his- the kitten finally notices him. She rushes over to him and miaows up at him. "Until the shelters open back up. Most are closed in observance of the holiday."

Jason snorts. "Didn't know ya were big on pets. Thought tha' was Demon's thing."

"She was in the rain, Jason. Cold and soaked. I couldn't just leave her there." 

"Ain't ya just the Sara McLaughlin of the generation. Ya bleeding heart." But his tone gentles, turns less mocking. He watches Tim crouch down and scratch behind the kitten behind her ears and under her chin the way she likes. She purrs so hard her chest rattles.

Jason snorts. 

"She's damn cute though. Anyways. Just dropping in to do a lil' matinence on some a' my gear- safe house on Barrow was compromised."

Tim's brow furrows.

"Compromised?"

"Bat-dad and littlest hell-spawn decided ta drop in for a visit." Jason rolls his eyes. "Dunno how they found that little bolthole, but I hadda move. Nobody gonna expect me here, at least. Don't need Bat eyes on any of my shit or murder attempts from Demon. Not even mentionin' Sparkles."

Tim winces on reflex. Strange that Dick’s name now elicits that.

"Dick's back in town?"

"Yep. Golden boy blew in last night- B voice-of-god'd him into helpin' demon brat with a case. Not that he wouldn't have, but our favorite hellspawn didn't appreciate the glorified babysitter role since 's benched otherwise. From what I heard, 's already askin' round about you."

Tim winces harder. He and Dick have been... better ... since the whole 'taking my cape without my consent' thing, but it's not something they've talked about and actively fixed with words and apologies. It's just sort of assumed, both of them avoiding the topic directly- Dick he assumes out of guilt, Tim because the wound is still raw, still hurts, and Tim can't promise he won't lash out at Dick if it's brought up again. And though they're better, they're still a little stiff and awkward around each other, because Dick chose his little brother and it wasn't Tim, and Tim is almost hyper aware of it at all times.

Nightwing and Red Robin haven't flown together in a long time.

So no. He's not exactly happy to know Dick's back at the Manor.

"You didn't…"

"Sell ya out?" Jason grins. "Nah. 's far as Dickie knows you're still kicking it with the Titans in San Fran. I didn't tell Goldie jackshit- wasn't gonna sell out the only Bat I can actually tolerate. He's gonna figure it out soon though. And ya know he'll be knocking down ya door." 

"I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," Tim deadpans. "Do me a huge favor. Don't tell Dick- or anybody really- that I have a cat right now."  The cat in question is distracted from chewing on Tim's shoelaces when he gently rolls one of her little jingle ball toys past her. She rears up on her hindquarters, waving her front paws around awkwardly, before pouncing on the ball and batting it about. Jason guffaws at her.

"She's really not staying long, and I don't want anybody getting too attached to her or even the idea of her."

Jason shrugs.

"Ain't my damn business, baby bird. Really just here to service my gear before I hit Coventry and I'm on my way. You still got my gun oil here, yeah?" 

"Top left drawer," Tim says, waving a hand to the drawers on his island. Jason already knows how to open the catch near the top- a little trick lock that opens up to the island's interior, hollowed out to store things such as weapon oil, soldering tools, and a few other bits of tech. Odd, but not telling enough that if someone managed to get into it, they would be suddenly aware that Tim Drake-Wayne prances about at night as Red Robin. 

No, those catches are hidden far, far better.

Jason nods and slips past him to retrieve the oil, gently bumping Tim's shoulder as he passes in a way Tim's come to realize is a small form of affection. Tim smiles and goes past him to flop onto the couch, pulling his work tablet out and setting it onto his lap. When Jason returns, he's holding an old stained rag, a large equally stained cloth, and his favored bottle of gun oil- the only brand he's willing to use and therefore, the only one Tim keeps on hand- and Tim's soldering iron and tech pieces. He settles down besides him on the couch. He drapes the cloth over the coffee table as he begins to deassemble his weaponry.  The kitten abandons her jingle ball when she notices Tim settling on the couch- she bounds over and climbs up the couch to curl easily into his side.

"Though if I had ta say," Jason begins, nodding to the kitten, "lil' bit there seems to really like ya. Seems real taken with 'ya."

"She probably just acknowledges that I got her out of the rain and gave her food," Tim responds absentmindedly, fingers expertly dancing across the tablet as he responds to various emails and confirms a few meeting makers Tam's set up for him. He's relieved to see the few she scheduled were all more than doable with a video conference. No need to actually leave his Perch. 

Or put on pants.

"I think she just likes me because of that. I don't really think she particularly prefers me," he says, tapping his tablet's screen to confirm two meetings and push another back- he wants to delay the budget meeting as long as possible.

Jason rolls his eyes as he runs his rag over the barrel of his .44.

"Potato, potahto. Cats are real finicky, baby bird. Particular. They ain't like dogs, showin' their belly to tha first nice hand, yeah? If she didn't wanna be around ya, didn't like ya, ya'd damn well know it."

The kitten purr-rups her agreement.

Tim rolls his eyes. Swallows down the weird feeling those words dredge up.

"Whatever. She's not staying."

"Sure she ain't," Jason says with an amused snort- because Tim's free hand has totally drifted down to gently stroke down the kittens back. He lapses into silence, and it's amiable and comfortable. Just the repetitive sounds of Jason taking apart his weaponry and cleaning then, the tap of Tim's fingers on his tablet, kitten purring away at his hip. 

Tim shifts slightly. It's...strange, how comfortable this is. The easy way Jason is cleaning his weapons and servicing his hood, entirely out of his gear and loose, relaxed. The sounds of the kitten's rattly purrs, oddly soothing and comforting. The familiar presences on both of his sides. 

How right it feels.

Tim swallows it down and focus on his fiscal report. He's learned to not get attached to things that are transitory, things that can't stay his. He already learned the hard way how it hurt to have those things torn from you, because they were never meant to stay with you.

(His parents his friends his cape-)

That line of thought is interrupted when Jason grunts and leans over to shove him. The movement yanks Tim from his thoughts and back into the present. He inhales sharply as he's jostled from his thoughts, letting go of a breathe he didn't know he was holding. 

"Cool it, baby bird. Yer thinkin' so hard I can smell the smoke from yer gears turnin'. Whatever yer grindin' yer teeth on, let it go 'n relax a bit."

He's not wrong. Tim's always had a way to work himself into a rut with his own thoughts, letting them grab onto the raw edges of the things that shouldn't hurt him anymore and twist until they burned and ached like they were fresh. He would let them drag him down into a rut of negative and scathing thoughts all directed at himself, a swirling cloud of self doubt and self incriminations. 

As if sensing his distress, the kitten wiggles from underneath his hand. She instead crawls right into his lap to knead his legs. She's still purring softly, and butts her head against his hand when Tim gently rubs under her chin the way she likes, and she stretches out in his lap with a yawn.

Tim shoves the intrusive thoughts out and instead tries to focus on the feeling of the kitten's soft fur, the rise and fall of her chest, the vibration of her rattly purr, the soft rumble of Jason singing softly under his breath, "‘even if the sky is falling down, I’ll know that we’ll be safe and sound…'

And somehow, someway, it's just enough to cool his nerves, chase away the negative thoughts, and allow him to breathe again.

________________________

Jason ends up staying over.

 He usually does- he’s not the only Bat with a spare changes of both civvies and costume at Tim’s Gotham Perch, after all. (No, there’s things for Steph, Cass, and even Damian has a few articles neatly hung up in the guest room.)  It’s quite normal for Jason to hang around Tim’s Perch until well into the night, especially when the two plan to head out on patrol together. Tonight though, Jason is in his barely used kitchen, small portable radio playing some R&B station while he's chopping the ends off a bunch of asparagus he plans to pair with the filet of salmon that he brought over a few nights ago- apparently for Tim to do something with.

Tim has no idea why Jason would ever do that. He couldn’t begin the tell you where to start with a filet of salmon and the best way to cook it. It wasn't like Tim couldn't cook. He could make himself an omelet in the morning, fried rice in the evening if he felt so inclined. 

He just couldn't cook well. 

Complex recipes were totally beyond him regardless of how well he followed the instructions- a few less than ideal dinner ideas put into the trash were more than enough to teach Tim that particular lesson. And left to his own devices he would surely butcher such a nice cut of fish beyond recognition. Jason had found the fish (still wrapped) tucked away in his freezer while rifling through his fridge for some of his leftovers and gave Tim a withering glare. Tim had just shrugged and gave Jason his reasoning.

"It'sa fish, baby bird. Not a prime cut steak. All ya gotta do is spice it, put some lemon on it, throw it in the oven. Ya can't even do that?" 

Tim shrugs again, leaning over the back of the couch as he watched Jason peel his way through a small bag of russet potatoes. He didn't even know he had russet potatoes. 

"Logically I probably could," he responds. "I just couldn't do it well. And I'm pretty sure you'd be pissed off if I messed it up by overcooking ir or over spicing it or something."

"Damn straight," Jason grumbles. Tim grins. Jason's always had an appreciation for a fine cut of fish or meat, an appreciation groomed into him by Alfred. He had taught Jason how to identify and inspect such a prime cut, the best places to obtain the most ideals cuts, and how to cook them to perfection. It was a lesson Alfred attempted to coax all the Robins into, but only Jason had any real talent for it. Dick didn't care to cook, Tim lacked the time and the talent, and Damian's vegetarian ideology put that past him entirely. 

Beyond all of that though, Jason in his kitchen was a regular sight by now. He enjoyed the amenities of Tim’s state of the art kitchen complete with appliances, even if Tim himself used the shiny chrome french press more than literally any other appliance. Alfred had had the foresight to remind to Tim to purchase such basic kitchen things such as nice pots and pans, silverware, a blender- and as such, Jason had more than enough utensils to whip up most anything he wanted. In exchange for using his kitchen, all Tim asks for is a plate of whatever Jason’s cooking.

It lets them both pretend that Jason wasn’t going to try and feed him anyways. Both because Jason thought he was in a pitiful weight class and because Jason generally enjoys cooking for others, enjoys being able to preen over his cooking skills. Before the deal was even made, Jason would always make just a bit ‘too much’- and always just enough for a plate with the portion sizes Jason tried to impose on Tim anyways. And of course, he wasn’t “going ta’ let good food to waste, get yer ass over here and eat, Timbers.”

Not that Tim was complaining. He still has yet to have a plate of huevos rancheros as good as Jason’s. Besides, he certainly wasn’t using the kitchen himself. Any leftovers he didn’t eat would often be eaten by Jason himself, Steph, Cass, or Damian, when they swung through Tim’s Perch while he wasn’t there.

Speaking of Damian.

Tim pulls himself off the back of the couch, leaving Jason to his russet potatoes and his radio. The kitten- formally declared “Chai” by Jason for how many times she tried to dunk her head into Tim’s cup when it was holding his chai tea- is still asleep, but Tim had instructed Jason to retrieve her bed and blanket from his room, which he set her into and put on the couch next to him. But she’s here because she’s not in a shelter- something Tim specifically asked Damian to look into and had received an affirmation.

He needs to contact Damian, see what happened that left to Chai being left in the alleyway alone. He knows it’s not out of malice or Damian refusing to do anything Tim would ask of him- because Damian is older, and the two of them have moved past all that. 

True to Tim’s original line of thought* he was right- the only way he would gain Damian’s respect was to kick the little snot’s ass. It had come at the end of almost three hours of non-stop sparring that devolved into a full on brawl, the damage falling just shy of killing each other. Bruce and Dick both had wanted to intervene. Tim isn’t sure what stopped them- maybe Alfred, maybe Babs, maybe the knowledge that it had to happen, was the natural evolution of the their relationship, the bottom of the downward spiral.

But from the bottom you can only go up.

When the dust cleared, Tim stood as victor. Torn half to bloodied shreds yes, but proving his own battle prowess regardless of foe. And while they sat in the Med Bay being tended to by a fussing Alfred they had just… talked. Like normal people. No jabs, no snark, no spitting insults. Just had a normal (as normal as a conversation with Damian could get) conversation. They discussed themselves- how they’d come to this. 

When Tim had questioned if Damian knew why he’d approached him to spar, why he hadn’t reacted with anger when Damian had gone for a near fatal never strike and only retalited with a shoulder smash so strong that if Damian hadn’t braced for impact it would have broken his ribs, he’d only nodded. They ended up dissecting themselves, what had soured so their relationship early that it withered and died before they had the chance to fix it.

What it had boiled down to was that they were intimidated by each other. Tim by Damian being the blood son, the real Robin that Dick and Bruce had wanted, the son and little brother they wanted, and therefore ousting Tim out of their lives entirely.

(It’d already happened with his cape.)

For Damian, it was the constant shadow of his predecessor. The reputation Tim-as-Robin had built both as a standalone hero and one who had partnered with some of the most prestigious superhero teams as a leader, his standing in Gotham notwithstanding. Things only got worse at the acknowledgement Tim received from Ra’s- something Damian himself had never earned even when he was actively in line with his grandfather’s way of thinking.

Damian could admit he’d found his place as Robin, among the Teen Titans, that he was older and no longer felt the need to oust Tim from his role as one of Bruce’s sons to take his place. Tim had come into his own as Red Robin, had found his footing as the leader of the Titans and as a hero in Gotham. They knew they couldn’t just wipe the slate clean- it was far too marred, burned too many times for anything like that. But they could at the least start over, with their new knowledge of each other’s thought processes. 

From there, doors seemed to open. It took some time and many more violent verbal quarrels, but they eventually reached a point where they could tentatively be called friends. They still snarked the hell out of each other, but it lacked the venomous edge of enemies and took on the mocking quality of brothers. They worked together without being damn near stapled together to make it happen, and the two would invite the other’s help without any outside prompting.

(Dick’s jaw damn near hit the floor when Damian openly conceded that the code keeping him out of a newcomer mob bosses’ private folders was beyond him and called in for Tim’s help.)

Now, Damian was somebody Tim actively and happily considered a comrade, an ally, somebody he could call on for assistance. So he knows Damian would answer a request for something as simple as a pick up. Also, it was two kittens. Damian really was the one with a soft spot for pets, evidenced by his seemingly ever growing menagerie.  He wouldn’t let the two kittens simply stay there to face Gotham’s unforgiving winters alone. 

Tim rises from the couch, making his way into his bedroom. Passing by his desktop, Tim stands before a patch of seemingly innocuous wall, wholly unremarkable from the rest of the seemingly similar wall and decorated with three black and white photos that feature Gotham’s skyline from various points around the city- the Wallstone, Wayne Tower, and GCPD headquarters. The most impressive being from the Wallstone, and that particular photo is in the center of the three. But it’s the photo from Wayne Tower Tim shifts to the side to reveal a slightly indented bit of wall. Pressing his hand against the wall activates a fingerprint scanner and a bit of the wall slides away as an elevator, taking him straight down when he steps in**.

Tim’s theater apartment is the Perch, but this is his Nest.

The Nest is built underground, three levels underneath the renovated theater. There’s only two ways to enter it outside of the hidden elevator in Tim’s room- a hidden elevator from his living room activated by pulling a lever in the fishtank and a hidden tunnel from the outside that still required a fingerprint scan and vocal recognition if not opened with an access code. While it doesn't come even close to rivaling the Cave, it's still decked out with all the amenities a vigilante could want- a training level, a vehicular bay that's currently housing the Redbird and the Redwing (a modified and souped up Ducati,) a crime lab set up, a supercomputer Tim wired up himself that actually does rival the Bat-computer. 

And a popcorn machine.

Tim strides over to his communications center, waving a hand to bring up a large holographic screen. It hums to life with a yellow-red glow, his symbol lighting up on it's translucent face.

"Good evening, Redwire. Call Robin."

"Calling," it responds back as it connects to the Cave. His communication systems are remotely connected to the Batcomputer the same way his tablet and phone are, allowing him remote access to their reports and files. The connection goes both ways- Bruce has backdoor access into Tim's systems as well. Tim knows he uses it to keep tabs on him like the control freak he is, which is why most filed reports and access records have dummy timestamps and false pings to keep Bruce off his ass while retaining a modicum of truth.

Tim will always be an acolyte of the Bat, a Robin, but that doesn't mean he always wants the Batman breathing down his neck.

Big vigilante now. He doesn't need his hand held while he patrols.

Speaking of patrol, when the Cave finally connects to Damian, he's in full Robin wear, green domino and all. Tim suspected he would be- the sun has fallen, which means it's time for the the bat and bird to fly. Behind him, Tim can see Bruce near the Batmobile's bay, cowl down and fiddling with his grapple gun. It's been functioning as intended but making an odd grating sound when it's shot. Not very inconspicuous.

"Timothy," Damian greets, tone dry but not unwelcoming. 

Tim waves a hand. "Hey, Dames. This will be quick. You did look into that recovery I sent your way two weeks ago, yeah?"

Damian sniffs. "Recovery of the kitten, yes? All went as intended. Said kitten is now being rehabilitated at Meowjesty Sanctuary. He is doing quite well, I've been told."

Kitten? Tim's eyebrows furrow.

"Did you only recover one?" 

"There was only the one, Timothy." Damian frowns. "I searched the entire ally for a half hour. Only one grey tabby kitten was found. Was there meant to be more?"

Tim chews on that mentally. Somehow, only the grey kitten was in the alleyway the night Damian went to collect them. Damian is a Bat too- he wouldn't have overlooked a cat, no matter how well hidden. Which means Chai simply wasn't there when Damian was. 

Tim debates telling Damian that one was missed. But that would open a line of questioning of where the kitten was now, did Tim leave the kitten there, the shelters were currently closed so where was the kitten being housed- which would inevitably devolve into Damian deducing that there was no way Tim left the last kitten alone, and with the shelters closed the kitten would have to logically be with Tim, which would bring Damian descending upon him like a righteous storm of cat defending justice.

"No," he finally decides, without missing a beat. "I just heard meowing, so I assumed it'd be a litter. Glad to hear the little one's doing well."

"Yes," Damian responds with a firm nod. "He will be a fine and handsome companion. I was tempted to house him myself, but I doubt either Alfred would respond amicably to yet another cat."

The mental image makes Tim snort- both Alfred the Englishman and Alfred the cat looking down their noses at the grey tabby. He can even hear a mental "I say!"  Damian's lips quirk too.   

"Is there anything else, Timothy? It is almost time to patrol."

"Nah, that was all." Tim waves a hand, and smiles. "Punch some baddies in the face for me."

"Ah yes. You are taking a break. Father mentioned this. This is well advised; you are of no use to Father's mission lethargic and slow."

"Yeah yeah," Tim rolls his eyes. "Have a good night, baby bat. Tell B I said hey."

"Of course. Robin signing out." The screen goes dark, then hums back to life in gentle yellow-red, the Red Robin logo on the holographic screen. Tim shuts the system down and runs a hand through his hair. Chai wasn't there the night Damian went to collect them, but was the night Red Robin returned to his Gotham patrol route.

So where the hell was she?

He sticks a mental pin in the thought, resolves to return and inspect the alleyway later. See if he can't find some answers. But at the very least he knows the grey tabby is being well cared for. He toys with the thought of taking Chai to Meowjesty. His mind skitters uncomfortably away from the thought in a way he's unprepared for and unsure what to do with.

He sighs. He can stress about it later. There's a plate of excellently cooked salmon waiting on him upstairs.

Chapter Text

A plate of pan-seared salmon, asparagus, garlic mash potatoes, and homemade bread rolls of all things (he has flour?) finds Tim and Jason vegging out on his couch and arguing to episodes of Black Mirror on Netflix. Jason had decided to skip patrol tonight to "keep Chai company", and instead had Roy running his usual routes. Gotham is still right in the midst of a seasonal shift, so it's bound to be quiet and stagnant.

Chai is napping in Jason's lap. While she does tend to prefer Tim, Jason seemingly earned her favor by slipping her bits of salmon all night. Jason had just shrugged and said, " you try resisting those eyes."

Tim has it on good authority that Jason didn't even try.

"I'm just sayin', ya would definitely get yer panties in a bunch over getting a three-star ratin' in this world. Ya got all offended when I criticized yer stupid cowl," Jason drawls, Bowery accent coming out strong. He's leaning back, body loose and relaxed, grinning a dazzling lazy smile that makes Tim a little weak in the knees.

"First of all, it was your cowl first, what the hell. Second, no I wouldn't. I get trashed on social media all the time and it doesn't hurt my fragile little feelings." 

"I wore it better. Obviously."

"Shut up before I give you two stars."

"Ouch, babybird."

They rib each other good naturedly a few more times before Tim's security system lets out a chirp. "Batgirl's security code has been input remotely. Batgirl requesting clearance to the Nest."

"Let her in, Redwire," Tim says, suddenly at attention. He grabs his phone, tapping into a line to send the code down to the Nest's ground floor entrance. "And open up a comm line."

"Affirmative." 

Tim waits until Steph's comm crackles to life. 

"Hey there, ex-boyfriend. Heard you weren't patrolling, so I came to check up on you. I don't believe that 'taking a break' BS one bit, no matter what Bruce or Dick says." He can hear the purr of her improved Ricochet in the background.

"Hey Steph," Tim sighs. His eyes cut to the side, where Jason is still watching the screen, but has tensed. Ready to bolt if necessary. Steph and Jason have always had a bit of a strained relationship over the Tim Issue™, and with Jason keeping his body count down and his knives out of those wearing the Bat, he'd rather avoid a fight altogether if Steph comes rolling around. Both have tongues sharp as razors and could do damage just as great.

Tim can't help but reach over and gently lay a hand on Jason's thigh. He snorts and rolls his eyes- but relaxes under his hand.

"I really am taking a break. W.E's hitting quarterly report time, and that's eating up more downtime than patrol ever did."

(He's not wrong. )

"I'm just taking a quick breather to get it out of the way. B said Cass already agreed to manage my route."

"She did," and Tim knows the sound of Steph's pout when he hears it. The nostalgia makes him grin. "You've interrupted our girl time! Girls can't bond over punching some evil rando's teeth out when one of them is halfway across town on somebody else's patrol route." 

"A tragedy," he deadpans. "Left in the cold for these three long days. How can I ever make it up to you."

"Glad you asked Boy Wonder," she chirps, suddenly brightening. "My patrol route has been super dead tonight, so I was gonna turn in early because I'm exhausted and have a test in the morning, but I'm alllll the way on this side of town so can I crash at the Perch tonight?"

Aw hell.

Tim coughs. "Steph, why wouldn't you just turn back around and go home? You have the time. It's barely even three." 

"I was headed this way to check on you anyway," she responds, and he hears the sound of the Nest's underground tunnel opening to allow her in. Damn , but she really was close by. "Why would I head all the way back home? Besides," her tone grows sour.

"Dad's pulling another 'reformed man' stunt and of course, Mom's all over it. She calls him like, every night. It's nauseating that she still believes in him… I hate hearing it."

Her tone is bitter and biting, but Tim knows Stephanie well enough to hear the bit of hurt underneath. That her mother could so easily forgive the Cluemaster time and time again when he'd caused them both so much hurt, so much pain, so much uncertainty about their future. Hell, Tim hates him by proxy just from Steph's own intense dislike.

But because of that, he can sympathize. Steph doesn't deserve to dredge through her mother's blind forgiveness and be present for the inevitable fallout. He can grant her a night or two. He sighs.

"Yeah, I hear you. Dress down when you hit the Nest and come on up. You can park the Ricochet with the Redwing. Jason's here too, so play nice."

"Only if the Red Boob plays nice first. Thanks though, Tim. I...really appreciate it."

"Anything for you." And even all these years later, god does he mean it. "See you in a bit."

The line clicks off with a bit of finality, and Tim sighs heavily. Jason side-eyes him.

"Guess Blondie's makin' a pit stop?"

"More like a rest stop. She's off patrol and doesn't want to go home. She's promised to sheath her claws."

"Speakin' o which." He looks down at the napping calico kitten. "Ain't Chai still supposed to be the big secret?"

"She'll stay that way," Tim affims. He scoops Chai from Jason's lap and settles her in her bed- she hardly stirs. Tim is grateful she's such a heavy sleeper. "I'll take her to my room. My walls are soundproof so she can meow her little head off and Steph won't hear." He picks her bed up and carts her off. "You be nice too, Jason."

"Scout's honor," he drawls.

"You were never a scout,” Tim fires back as he goes up the stairs.

"Fine then. Bat's honor."

“Why not Robin’s honor?”

“Didja not see how that ended fer me the first time around?”

________________________

Steph arrived in three minutes- she showered and dressed down in the Nest and came up through the living room access path shortly after Tim came back downstairs fresh from putting Chai up. She’d greeted Tim amicably, dragging him into a hug before turning onto Jason. Steph stalked right up to him, nearly chest to chest. They maintained eye contact for a solid minute, the tension and silence so thick Tim could cut it with his bo staff. Neither were willing to back down. Tim's fingers twitched. Part of him wanted to stomp right up to them and tear them away from each other, but he knew from experience that it was a sure-fire way to start an all out brawl in his living room.

He doesn't want to buy another coffee table. It would be disrespectful to the memory of the last three. 

Then, without warning, “There’s leftovers if yer hungry. Salmon and asparagus and mash. Somethin’ fillin’ for you birds.”

And that seemed to be all it took. Steph had burst into a grin, her stance changing just slightly from threatening to relaxed.

“Well, what are you waiting for Hood? Fix a girl a plate!” 

Jason had grinned right back and declared “I ain’t fixin’ shit for you Blondie, do it yourself,” and a ball of tension that Tim didn’t realize had coiled tight in the center of his chest deflated just like that. He was able to laugh and step past Steph to make her a plate, as she’d dramatically thrown herself onto the couch declared that “she was a guest, why is she expected to make her own plate??”

It finds them relaxing on Tim's sofa again, Steph enjoying an episode of Black Mirror while she demolishes a plate full of salmon and asparagus. They bantered back and forth a bit while the episode rolled on, Jason and Steph managing to keep their barbs down to only mildly scathing. A big improvement over their usual snipes. Tim finds himself comfortable sandwiched between them, his head near pillowed on Jason’s shoulder and Steph’s legs across his lap.

It winds down when Steph finishes her plate and rises, running a hand through her hair. "This has been fun, ex boyfriend wonder," she yawns, stretching out a manner that's almost feline in nature. "But I've got a Civics final at nine am sharp. I know there's a law that bats are nocturnal, but this bat's going to sleep. You and Hood play nice."

Tim waves her off as she blows him a kiss and sways off to his guest room. Jason watches her go, before sighing and turning the TV off.

"Blondie's got the right idea," he says as he rises, rolling his shoulders and back with a series of pops. "Thinkin' itsa 'bout time I get rollin'. Gotta check up with Roy, make sure he ain't ruined my route." He reaches over to ruffle Tim's hair, earning an affronted noise and a shove to the chest that he only laughs off. Jason grabs his rewired hood from it's place on the coffee table, along with his cleaned .44s.

"The entirety of Crime Alley and The Bowery are probably on fire by now," Tim teases as Jason slips his hood on and holsters his weapons. "After all, Roy can be more explosive happy than you."

Jason flips him off without turning towards him, the eye lights of his hood flickering to life. Tim gets up himself. It is pretty late, and some sleep sounds nice right now. After all, he didn't get a much as he wanted the night before.

Who would win? A exhausted vigilante running on fumes and nearly fifty hours of no sleep ready to be dead to the world for at least ten hours, or one fussy girl?

Apparently one fussy girl.

As he begins to make his way to the stairs, he hears the sound of his window opening and his security systems arming itself. He turns back to see Hood giving him a two fingered salute as he crouches in the windowsill. "Night, baby bird." 

"Night Jay," he responds. And then window closes with a snick and the Hood is gone . Tim turns back to trudging up the stairs to his room. Unable to help himself he peeks into the guest room nearest his room, where the door is still cracked. He can only see a mess of blonde hair peeking out from a lump of steadily rising and falling blankets. He smiles softly, and gently pushes the door closed. 

Feeling settled and content, he retreats to his room, pleased to see that Chai is still curled up on her cat bed and sound asleep. He slides easily into bed opposite her. As soon as he does, her little green eyes pop open. She blinks blearily at him before tumbling out of her bed to curl up near his neck. Tim snorts. He reaches over to pet her behind the ears, and she purr-rups softly. Tim lets the sound of her content purring and the feeling of her warm, soft body curled into his neck lull him under to dreams of a vigilante standing atop a gargoyle, loyal cat sidekick curled around their shoulders.

________________________

Tim wakes because of two things: his vigilante senses going absolutely wild , and Chai making a tiny rumbly growl. She's still curled into his neck, but she's poofed herself out a little in the usual cat response to an unknown threat. He can tell from the extra amount of fur suddenly pressing into his jaw. 

His vigilante senses are telling him something unwelcome is in his room, tucked in a corner. They had slipped in while he was sleeping. He cracks one eye open the barest amount and quickly accesses the situation. It's only one person he thinks- if there are any others they're expertly hidden. It's barely morning- the light coming through his curtains is soft yellow, nothing like the golden mid-morning rays he's usually greeted by. Just after dawn then. His alarm system hasn't gone off, so it's either been disabled entirely or whoever got in has a code to his systems. 

Which does not bode well. 

His first thought is Ra's ninjas, there to carry out their master's often actually insane will. Ra's doesn't have a code to his systems, but he's been known to simply force override them by frying Tim's entire mainframe. The recent improvements to his systems and the new A.I enforcer Redwire limited that, but he wouldn't put it past Ra's to find another way around to his Detective.

Ra's, the holy hell I'm going to unleash upon you for waking me up this early will be fucking. Legendary .

His breathing pattern has already changed, so it's no use pretending he's still asleep. Instead, he makes a show of sighing and rising slowly, stretching his arms out from underneath his head.

In a flash of motion, he grabs a whirlybird from under his pillow- always prepared- and flings it in the direction of the unknown entity. Whatever is perched in the corner of his room tenses and expertly deflects the whirlybird, the metal disc glancing off the assailant's raised arm gauntlets. But in the same motion, those arms raise higher, hands open and palms facing Tim, who's now crouched on his bed over his small angry kitten.

"Not a threat," a soft voice offers as they step from the shadows. It's a voice Tim would recognize anywhere at any time, and he relaxes his coiled muscles as Cass steps out of the shadows, hands still up. She's still dressed as Black Bat despite it being dawn, so she must have gotten in fairly recently. Tim lets out the breath he was holding drags his hands down his face.

"Cass, what the hell," he groans. "You could always call ahead, knock on the door, maybe even use the door- yknow. Like a normal person?"  Why does nobody just use his door. He paid good money for that door. It's mahogany and everything. 

"Not normal," she offers back smugly as she approaches, domino already being pulled away and lips quirked into a fond smile. She settles onto the edge of his bed. " Bat. Don't use doors."

"Or call ahead apparently," he shoots back, but he's smiling anyways. Cass always has that effect on him. She'll always be one of his closest friends, his sister. He glances down, where Chai is still an affronted ball of fur, but she's no longer hissing and spitting. He gently runs a hand down her back, around her ears, under her chin, and keeps going until she's relaxed under his hands, no longer tense. Cass watches them silently, before pointing at the little calico.

"Have a cat," she states. Tim nods. Cass tilts her head curiously. "When? Why?"

"Recently," he responds, watching Cass carefully watch the kitten wash her paw. "I'm just fostering her until the shelters open back up." 

He rubs behind Chai's ear fondly and notices when Cass's lips twitch in a smile when the kitten miaow's in response. He looks down to Chai, then back up at Cass. He gently pushes Chai towards Cass. She leans forward like she can't help herself, before edging away. But she's staring at the kitten with something unreadable in her eyes. 

"Cass. Do you maybe wanna pet her?"

Her head snaps up. She looks down at the kitten again, then back up at Tim. 

"...won't like me," she says, voice soft and a touch sad. "Hissed at me." 

"You scared her. Me too. She probably reacted more to me tensing up honestly. If you go slow, she'll be fine. I think she's a pretty good judge of character." 

After all, she seemed to like Jason from the get go.

Cass looks at war with herself, fingers flexing in her lap as she stares at Chai. Tim is silent as he waits. Chai looks up at Cass, and miaows again.

"She seems to wanna get to know you at least," Tim murmurs. "Just put your hand out for her to sniff."

Cass is impossibly still before she stretches her hand out, slow and careful, for the kitten to sniff. The kitten eyes her carefully. Chai edges towards Cass and snuffles at her fingers. It takes a few long seconds and a stretch of silence, but eventually Chai grants her approval in the form of butting her head against Cass's outstretched fingers. Cass seems almost startled.

"Scratch her under her chin. She loves that," Tim instructs quietly. Cass lets her hand curl under the calico's chin and rubs ever so carefully, as if she's afraid of hurting the kitten. Maybe she is. Outside of Alfred, who is a spitfire in his own right, Tim knows Cass has had little interaction with cats- especially a small and fragile kitten. Maybe she worries about what the smallest amount of pressure could do to the tiny feline. What she was born to do, what she's had to work out of herself on her own.

Chai doesn't possess those same worries- she just twists happily, her rattly purr starting up as she nuzzles Cass's fingers.

Cass looks up at Tim with awe in her eyes.

"Love her," Cass decides as the kitten clambers into her lap in a demand for more pets. Tim can't help the huge grin that spreads on his face when Chai rears up to bonk her head under Cass's chin, and outright laughs at the adoring noise Cass makes in response.

"She's a sweetheart, agreed. Try not to get too attached though. I'm just fostering her."

Cass frowns at Tim, and he shrugs. "Realistically, I don't have the time to raise a kitten. They need lots of attention and care. A vigilante lifestyle doesn't really allow that." Even if the idea of Chai is growing more and more appealing the more time he spends in his kitten's company, he has to be realistic. He just can't drop everything to raise her. No matter how much he'd like to. 

Cass lets her frown grow deeper, as if she has some sort of retort. She doesn't get to voice it, because Chai decides at that moment to MOW loudly. The fingers under her chin go directly into her mouth for a gnawing. Cass is actually startled, and that drags another laugh out of Tim.

"And that is her 'feed me human' meow. Cmon. Breakfast sounds good right about now."

________________________

Chai continues her "hungry!!" complaints through Tim getting up, washing his face and heading downstairs. Cass follows at his heels like a silent black shadow, angry kitten cuddled in her arms. Her righteous anger is only soothed when Tim sets down her bowl of wet and dry mix. While she 'mlem mlem mlem' s her way through her breakfast, Tim slips into his kitchen to whip up some omelets for himself, french toast for Steph, and passes Cass her favorite box of gross sugary cereal. Cass gets away with alot- more than any if the boys, for sure- but even she isn't allowed to bring a box of Glucose Frosted Sugar Bombs (Now With Marshmallows!) within 100 feet of the Manor without attracting Alfred's ire. (Tim’s pretty sure Alfred has some sort of high sugar, high calorie, high fat sensor around the Manor to prevent his charges from attempting to sneak it in. He’s a Bat too. Tim wouldn’t put it past him.) 

 Though Tim agrees that nobody should be consuming whatever the hell that stuff is made out of, and certainly felt a small amount of shame for giving the company his money, it's a small price to pay for the way Cass's eyes light up when he passes her a fresh, unopened box with her name written across the top in black magic marker.

He chats quietly with Cass while he thinly slices spinach and mushrooms, grates cheese, dips the bread in the egg and sugar mixture to drop in the pan. He doesn't bother going to wake Steph- she's got a nose like a bloodhound and always manages to wake the moment she smells french toast cooking. Cass sits at his island, crunching through a bowl of gross sugary cereal so large, she’s probably making dentist everywhere wince. Her gaze switches between Tim and Chai a few times before she speaks again. 

"Why Chai?" she asks as Tim gently lays the toast down into the pan. "Name… I mean. Why Chai?"

Tim gently presses the bread in the pan, listening to it loudly hiss with a slight wince. He reaches over and turns the burner down, before looking over his shoulder at Cass.

“I didn’t name her,” he responds with a light shrug. “Didn’t think it would be necessary. Jason named her.” 

He doesn’t feel any trepidation telling Cass that Jason was over.  Cass knows that Jason is allowed in the Perch. She’s even been over at the same time, the two generally keeping their own space but amicably. While both Steph and Cass have previously seen Jason as an antagonist, more so considering he made a real attempt on Tim’s life, Cass is the one who was most willing to give him another chance once Tim made it clear he'd forgiven him.

“If I make the choice to forgive him, then I feel that should be extended to all the others as well. Since I am the one he tried to kill, after all. I feel like that gives me reigning choice,” he’d made perfectly clear to the rest of the Batfamily.

“She keeps trying to drink my tea, so Jason started calling her ‘chai kitty’ which eventually became ‘Chai’. It is a little better than ‘hey you, cat.’” And she seemed to like it- she responds to it about as much as one can expect a cat to react.

Cass hums into her bowl of Glucose Frosted Sugar Bombs (Now With Marshmallows!) “Naming… a bad idea. Right?”

“For those with weaker wills yea,” Tim says firmly. “But giving her a name doesn’t change my plans for her.” Even if his mind doesn’t like the visual of passing Chai over to a stranger and walking away, likely to never see his- the kitten again. Cass raises an eyebrow like she’s not totally convinced, but she doesn’t comment on it again, only shovels more dubious cereal into her mouth.

Like Tim predicted, the moment the smell of french toast makes it up his stairs, Steph comes out of the guest room like a blonde, frizzy haired wraith. She comes down them in a half awake daze, only kept upright by the smell practically pulling her by nose as if in a cartoon. She shambles like a zombie to Tim’s island, hops onto a stool next to Cass, and promptly plants her face into the black marble. Tim snorts. Everybody comments on his caffeine intake and less than normal sleep hours, but clearly they’ve never seen Steph during finals week. He can sympathize. At least he’s used to his abnormal schedules. Seeing Steph try to manage to sort of hours he keeps is kinda sad. She hasn’t even noticed that there’s an entire calico kitten attacking her kitten food near her feet.

“Morning, Blondie.”

“Good morning, Stephanie.”

“Hgrrrf.”

He pours her a cup of sympathy coffee- not the sort of pseudo jet fuel he drinks when he’s starting to feel the sleep deprivation, but still a strong blend meant to wrench one’s eyes open with a crowbar. He gently pushes it in front of her, and turns back to the stove to turn the heat off on the toast and slide it onto a plate. One side is a bit darker than the other, leaning towards a bit burnt, but it’s better than most of his attempts and at least smells awesome. Cass reaches over and rubs circles on Steph’s back. She makes a noise that is only vaguely humanoid and reaches out to drag the steaming mug towards her face.

Tim sets the plate down in front of her as well before he turns back to the stove to pour his egg mixture into a separate pan for his omelet. As soon as the taste hits her mouth she sputters, but then proceeds to blank the rest of the mug like a champion. Tim nods approvingly. She lets out a harsh exhale as soon as she’s done, shaking her wild mane and blinking hard.

“Jesus, I needed that,” she groans, running a hand through her hair. “You gotta tell me where you’re buying this stuff from. This would be awesome for when I need to study.”

“Turn into Tim,” Cass warns with a wag of her spoon. Tim makes an affronted noise when Steph snorts.

“Already turning into Tim with finals week and patrol… I’m so glad it’s cold out. Less criminal nonsense means more sleep for me.” She drags her plate over, inhales, and groans.

“Tim, I could kiss you right now. This smells awesome.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” he teases back and he carefully flips his omelet. She grins back, and the sight of her still slightly sleepy, wild hair everywhere as she nurses a mug of coffee makes affection bloom hard and strong in his chest. He still loves her, even if he isn’t quite in love with her anymore.  He swallows the feeling down so he can focus on cooking his omelet and not actually going over to Steph to claim that kiss.

While the current Batgirl attacks her french toast, Tim starts running a mental list of things to get done in the day. One of the meeting makers Tam set up for him is supposed to happen today at eleven. Tim wonders if he should put Chai in a separate room while he conducts the meeting, or if he should let her stay. She is a rather vocal cat, but she plays pretty quietly so long as she isn’t playing with her obnoxiously loud jingle bell balls. She can probably stay. He thinks onto his report as well- he can work on it again after the meeting. Maybe add some points they make during the said meeting. He also needs to check in with R&D and see how the rebound armor is coming along. It’s still a prototype in the testing phase right now, but it’s meant to be a weave that can take an impact and re-distribute the shock across the armor’s surface, minimizing the damage taken from blunt force impact. Tim knows it can handle a baseball bat and hammer. He’s been meaning to see if it can handle BBs and rubber bullets. If it can, it'd be a strong contender to the usual Kevlar. He makes a mental note to contact his team and let them know to start moving up to ballistics. He thinks about it, then makes another mental note to have Tam set them up with lunch, on him. If he has to shoot his people, the least he can do is buy them lunch.

He’s just thinking about what caliber BB to start with when he hears Steph choke on her toast and sputter. He turns just in time to see her swallow hard and clear her throat-

And absolutely squee .

“Oh. My God. Tim. Is that a kitten?! Has it been here this whole time?! You asshole ! You didn’t tell me you had a cat!” Her voice hits a pitch Tim forgot she could reach- both he and Cass wince.

She’s leaning over the island and beaming down at Chai, who’s licking her paws clean- an odd habit of her she always seems to do after eating. Food and exhaustion forgotten, Steph slides from her seat, crouching down with her hand out and calling the cat over by clicking her tongue to the top of her mouth.

The noise gets Chai’s attention. She looks up, chirps, and walks right over to Steph’s hand to nuzzle her fingers.  Steph scoops her up, cradling her in her arms.

“She’s so cute!! When did you decide to get a cat and why did you not tell me last night? Wait. Does Jason know about her? How come Cass and Jason got to meet her first?!”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t intend for anybody to meet her,” he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m just fostering her while the shelters are closed. I didn’t want anybody meeting her and getting attached to her. I don’t plan to keep her.” 

Steph furrows her brow. “Why not? It’s not like you don’t have the resources to keep up with a kitten.”

“I don’t have the time for one.”

Steph stares him down a little harder. “It’s a kitten, Tim. Not a puppy. They don’t really require constant supervision. They know to use their litterboxes or whatever so you don’t gotta housebreak them or anything. Most kittens will entertain themselves just fine when they’re not knocked out asleep. Besides, a kitty would do you some good. You really don’t need to be all alone as often as you are, and a cat makes for good company! So at least you’re not talking to yourself.” 

She lifts the kitten to her nose to coo at her, “I would totally play kitty babysitter if you really needed it. Yes, I would. I would, you little cutie-pie! You are just so cute; I could dip you in my coffee.”

“Would also watch Chai,” Cass offers with a firm nod. “Would protect her.” Her gaze is fierce- like she would truly be willing to fight an army of ninja for Chai, though Tim doesn’t think an army of ninja would come after a tiny calico kitten, even one owned by a vigilante.  

He… had never considered the possibility of asking for help raising Chai. He had always assumed it was the sort of thing he would go alone, but now that he’s thinking about it, it’s more than possible. While he went to work, he could easily have Steph or Jason come over and watch her- or even take her to their place temporarily if they didn’t want to stay at his Perch. It would be good for her too, giving her plenty of interaction with other people as she aged. It would ensure she was a well-adjusted cat, used to people and shuffling around back and forth. He’s sure even Damian would pitch in to attend to her. Alfred would probably make her gourmet kitten food the way he did his feline counterpart.

But that would practically be inviting the rest of the Batclan- namely Dick and Bruce- into his Perch, into his life. And he’s been doing a pretty good job translating the hurt he still feels towards the two of them into a frosty clinical relationship, only answering their calls when truly necessary. He avoided Bruce’s awkward and emotionally stunted attempts to talk, Dick’s thinly veiled attempts to get him to swing by the Manor for dinner or patrol or a movie night. Those make him particularly bitter. Yeah, ignore me for the better part of a year and then suddenly remember I exist only when you notice the lack of hero worship. It’s foolish, but he is still clinging onto a bit of hurt.

He’s snapped away from those thoughts when Steph gasps. “You named her already?”

“I didn’t!” he retorts defensively. “Jason did.”

“So Jason did know she was here before me! What the hell, Tim?!”

“She was supposed to be a secret; for fuck’s sake.” 

Cass is giggling up a storm while Steph pouts at him, hugging the kitten to her chest even as Chai wiggles to be set free.
“Not fair, ex boyfriend. Chai. That’s dumb. You should name her something cute, like Ginger, or Dolly! You look like a Dolly, yeah?”

“She’s Chai, Steph,” Tim warns with a raised eyebrow. “I never planned on naming her, but it suits her. She likes it well enough anyways.” Something about the idea of re-naming her rankles him. Her name was special, somehow, and he doesn’t want it changed. At least not while she’s still living with him.

Steph suddenly grins at him.

“Is it because Jason named her?”

Tim flings an oven mitt at her.

Chapter Text

Steph stays over just long enough to finish her toast, hop in the shower, and blow Tim and Cass a kiss as she bounds out the door. Tim slipped a thermos of his coffee blend into her bag as she tugged on her boots for her to find later- he knows how she starts to lag by noon if she didn’t sleep more than 5 hours the night before. 

He and Cass finish their breakfast in amicable silence, whereafter Cass wanders off in his Perch to play with Chai, which solves the issue of occupying the kitten's time during his meeting. Tim hops in the shower and dresses in an immaculately pressed white oxford shirt, Brioni blazer, sharp red tie, and the comfiest pair of sweatpants he owns. The best thing about his video meetings is that actual suit pants is totally optional. Tim is almost never wearing an entire suit to video conference meetings. He’s about 93% certain that it’s the same for most of attendees. 

The meeting ends up being the usual- which is a bunch of board members talking over themselves with Lucius and Tim having to act as the unifying forces to lasso them all together and start actually talking to each other instead of at each other.  Tim's presence always acts as a wrench thrown in the mix, a fresh young voice for them to scoff over and mumble complaints of neoptism, but it keeps them on track in both their collective desire to ignore his voice and their reluctant admittance that he often pitches excellent ideas as head of R&D. Lucius is a more than respected member of the board, and his voice carries the weight and volume Tim's doesn't. It’s exhausting work, being the adult for a room full of them, but if he and Lucius doesn’t do it they’ll talk themselves into an inane circle and get literally nothing done. While they banter at each other, Tim thinks on the rebound armour and how he wants to proceed, scribbling in his notebook while keeping his eyes on the screen and nodding where appropriate.

They don't get anything of note done, but Tim does decide what caliber BB he wants to start testing the armor with, so at least it’s a productive waste of his time. As soon as the meeting draws to a close and the board exchanges half hearted farewells, Tim disconnects feeling distinctly wrung out to dry as he shrugs out of his blazer. While he loved what he does, and loves his team even more, the Board exhausts the hell out of him more than patrol ever does. At least as Red Robin, his smaller height and slim frame is still more than enough threat for criminals, and the sight of his cowl is now enough to make some weaker willed criminals give up without a fuss. 

He breathes, dragging a hand down his face, before opening up his still somewhat half-assed report queued up on his tablet. He's in the middle of an internal debate against the figures he intends to include, scribbling down little notes to himself about each figure in his notebook when from the corner of his eyes, his laptop blinks twice. Tim turns to face it just in time to hear it make a short fzzt sound and promptly go dark. Tim stiffens. Redwire runs a full diagnostic every time he turns on his laptop, so this isn't a mere technical hiccup. As a vigilante deeply entrenched in with the more technical aspects of the job, he definitely knows a remote takedown when he sees one. His laptop security is one of the best in the world- Redwire is connected remotely to all his systems, and she's a beast of a security code that rivals the Batcomputer in her security measures. If somebody managed to break through that… Tim moves to enter the code for his full shutdown, likely the only thing that would shut out any intruders. He can backtrack and find the breach that let in the intruder in the first place and patch it once they're forced off his systems.

He's gotten in the first sequence of numbers when his laptop hums back to life, the screen flickering to a deep, staticky green. A familiar avatar blinks to life. The sight is all too familiar, and Tim immediately relaxes. Of all the people who could possibly have the hacking chops to get through the Redwire's code, this is probably the best option overall. 

"All work and no play makes a former boy wonder a dull boy," a faintly electronically modified voice warns in a dryly amused sing-song. The Oracle symbol glows almost merrily from it's position directly in the center of Tim's laptop. Tim rolls his eyes, tapping the side of his laptop with his pen.

"And there are better ways to get my attention than a takedown," Tim snarks right back, but he's unable to help a faint smile. While it's not as if it's been a particularly long time since he last spoke with her, speaking with Babs and Oracle are two entirely different conversations. The tabs Babs keeps on them as Oracle is clinically professional at best, crisp and clean so that Oracle can continue to keep the Batfamily moving smoothly and as intended- something that is only compromised by the inclusion of personal feelings and opinions. So it's good to hear from Babs, not Oracle, because it means this is just a social call. He still briefly toys with the idea of forcing Babs off his systems anyways, if only to make a point.

"Good to hear from you, Babs." Tim gently closes his notebook, pushing it absent mindedly to the side. "This just a social call?"

"Course it is." The avatar on his screen flickers, and then shifts into a videofeed of Babs, the interior of the Watchtower clear behind her. She's got her head cradled easily in one hand and a lazy but kind smile. The morning sun coming in from the window washes the room in a gentle golden glow. It bounces off Bab's vibrant hair to frame her face, giving her an almost ethereal glow. 

"Heard from the Big Bat you were taking a break," Bab starts easily. Her voice is suspiciously nonchalant. Tim nods easily.

"Yep. Just for a bit," Tim responds dryly, gesturing to his shirt and tie."  W.E is hitting quarterly report time and-"

"Uh huh, yeah." Bab cuts him off with a roll of her eyes, and casts Tim her patented 'how dumb do you think I am' look. He was intimately acquainted with it during his time as Robin when he attempted anything even remotely resembling trying to bullshit her. (She's Oracle for a reason. Actually, he thinks all Robins have been subject to her - because he's seen her successfully cow Damian right in the middle of one of his infamous tirades. He wouldn't be surprised.) And while Tim hasn't flown as Robin in a long time, he still wilts a little under the force of her gaze. Babs wouldn't use it if it didn't work , after all.

"Cut the crap, Tim. Have you been out of Gotham so long for forgot I have eyes everywhere? Everywhere . How's the little guy doing?"

Tim swears softly. He hadn't forgotten, of course, but hadn't thought Babs would be actively checking the CCTV for his whereabouts. Now that he thinks about it, the only active CCTV he would have been seen with Chai was the 24 hour pet store he'd popped in and out of that first night.

Bab just laughs. "Don't worry, little Red, this is a secure line. Only reason I looked into it was because you cut patrol early only say you were taking an immediate break, and we all know that's not like you. Figured if you hadn't already told the rest of the family about your little friend you didn't intend to. Makes sense, all things considered. You and Damian have been all aces recently, but I'm sure he'd bite your head off if he knew you had a cat that he didn't know about.

"I'm just calling to check up on you and the little guy. Never took you for the sort to want a pet."

Tim decides, tastefully he's sure, to not mention that wasn't true and had never been. He'd wanted pets- cats, dogs, this one friendly champagne fancy ball python he saw at a pet store and fell head over heels for. But Janet had basically forbidden it, and the one time he did bring a cat home, both Alfred and Bruce made it clear that it was not to stay. (Probably for the best- Teekyl was quite the grouchy cat even when with Klarion.) He also doesn't mention the bitter hurt he felt when Damian was given any animal under the sun he so much as looked at. 

"I like them," is what he says instead. "And she's doing fine. She mostly occupies herself with her toys and screaming at me for attention." 

"Yeah, kittens tend to be really vocal," Babs agrees.  "Where is she anyways? I didn't get a good look at her over CCTV." 

Before he can answer, he notices Bab's eyes shift to just over his shoulder, and watches her eyes grow soft and her smile grow fond. Tim isn't startled then when he looks over his shoulder to see Cass, dressed in one of his hoodies that fit her surprisingly well and some of his jeans- and cradled in her arms is Chai, eyes half closed and kneading at Cass's arms. Her answering smile is equally fond.

"Babara." Cass's tone is a bit dry as usual. But Tim knows her well, so he can hear the affection in Cass's voice. He knows Bab's hears it too when her smile grows a little bigger. She raises a hand in greeting, before turning her attention to Cass's purring package.

"There's the little furball," Bab's says, voice going sugary sweet. "Oh my goodness, you are just too cute! Tim, that little bow is precious. She really is the cutest little thing, isn't she?"

Tim resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course another person falls under Chai's spell. They can't be blamed too much- one bat of those huge eyes and one of her cute fussy miaows and it's hard not to be wrapped around her little paw. Maybe it's a good thing she won't be staying with him. At this point he's pretty sure his family would spoil the calico rotten. They don't need another Alfred. 

Cass steps to Tim's side, and gently transfers the kitten from her arms to his. Chai couldn't care less as she's settled into his lap- she just sniffs and nuzzles into his arms, paws going right back making biscuits on his legs. He gently strokes down her back, from the back of her neck right down to the base of her tail, where he gives her a little scratch. Her purring grows louder and more rattly, and her paws flex and curl more insistently. Babs coos.

"She's so cute, I could explode," she says as she watches Chai get comfortable. Her eyes flick up to Tim, an eyebrow at arching primly. "She seems to really like you, Tim. Female kittens usually take a little to warm up to somebody. But once they do, that's their person. You sure you don't wanna keep her?" She tilts her head when Tim shakes his.

"You and I both know I don't have the time for a kitten. They're a handful, and Chai in particular is pretty rambunctious." He glances down at the kitten in his lap. "Would you take her?"

Babs raises her hands in surrender. "Fair point, little Red." Cass seems dissatisfied with that answer, because she leans right back over and collects Chai with a disgruntled huff and shoots Tim an unhappy glare. Tim meets her glare with befuddlement.

"Chai easy, " she states with a frown. She clears her throat and tries again. "Chai is very good," she starts, slowly and carefully picking her words. "She was good the whole time I watched her. She played with her toys. She didn't scratch. She used her box. She's good. And easy. Not difficult." Cass's gaze bores into him, and the meaning of her glare is obvious. While everybody praises Cass for her ability to read people's body language to get to the heart of what they mean- and with good reason- Tim has spent enough time with Cass, his sister , and while he's not nearly as good at reading other people, he can read her. 

'You know that's not the reason.'

Tim feels his face shutter close to prevent her from reading anything else in his expression. It's almost instinctive at this point when he feels like he's let too much raw emotion slip, let's people get too close to the parts of him that are soft and vulnerable. He knows Cass doesn't take affront to it, knows she would never rend and tear at the chinks in his armor to hurt him, but it's so ingrained as a defensive mechanism that it happens before he can stop it. Cass silently ghosts away with the kitten, leaving Tim feeling distinctly unsettled about the brief exchange while Babs lets out a long low whistle.

"Seems to me like Chai isn't quite as much as a handful as you make her sound," Babs muses. "Honestly, with you in Gotham more a kitten would be doable. Nothing stopping you from taking the little furball with you to Titan's Tower or getting one of us to kitty sit."

That's another person on the 'keep-the-cat' bandwagon, and not one he expected. Tim drags his hands down his face with an exasperated sigh. This was why he didn't want anybody knowing about Chai. Sometimes their inherent need to help others was their greatest downfall.

"But," Babs interrupts, and Tim drops his hands from his face to study her. "It's easy to say that from where I am. Reality is, the ownership and care of Chai would fall soley on your shoulders. Everything regarding her would be your responsibility. You know better than anybody else if you have the capability to care for her." The last part is said just a bit louder, and just as sure Tim is that Cass caught it, he knows equally as well that Babs said it for her. 

He thinks Babs said to reassure him. Somehow it just makes him feel a little off center. 

Babs is more observant than the Batfamily sometimes gives her credit for, because she smoothly switch tracks and changes the topic to Tim's rebound armor when she notices his discomfort. He takes the lifeline with both hands, and dives eagerly into conversation about something he's sure on. The two chat for a long time on just that, Babs interjecting his plans and specs with ideas of her own to improve the weave or the shock distribution.

By the time Babs bids him goodbye and disconnects, it's a little after noon, he's got a list full of positive changes to make to his armor, and an apology for Cass already made in his mind. 

Tim shuffles towards his living room. Cass is slumped onto his couch, Chai in her lap as she mindlessly channel flips. Tim knows Cass doesn't actually care for TV, but channel surfing is a habit she picked up from the large amount of time she spent in Steph's company. He suspects Cass just enjoys watching the bits and pieces of documentaries and news bulletins and cartoons that go flashing by, as she never seems to settle on any new channel- eventually making her way back around to her starting channel and leaving it there. 

Tim approaches the back of the couch until he's just over her head, and gently grips her shoulders. Cass snuffles and glances up at him. He peers back down, and slate blue meets silvery grey. 

"Sorry," he starts, but Cass shakes her head.

"No," she responds. "Not you." Her hand drifts down to stroke the head of the kitten sleeping in her lap, and her lips turn down. "Was….unfair. Love Chai, but not...for her? Not my choice."

He understands what she's getting at. She's conceding to the point Babs made- that he's the one, ultimately, who would have to keep up with Chai, and the responsibility would fall soley on his shoulders. Tim still feels a bit bad over upsetting her so he gently squeezes her shoulders.

"Lazy baking?" It's an olive branch and forgiveness wrapped in one. He knows Cass will recognize it for what it is.

Lazy baking is just them getting about halfway to making cookies, brownies, or fudge, and them just plopping down on the couch with a mixing bowl full of batter and a spoon. The tradition started with Steph and Tim utterly failing to make cookies and instead resorting to enjoying the only part that remained edible. Tim is pretty sure Cass enjoys batter more than the actual pastry anyways.

"Lazy baking," she parrots back cheerfully, gently transitioning Chai to the couch cushions and trailing after Tim to his kitchen.

________________________

When Jason again gets around Redwire's security to slip into his apartment in the evening, Tim is currently laid out on his couch, Cass sound asleep with her head pillowed on his leg. Their mixing bowls sit long abandoned and empty on the coffee table as the TV meanders through another episode of the cartoon Cass turned him on, about a magical princess from another dimension with a magic wand who apparently is so chaotic her mere presence sets rainbows on fire.

She's a trainwreck and Tim feels an odd kinship with her.

Tim isn't paying the cartoon too much attention though, too busy focusing on the report he's writing on his tablet, looking over a case file Damian sent him. He's looking for a fresh set of eyes- a supposed meth lab somehow possessing military grade scientific equipment. He gazes up as he hears Jason clear his window to land in his living room. He's got a small plastic bag with him slung easily over his shoulder, and he's in his civvies, which consists of a plain black T-shirt, his usual leather jacket, and black jeans that do nothing but compliment Jay's thighs.  

"Didn't know we were havin' a sleepover. 'Woula have brought my giraffe jammies," he drawls, raising an eyebrow at the tangled mess of vigilante on the couch. Cass doesn't open her eyes or move from Tim's lap, but still raises her hand and waves in Jason's general direction. Jason snorts.

"Heya Cass, nice ta see ya. I come bearing gifts for Littlest Red."

Tim raises an incredulous eyebrow.

" Littlest Red?"

"Yup," Jason says without offering an explanation. Tim decides to let it go- with Jason, it's infinitely easier to just accept whatever he says at face value. Otherwise he'll purposely get you involved in a circular argument for his own amusement- Tim would know, as he's spent many a conversation with Jason proverbially chasing his own tail. 

Damn his need to be right.

Instead, he looks at the bag Jason is setting on the coffee table, eyebrows drawing together as he sets his tablet down in the coffee table as well.

"Jay, what do you mean by gifts? Chai has toys."

"Yeah, but she ain't gotta one a' these." With a dramatic flourish, Jason produces a little board of wood with a strip of carpet stapled to it. It's clearly a home job of...something. Tim eyes it.

"What is that supposed to be," he deadpans. Jason rolls his eyes.

"Scratchin' post, obviously. Sugarbelle on 16th gave me this old one when I saw her throwin' it away. Figured little miss Chai would appreciate it. Ya want her tearing up yer nice couches and chairs?"

"Her nails are trimmed, Jay."

"Don't make much difference to a cat, babybird." Jason drops it down on the floor beside one of her jingly toys. "She gonna sink her claws inta something. Might as well be somethin' she supposed to scratch up." 

Jason leans over further to grab said cat, who purr-rups curiously as she's scooped into Jay's arms.  She starts to purr as Jason begins scratching the sides of her cheeks and under her chin. "Hey there, little lady," he coos, voice syrupy sweet. "Ya bein' good? Not givin' babybird here too much of a headache, right? Nah, ya couldn't. Yer too cute." 

Chai is enjoying the attention, but in true cat fashion wiggles to be set down. Jason sets her down on her new scratching post- but she ignores it completely in favor of chasing the jingly toy sitting just next to it. Jason shrugs. As he stands, he looks over at the two bowls on the coffee table with a raised eyebrow. He tips it over to peek at the contents and grimaces. He turns towards Tim with a scowl and jabs at the bowl.

"Are ya'll- were y'all eating raw brownie batter."

"Yep. You want some? I think I still have enough ingredients for more."

Jason crinkles his nose so hard his face skews up around it, and Tim notes a strong resemblance to a pug.

"Ya'll are nasty, is what ya'll are. Eating raw batter. Ya'll must want salmonella, I swear." He snatches up the bowls and stalks off to Tim's kitchen when Tim shrugs nonchalantly. Tim hears the sounds of the bowls being thrown unceremoniously into the sink, and then water running. The noise makes Cass drag her head from his lap and sit up with a huff.

" Loud," she complains, glaring in the direction of Tim's kitchen and the continuing sounds of what Tim assumes is Jason angry-cleaning. He shrugs again.

"No more so than usual. You want me to replay the episodes you slept through?"

"No," she responds, rising from the couch with an almost feline stretch. "Seen them all with Steph. Wanted to show you, too." She gestures towards his door. " Leaving now, Tim. Wanna go see Babs."

Tim nods. He understands. Cass and Babs share a special bond that almost borders mother and daughter. It's good for both Cass and Babs. As he rises to see her off to the door he doesn't bother reminding Cass to return his clothes. She's a notorious clothing thief, and if Tim sees them again at all he'll be lucky. Tim hugs her hard after they exchange farewells. As she stands in the doorway, right before she leaves, she stares at him hard.

"You think there's...no time." She says, focusing on her words. "You always… make time. For people you love." Her gaze is pointed and firm, and Tim again feels like she's getting too close to the parts of him that are open and unprotected. "Always do. I love that about you. But we can too."

Tim frowns, but Cass seems to have reached her verbal cap for the day, because she just smiles and steps away. She turns and waves as she heads down the street, weaving into the small amount of people also meandering down the sidewalk. He retreats back into his theater apartment feeling distinctly unsettled. Cass isn't wrong. He's always made time when the call goes out, either business or personal. He's always found the time when his team, his family , needs him, no matter who or how he feels about them. Of course he could ask the Batfamily to make a little time if he needed, to watch his kitten.

Tim is abit startled when he's honestly not sure of the answer.

There's a swirl of emotions brewing just under that, but not emotions he feels comfortable attempting to breach. He's not looking to be swallowed by that inevitable crest of emotion. He closes the door softly behind Cass and returns to his living room. Jason has apparently vented his rage in the form of water and a sponge and is relaxing on his couch with his feet up on his damn coffee table. He had the presence of mind to toe off his combat boots at least, but Tim still shoves his feet off the tale as he grabs his tablet. He ignores Jason's answering scowl as he folds himself down onto the couch.

"Keep your feet off my damn table."

"Yeah yeah, whatever. I got ya."

"Funny, you say that, and yet your feet somehow keep ending up on my coffee table."

Jason leans over to shove Tim slightly. Tim shoves right back, making Jason snort with amusement. But he concedes the point, instead switching to the TV onto some distinctly British cooking challenge show.

Jason throws his arms out on the back of the couch, and one of his arms end up drape across the top of Tim's shoulders. Tim turns slightly to glance at Jason, an eyebrow raised. Jason meets his expression with a lazy crooked grin. 

"Cmon. 's more comfortable like this, yeah?"

Tim rolls his eyes, but leans back into the cushions and Jason's arm as his attention gravitates back to his tablet and his case file. The idle sounds of episode after episode ofs British accents yelling profanities and the sound of a whisk going around a bowl provide pleasant white noise while he looks over Damian's case. When Chai inevitable grows bored and crawls into his lap, his hand drifts down to stroke her back while his eyes never leave the screen.  So he also misses Jason's teal eyes watching the fluidity of the motion.

When Jason suddenly speaks, his voice is carefully and almost calcuatally dry and even.

"So. You really don't plan on keepin' little bit?"

"No," Tim responds without missing a beat. "This is temporary."

"Right, right." Tim hears Jason drum his fingers on the arm of the couch. "Remind me again why ya can't adopt the little furball? Seems I've forgotten."

Tim sideeyes him, but Jason hasn't taken his eyes off the TV. 

"I don't have time for a kitten," he says, voice measured. "They require alot of time and attention and an owner who can make them their top priority."

"Yeah yeah, seems I was right," Jason drawls. "I didn't forget, tha' reason is just straight bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"Baby bird, I ain't never met somebody who manages to keep all their ducks in a row the way you do," Jason says, now turning towards Tim. "Ya manage to make time for all kinda stupid shit. Like helpin' out with baby brat's dumb Lonchello case. Fixin Blondie's Ricochet issue. Workin' with Cass on that undercover Ghost Dragons shit. Me and you busting up Maroni's warehouses, which was much more fun than any a' that shit by the way." 

"All of that was case related. Work related. I can make time for those things. I have to,, they're important. " Tim taps a little more aggressively at his tablet. He's not sure why this thread of conversation is unsettling him.

"Chai ain't important? And yer personal life ain't got much more time ta spare?"

"Alot of it is wrapped up with the Neon Knights and R&D at W.E-"

"Uh uh," Jason says, making an X with his hands. "Nah, that shit's work. I said personal life."

Tim shrugs. "It's the same thing, really."

"That's concernin' and we're coming back ta that, but really, Timbo. That is a weak sauce reply and sure as shit ain't the real reason. Ya got the resources and the space. Ya got the support ya need, clearly. Damn, if Damian can do it and Alfred turned out... distinctly less homicidal than I predicted, ya sure can."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Cmon baby bird. Yer a little messy and sometimes a bit of a neurotic mess, but ya can't really believe you'll screw her up that bad."

Tim is silent in response. Jason stares him down, before understanding lights his face. 

"Timbo. Tim. Ya can't seriously think-"

Before the can even touch that thread, a thread Tim doesn't want to touch or even acknowledge, his phone goes off. Ex's and Ohs blares from his pocket. It's Steph's ringtone, and it's one she chose herself because she thought it was hilarious.

"Let's pick this back up never," Tim mumbles even to Jason's answering glare. He swipes to answer the call and puts her on speakerphone.

"Steph? What's up-"

" Tim!" She sounds faintly frantic, and Tim immediately sits up. Jason parrots the motion, but tenses up in his shoulders as well. "Tim, I screwed up. I headed back to the Manor because to update my patrol report after my tests because Bruce is so bitchy if it's not done before 12 because he's seriously insane, and fuck, in between arguing with Damian that millenial pink is totally a thing, don't ask, I totally forgot that-"

There's suddenly rapping at his door. Firm and measured, but loud. Tim and Jason both turn to face the door. Jason inhales.

"Blondie, you didn't."

"I screwed up Tim. He just asked about my night and where I was this morning. I didn't even think about what I said until he was suddenly peeling out of the Cave…!"

The knocking is a bit louder and more insistent. This time, it's joined by a voice.

"Tim? Tim, are you home? Tim? Tim, please answer the door. I know you're here."

Tim's blood turns to ice inside his veins. 

It's Dick.

Chapter Text

" Tim, please. Please just come to the door. I just want to talk, that's all, I swear."

Both Dick and Stephanie's voice fade into a muddled hum of noise buzzing in his ear as panic threatens to crawl into his throat.  It's funny. He always thought the day he spoke to Dick again that wasn't a briefing or Misson related, he'd be full of outright vitriol with all the choice words for Dick that had built up behind the dam of his chest- that he'd spit them like venom, enough to bring the man to his knees in the face of Tim's long simmering anger. Now that the moment is actually upon him, the words fall from his tongue to get lost somewhere within the swirl of emotions crawling their way from his chest to his throat.

The one time somebody decides to use his door, and it's Dick.

For a brief, hysterical second, Tim very seriously considers bundling Chai as safely as he can in his arms and throwing himself out the nearest window. The thought unfortunately fizzles out as soon as it blooms- if only because Dick would clearly hear and come running to the source of the noise. Another part of him wants to bolt for his Nest and initiate a full lockdown. Dick has no access code to the Nest like a select few other Bats do. He could go dark and not emerge for the next day and a half that Chai would be staying with him. He's got a backup suite down in the Nest- complete with a kitchenette- for the nights when he came back too exhausted to make the short trek to the elevator to make it into his apartment proper.

But he doesn't have supplies for a very feisty kitten down in the Nest. And a part of him feels spoiled sour when he considers that his retreat would leave Jason undefended in Dick's warpath- somebody has possibly has more hangups about the original Robin than even he does. Maybe a year ago Tim would have fled and left Jason as collateral damage without a second thought. Jason would have done the same. Because a year ago, he and Jason were on ice thinner than paper, tiptoeing around a fragilly formed relationship, the ice always threaning to give under the weight of their shared antipathy. But that was a year ago. Jason is still here as a testament to that, sat next to him as opposed to throwing Tim to the human shaped golden retriever outside and absconding in the ensuing chaos.

Tim's thumb moves to end the call almost absent mindedly, cutting Stephanie's voice midway through another apology and leaving the apartment echoing with Dick's insistent knocking. He's still frantically considering what options he has, and if one of those is flat out retreat, when Jason grunts and nods at the door.

"Ya know Goldie's not gonna leave until he hears from ya," Jason grumbles low in his throat. "He been chompin' at the bit to get at cha, and ya know how stubborn Goldie is."

Tim swallows- because he knows Jason's right. But really, Tim knows it was only a matter of time. It was eventually going to make it back to Dick's ear that Tim had returned to Gotham over two weeks ago, and would have brought Dick to his door anyways for a very difficult conversation. But that would have been later, and not now, and Tim is finding he really doesn't want to have this conversation now. He scruches up his face, and focuses instead on rubbing Chai's face, along the sides of her cheeks the way she loves.

"I ain't saying throw yerself into his arms and sing Kumbaya," Jason scoffs with a roll of his eyes at the way Tim's expression sours. "Just acknowledge the fact that he's there. Ya know it's easier to throw him a bone than have 'em hounding you. Get 'em off yer neck long enough for Dick to find something else to gnaw his teeth on. Probabl' somethin' or other with demon brat."

Tim really hates how right Jason tends to be. When he voices exactly that, Jason just flashes him a crooked grin and scoops Chai from Tim's lap to cradle in his arms. "Perks a being the older and wiser of us, lil Red." He dips briefly to dodge the throw pillow living up to it's name, flashing Tim a crooked grin before both he and Chai disappear up the stairs. Tim is left the the din of his living room and Dick's knocking. It's not as impatient and insistent as before, but he's making it clear he's not planning on leaving. He's always been stubborn like that.

Tim feels far less confident without the buffer of a small friendly calico kitten and a much larger, somewhat friendlier vigilante, but he swallows down all his trepidation. The sooner he faces this the better.

He makes getting up look like an act of defiance in and of itself. He eyes the door as if at any moment the knob will grow teeth. He wouldn't be opposed if that actually did occur. That's something he can easily deal with.

Tim wonders what it says about himself that he's far more willing to throw down with an animated doorknob than what he's about to do.

Tim inhales, juts out his chin, calls up some confidence he doesn't really feel, and opens the door.

He's momentarily stunned by the light outside, before everything focuses in the sharp, clear clarity of one Dick Grayson standing kn his doorstep, fist frozen in place where it'd been ready to fall for another knock. His expression is one of sheer surprise, and Tim almost wants to throw the door shut in his face. Because Dick clearly did not expect him to answer.

Damn you, Jay.

Dick's expression melts into one Tim is intimately familiar with- a mixture of stress, disbelief, relief and such sheer, unmasked happiness that Tim almost chokes in the face of it. It's so similiar to the smiles Dick would give him back when he wore the R, when he'd done something reckless and dangerous and emerged relatively unscathed. That smile always came tandem with Dick tugging him close to his side, to laugh into his hair and give him an affectionate squeeze, before launching into an inevitable scolding about how stupid what he just did was.

And Tim hates how his heart does that same familiar little flip flop, always so stunned to have Dick's blinding smile and sunlight like attention turned onto him, and answering happiness threatens to spill out over his face.  He swallows it down so viciously that it gets caught in his throat, and he disguises it by crossing his arms over his chest. His heart, weak as it is, may be ready to forgive, but his brain, crossed too many times, is not.

Tim's finding it's so much easier to feel antipathy for Dick from the careful distance he's been maintaining. In such close proximity his weak heart wants to almost instantly forgive just to ease the tension from Dick's face, to helplessly martyr his emotions for the benefit of another.  The distance ensured his brain can safely comfort him that it's in his best emotional interest to keep Dick at arm's length.

He just can't hand Dick his fragile trust and be let down and forgotten again.

"Tim," Dick breathes, and somehow his tone perfectly reflects his face- disbelieving, relieved, and so, so happy.  "You actually answered."

Tim doesn't grace that with an immediate answer- mainly becuase he doesn't trust his weak heart and what it'll make him say. Instead, he simply stares Dick down with a laser focus he knows for a fact makes Dick distinctly uncomfortable. It has the desired effect- Dick's smile falls just the slightest bit, and his shift his weight just a touch.

"Even if I hadn't, I doubt that would have stopped you banging at my door," he deadpans. "What the reason you're here? I'm kinda busy." He knows it's not Misson related.

"Oh. Um, I don't really have a reason," Dick admits, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "I've been meaning to pay you a visit for a while now! But things just kept getting in the way... you know how it is with the nightlife."

"Right," is all the affirmation Tim offers him, and just keeps staring Dick down.

"Actually, I do have a bit of a reason," Dick amends a beat later, crackling a bit under the force of Tim's gaze. "It's the first time in a long time the entire Family's been in Gotham at one time- even Cass is back home for once." Mentioning the family makes his smile brighten, "It's been so long since we've all had the opportunity to bond and catch up with the family without screens, right?"

Tim wonders what kind of family Dick considers him to be, seeing this is the first time Dick's reached out to him since Bruce's return. He doesn't need the flowery semantics of family bonding and catching up when it's never seemed to matter before. Besides, he's already spoken to Cass and Steph, Jason and Damian. He's spoken with the members of his family he intends to speak with, so why-

"And Alfred is hoping you'll agree to come home for family dinner tomorrow night. Everybody else is planning on going. He's really hoping to see you, too."

Scratch that. There's one member of the Batfamily Tim cares about that he hasn't spoken with.

The reminder of Alfred's grandfatherly concern makes Tim feel terrible. While he has kept in contact with Alfred, he knows the frequency has trickled away to little to nothing in the last few months. Tim's been far too engrossed with work with WE's fledgling flex armor, running comms as the leader of the Titans, recon with Jason before the Maroni warehouse sting, helping Cass with the Ghost Dragons and Steph with her vehicle- he's been burning the candle at both ends. And it's well known that when Tim's engrossed with work, any contact that doesn't come directly to him gets ignored, and even those that were ended up set to the side to be responded to never.

Alfred deserves better from Tim. He's been a terrible grandson with the man- and he knows that even if he chose to not come to dinner, Alfred would be disappointed, but he would understand, and forgive him in a way Tim's been taking for granted. Tim wars heavily with himself for a few seconds. But of course the Family wins out. Of course Alfred wins out.

But he doesn't want Dick to know that. He could be unintentionally manipulative, and if Tim gives any quarter Dick will see and hook his emotional claws into it faster than Tim could blink.

"I'll think about it," is what he offers. "I've got alot to do. Can't really promise I'll be able to make it." He knows Dick likely heard about Tim's break, and the total lack of any break in his expression assures him what he assumed- that nobody in the Family believed he was actually be taking a break. It would be insulting if it wasn't exactly Tim's modus operandi.

"Well, things in Blüdhaven have finally calmed down. If you want some help looking over a case or something two heads are better than one! Maybe we can lessen the load and you can make dinner?"

"It's Titans stuff. It's not really something you can help with." Tim's cuts that thread before it can go anywhere, expertly cutting Dick off subtly enough that he doesn't notice how quickly the response jumped to Tim's tounge.

"Thanks for the heads up, Dick, but I really am busy right now. If that's everything, I've gotta get back to my work."

"Oh." Dick's bright expression finally finishes cracking and falls apart, showing the dismay and hints of guilt under the sunny smile.

"I was...sorta hoping we could talk? I mean, it's been a long time since you and I just had time together. With the nightlife getting in the way in all, I know we've both been too busy to really meet. But we've got some free time at the same time for the first time in a long time."

Ah.

And now Tim's weak heart remembers just why the part of his heart that Dick laid claim to has been iced over for a long time.

Because Dick's narrative makes it so they were both at fault, always just barely missing each other, just failing to make their schedule align. And that was not the case.

Tim had tried after Bruce was back to keep up contact with Dick. He'd meant it when he said that Dick was his brother, and that he'd always be there for him. He'd honestly believed it then. And he'd made the effort to reach out and to try to repair the strain caused when he left the Manor, no longer Robin and not sure what he would become. For lunch on the town. To patrol as Nightwing and Red Robin. But Dick was always busy. For some reason or another. Blüdhaven somehow outshone even Gotham in criminal activity, and Tim couldn't blame Dick's hands being full- both as Officer Grayson and Nightwing. But time after time Dick seemed to swamped whenever Tim wanted to meet, and Tim's offers began to dry out.

And then, a day after Dick turned down a patrol with Tim, Nightwing and Robin went flying. Tim knew why. Logically. Damian had been practically tearing the Manor apart in Dick's absence, unhappy with Dick's packed schedule not making way for him. And Dick, in an effort to appease Damian's fury before his katana did it for him, had made the time to patrol Gotham as Nightwing and Robin.

So he knew why.

But that didn't mean it didn't burn like swallowing the water from Gotham's bay, seeing the two go flying across a rooftop, seeming more in sync than even he and Dick were when Tim wore the R. Because now he understood where he stood, his position in Dick's life. 

Tim could forgive Damian- he was a child with the mindset of a tyrant forced upon him and was slowly unlearning his toxic behavior. Jason the victim of a broken heart and a mind made mad by the Lazarus pit. He could forgive them, because never he'd trusted them before to have that trust broken.

Dick was a different story. He was supposed to be able to trust Dick.

"Yeah, I know," Tim responds easily, and the part of his heart that was making this hard by reaching out slams closed. It's much easier to speak casually when his heart isn't flooding him with painful nostalgia and emotion. "Maybe some other time Dick. I've gotta go. Good seeing you."

"A-alright!" Dick's smile flies right back to his face to hide the hurt. "Hopefully I'll see you at dinner tommorow?"

"We'll see," is Tim's noncommittal response as he flashes Dick a final smile and turns back into his apartment and closes the door in Dick's face. As soon as the door closes, a physical barrier between himself and the older vigilante, Tim feels whatever air was keeping him bouyant deflate from his body. The nausea he didn't realize he was feeling passes. He feels like he's had a go with the wringer and lost, raw and tender and sore and exhausted. Another small part of him is still on edge, keeps the tension in his shoulders when everything else is distressingly loose.

He wants to see Chai.

Tim finds himself moving on autopilot to carry him up the stairs before he really registers the desire.

He winces when he notices the door is still open. At least if it were closed, he would be assured the soundproof walls would keep their conversation from floating up the stairs. He silently prays to any deity listening that Jason didn't hear any of that as he pushes the door open.

Jason is settled edge of the beg, casually cleaning one of his Kris knives- just a rag and a bit of polish, nothing like the setup for his guns. He looks up just a bit when Tim enters, and his entire posture in nonchalant, but he can feel the tension rolling of Jason in waves. He hopes Jason is just unsettled by Dick's presence.

To Tim's relief the guest room isn't in chaos. Save for the few toys strewn about that Jason had to have headed downstairs for at some point and a few unfortunate feathers from the feather toy, everything is still upright and not on fire. Chai is simply sitting further up the bed, staring out the window at the afternoon buzz below. Tim's heart melts a little at the kitten's focused little expression. He makes a soft clicking noise to get her attention. Chai startles, but she comes toddling over with a pleased little purr-rup.

Tim scoops Chai up, collapsing onto the edge of the bed near Jason. He sets the kitten down in his lap and starts running his fingers through her soft, short fur. Chai is pleased as always at the attention. As soon as Chai starts kneading at his legs, rumbling her happy rattly purr, he feels that tension in his shoulders loosen just a bit. It's hard to stay tense and stiff when she's butting her head against his hands and purring hard and so pleased to be the center of his attention.

Chai is content, but Tim can feel the tension between himself and Jason, now much more thick then when he's first entered.

Jason is silent for a few long seconds.

"Ya actually gonna go?"

Of course he heard everything.

Tim huffs softly. "Yeah, probably," he mumbles. He could push back and tell Jason to mind his own damn business, but it wouldn't accomplish anything but an argument he is not prepared to handle maturely right now. It wouldn't be fair. And maybe. Maybe talking about it wouldn't be so bad, if it's with Jason. He feels too full from everything else to also hold the tension of the room on his shoulders.

"I owe it to Alfred if nothing else. I haven't... really been the best at staying in touch. He deserves to at least see me, y'know? And I do miss Alfred's dinners."

"Alfie food is tha best," Jason agrees with a sagely nod of his head.

"I just..." he lets out a strangled exhale, and with it comes the catch in his throat that held his words back, and they come flowing out unbidden.

"I just... can't play happy family with Dick like he wants me to. I don't know if I can handle him acting like nothing's wrong and suddenly trying to be my older brother again. I can't handle being his primary attention for an entire night. I felt I was going to throw up just talking to him!"

Jason is silent through his tirade, focusing on getting his rave into the curves of his Kris. But Tim is better attuned to Jason's body language and knows he's listening.

"Not to mention that chaos that's only guaranteed to eventually rear it's head, what with all the of the Family in one room. And I don't fancy being the hot conversation topic, which is bound to happen if I show up. I feel like I've had more contact with the Family in the past two days than I have in a year." It's an exaggeration, but one he pratically feels down in his bones.

"Dickhead ain't never been the best at recognizin' when he's bein' overbeain'. Thinks he's just being rightfully concerned." Jason rolls his eyes. "Don't realize how feels being under the microscope."

Tim nods silently, gently running a finger down Chai's spine. Jason goes on without much encouragement.

"And yeah, it's gonna be a full shit show with the whole Family at one table for the first time in years," Jason says, with a bit of humor in his voice. No doubt wishing he could see the carnage himself. Tim huffs out a little laugh, already feeling a tiny bit lighter.

"You just wish you could be there to cause some of the chaos," Tim accuses playfully. Chai falls still under his hands, and Tim let's them drift away to not wake the napping kitten. He's almost envious of her ability to simply nod off anywhere, anytime.

There's an odd stretch of silence before Jason tilts his head, gazing at Tim from the corner of his eye.

"Howsa' bout I come with ya?"

What.

Jason says it so nonchalantly, still wiping his Kris blade like he'd just commented that the weather was nice today.

"What?"

"I also ain't been to a dinner in some time," Jason says like it wasn't common knowledge. "Though I've been keepin' better contact with Alfie. If I'm there, the eyes will be off ya faster than ya can say 'holy attention span, Batman!'" His voice hits a falsetto mockery of Dick's Robin voice and Tim can't help his smile. But he shakes his head.

"Jay, I couldn't ask you to-"

"Shut up babybird, I ain't doin' it for just you."

Tim feels a little thrill of heat go through him at Jason's 'just you.'

"Been missing Alfie's dinners too, y'know. He always send me back with some leftover, but it ain't nothing compared to a fresh cooked Alfie meal. And ya ain't the only one on better terms with demon spawn. Wouldn't mind catching up with the little gremlin. And Barbie."

"You know Babs will bite your head off, helmet and all, if she knows you called her that."

"And that's exactly why yer not gonna rat me out to her."  He grins suddenly, that crooked smile laced with the promise of mischief that makes Tim's heart flutter.

"'sides. When have I ever turned down a chance to fuck with Dickhead and B? With botha' us there B'll probabl' be so choked up with fatherly emotion he won't say a word to us all night."

And there is is, the strain in Jason's voice that tends to crop up whenever he speaks about Bruce. Jason is on better terms with the Family than he's been in a long time, but he and Bruce are still tense around each other- what with Bruce's amazing ability to consistently shove his foot directly into his own mouth when trying to relate to his former Robins.

Tim smiles, leaning over to bump their shoulders together- a mimicry of Jason's own affectionate tap. He almost responds with a quip, but the affection blooming hard and strong in his chest that Jason is actively putting himself in an uncomfortable position just to offer Tim reassurance makes his words come forth clear cut and honest.

"Thanks, Jay. Seriously. I know dinner is gonna suck for us both. But maybe it'll suck a little less with you there."

"Not gonna let ya brave the wolves alone, babybird. Consider this payback for all tha' times ya dragged my ass outta' bullet storm. Consider us even."

Jason slings an arm around his shoulder, and tugs Tim closer, until the two are leaning comfortably agasint each other. Tim sighs, and lets the last bit of tension go, feeling it unwind from his shoulders to disappear into the aether. And just relax into the safe cradle of Jason's arms. Jason responds by letting his thumb rub small circles on his shoulders. He starts humming something, some wordless song deep and low in his chest, and the vibrations transfer over to Tim, thrumming their way up his bones. It reminds him of Chai's rattly, rumbly purr. He wonders if Jason is just as content-

Oh. Oh.

The moment of serenity is broken like glass when something dawns in Tim's mind. He forgot one serious detail.

"I can't leave Chai here alone while we're at dinner," he realizes. Before, he would have asked Jason to babysit, and while he could still ask, the idea of braving dinner without  Jason there as well makes him selfishly refuse to ask. He feels a little bad, though. "Who knows what she'll get into?"

Looking at Chai in his lap, she really does paint the picture of a perfectly behaved little angel. But Tim had entertained her while she's awake- he's startled by just how many things she finds to put in her mouth. There's no way he can leave her on her own for hours, and everybody who knows about her- as few people as he's tried to keep it- will likely be going to the dinner.

"Ya could always not go," Jason offers, glancing down at the napping ball of tri color terror. "Worst comes ta worse I could watch Littlest Red while ya brave tha fam."

Tim fidgets when Jason offers himself as babysitter. It honestly is the best idea- Chai likes Jason just as much as she seems to like Tim, and Jason has thus far done a good job of corralling Chai. He ignores the way his stomach turns and nods.

"Yeah. Maybe that's bes-"

"Ya don't want me to."

The shock of Jason damn near reading his mind makes Jason chuff out a laugh at the blanket expression of shock Tim knows is still on his face.

"Cmon, Timbo. We been hangin' out long enough I can read it when ya ain't comfortable with somethin'. Ya don't notice but yet eyebrows furrow." He leans over and pokes in between Tim's eyebrows, and he swats Jay's hand away.

"You-"

"And," Jay drawls on, "I know ya do the same. Been noticing ya reading me like a first edition."

The statement only makes Tim smile. "Of course you would make that sort of analogy."

"It ain't true?" He laughs when Tim digs his elbow into Jason's side playfully. He reaches over and rubs Chai's cheeks- she hardly moves save to lean into the touch. "While I wouldn't mind watchin' her, I know ya don't wanna brave the wolves alone. And I already told ya I would. Not going back on that."

Tim sighs.

"Thanks. But I really can't leave her by herself for hours. That's just asking for trouble. And the shelters won't be open by then.' He pretends to not notice Jason's expression sour a bit at the mention of the shelter, and equally pretends to not notice how it curdles his stomach too. He runs a hand down his face and his brows furrow. Because he does have an idea. Too bad it's literally the worst possible option.

"Ya got an idea." It's said like a statement, not a question. "And it ain't an idea ya like."

"Yeah." Tim inhales, and exhales.

"I'm gonna have to call in the Titans."

Chapter Text

Sorry that this isnt a chapter, but I really wanted to give all my readers a quick update!

I did NOT abandon this fic!! I unfortunately caught the novel virus, and after a very long recovery period (I'm one of the ones in the high risk demographic) basically had to throw myself into work in order to deal with that financially. I am incredibly lucky to now be at a point where I am mostly healthy enough (and not so stressed) to be able to update this fic! And I'm SO excited to do so! Coming back to so many comments and kudos and everything else honestly made me wanna cry a bit, especially because I never expected anybody to like this fic??? Thank you all SO MUCH for your interest, and for those who stuck it through with me!! I hope the new chapter will have been worth the wait! It'll be extra long to make up for it.

The new chapter should be up in about 2 weeks or so!! I hope you all enjoy, and again thank you SO much for your continued support of me, this silly fic, and Tim and not-his-cat. ♡♡♡♡

(I'll delete this once I post the new chapter!)