Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s a scar over his boyfriend’s throat.

Well, to call it a singular scar is probably being generous, although, you only really can tell it’s an amalgamation of a few layered, separate times someone had sliced over the flesh of his neck to different depths, if you were close enough for long enough, and he wasn’t sure how many people had actually had the privilege of doing that other than him.

He hadn’t had that scar back when Bernard had known him before, and sometimes Bernard wondered just how many times someone had tried to kill Tim. How lucky it was that somehow Tim had survived all those times so Bernard was actually able to see him again.

He hadn’t noticed that first time he’d seen Tim again, or even the second or third, even though his neck was, at first glance, perfectly clear all those times.

He had noticed Tim was awfully fond of scarfs, something loose and soft that still kept his neck under literal wraps, but hadn’t thought much of it beyond how Tim looked very cute in them.

Then, when they were finally making out, he went to be a bit annoying, but in a way that he knew would be covered by Tim’s normal clothes, by going down to Tim’s neck, aiming to leave a hickey before Tim would notice.

And he stopped suddenly, getting a mouth full of makeup.

“Bernard?” Tim asked, confused for a second before stiffening and realising what had happened. “Oh shit, um. I can explain.”

“Explain what?” Bernard wondered for a few seconds. It was just makeup. He hadn’t really kissed anyone wearing makeup before so this just must be what it’s like.

But if Tim thought it needed an explanation, there probably was something more, wasn’t there?

“Um. Its just covering something up.”

“Oh. A birthmark?”

“Just a …. small…. scar. That’s all. That foundation tastes awful though, normal makeup isn’t like that, but hey, you can barely tell!”

“That’s cool.” Bernard said, miswording and immediately regretting calling a scar cool, but somehow from Tim’s face going a bit less panicked it was the right thing to say.

“Yeah. Um. Just avoid my neck for now… I’ve probably completely ruined the mood, haven’t I?”

“Not if you don’t want it ruined.” Bernard replied, and that was that for the day, and they continued on as if the last minute hadn’t happened.

It took enough two weeks before Tim took his scarf off without the makeup underneath around Bernard.

He had been underestimating when he’d called it small, probably deliberately so.

He didn’t make it a big deal.

But he couldn’t help but appreciate the trust whenever Tim let him near where he’d obviously been hurt so many times before, and tried to pepper kisses over more than he would’ve overwise, as if the affection could ever make up for the pain he didn’t have the context for.

And eventually, Tim stops caring enough to be self-conscious when he can see it.

---

As a Gothamite, he’s seen Robin a few times. More than a few times really.

But it’s when he gets kidnapped again, and Robin needs to come and save him again that he finally sees something.

Robin’s nearly gotten him away to safety, which he follows, no matter how much he want to stay back and help, because Bernard is in fact aware than punching someone when everyone else has guns is probably a bad idea, when someone catches up to them.

It happens so fast, that you’re knocked back, and Robin is lifted up by his neck, tight a struggling to breathe as you pull yourself back to your feet to help, before electricity sparks from somewhere, and both Robin and whoever the villain is drop to the floor.

Robin takes a gasping breath, reaching to the zip of the high neck of his uniform, and pulling it down just a few inches to catch his breathe.

“Robin- are you okay?” He finds himself asking, as he comes over.

Robin doesn’t reply.

And then something catches his eye.

And he says something about it. “My boyfriend has an identical scar there.”

That catches Robin’s attention, and he looks up at Bernard. Bernard can see it in his face now, and he knows that Robin’s eyes are wide under his mask, he knows that expression.

How did he not figure it out before?

Robin moves his hands, pulling the zip back up, covering it back up again, compressing under suffocating protective fabric as his breath catches. “That’s a coincidence.” Robin denies, desperately. “You didn’t see anything anyway.”

Bernard isn’t convinced.

“Downside of the job. There’s a lot of people with scars in Gotham.” Robin tried, before figuring out Bernard wasn’t going to bite on any of these ideas, and gave up.

“There are, but that’s not it.”

“I would have told you sometime, eventually.” Tim says. “I wouldn’t have denied it forever.”

“It’s fine.” Bernard replies, reassuring, even as thoughts raced through his head, none of them quite together enough for even him to understand them. “You’re still my Robin.”

“I’d have told you why eventually, too.” Tim said, quieter this time.

“You don’t need to explain why it’s there.”

“Yes. I do.”

“Only if you’re okay with it.”

“Just. Not here. And… I still have some stuff I need to do tonight, deal with the people who tried to take you.”

He nodded.

“I’ll make sure you get home safe first.” Tim said, and as he dropped him off, promised to come by to explain later.

He stayed awake for him to return, but didn’t let him talk when he finally returned. They can do that tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to sleep, and make sure Tim was safe and within reach.

There was no rush.

Chapter Text

Bernard knew when he woke up to the mixing smells of tea and coffee in the air, and Tim not in his bed beside him, that they would definitely be talking about what he had learned yesterday.

He padded in softly, quietly, giving out a small “Hey, Tim,” when it seemed he didn’t notice him approach.

Tim jumped slightly, but recovered quickly. “Morning, Bear.” It was obvious he hadn’t expected Bernard to be awake quite as early, by how steaming hot the mugs of liquid still were. Usually Tim, the efficient person he was, would add tap water to the top whenever he made drinks if he expected them to be served immediately, claiming that he didn’t think it made a difference to the taste.

Bernard pulled his mug towards him anyway, dark coffee compared to Tim’s milky tea, and took a sip regardless, only barely not boiling the tip of his tongue.

“So.” Bernard started, then paused, not really sure where to go from here, and just leaving the start of that to hang in the air between them.

“Please don’t leave me.” Tim blurted out into the silence.

Bernard jerked backwards, as if he’d been burned. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you now know I’m Robin. You now know that I’ve been keeping it a secret from you for years.”

“Most of those years don’t count. We weren’t dating then- we weren’t even in contact then.”

“Then I’ve been keeping it from you for months. For nearly a whole year now.” Tim said miserably, tightening his grip around his own mug.

“I won’t” Bernard said, reaching a hand over to pull one of Tim’s away, and squeeze it comfortingly. His hand was warm, and Bernard wondered why he hadn’t questioned where the callouses and wear on Tim’s hands could’ve come from before now. “I’m not going to leave you over this.”

“But I lied to you about who I am.”

“You’re still Tim, aren’t you?”

“Yes?” Tim replied, still looking down, unsure as to where this was going.

Bernard reached a hand out to turn Tim’s head towards him, so that he could say this directly to Tim’s face. “Then you’re still Tim. You’re still the man I fell in love with, it’s okay.”

Tim stared back at Bernard, analysing his face for any sliver of lie in that statement, before dropping his gaze again with a small relieved breath out.

“I don’t like that this was how you found out.”

“It would’ve come out sometime anyway.”

“If I’d told you earlier, I could’ve done it in a better way. I know I could’ve done it better.”

“How?” Bernard wondered.

“I had a few plans and ideas.” Tim said, in the kind of defensive way you knew those plans had stalled in some way and very much were not complete in any way. “I just… hadn’t put them into reality yet.”

“I can pretend to not know if you want to do one of those still?” Bernard offered.

Tim pulled a face. “I don’t want to have to have to do this again, thank you.”

“Unless you have another secret identity, like being Poison Ivy or Scarecrow or something, I don’t think we’ll have to.”

That startled a laugh out of Tim. “You shouldn’t joke about that!”

“Why not? It’s funny.”

“It is, but still!” Tim smiled his way. “I might be Robin, but I’m not any of those things!”

“Course not.”

“….On being Robin, we might need to talk about it. Well, I want to explain it. Kind of. I… don’t know, you know?”

“Yeah.” Bernard knew all about wanting to speak about something but also not. He’d felt that way a lot himself. “Just, only say what you’re comfortable explaining, okay?”

Tim didn’t agree to that, instead asking, “Any questions, Bernard?”

Bernard did have questions. A lot of questions. That didn’t mean he was going to actually ask them. Not today at least. But, at the same time, if he didn’t ask anything, Tim would know he was just dodging it all.

“Were you Robin when I knew you before? When we were in school?”

“For most of that time, yes. I mean, not for a little bit, but most of the time.”

“I did figure you weren’t the blonde girl Robin, at the very least.” Bernard took a pause, having another drink while he did, taking in half the contents of the mug this time. “What happened yesterday. I mean, I assume you don’t normally accidently reveal your identity to random civilians on a rooftop.”

Tim fiddled with his hands, running them over the raised artsy lines of the mug Bernard kept at his flat specifically for him over and over again. “I’m not sure why.” He admitted. “I wouldn’t normally have pulled my zip down, even to breathe around someone else. But. I didn’t even think about not doing it with you. I’m not quite sure.”

“Oh.” Bernard said, not quite sure how to reply to that. “That’s…. sweet?”

“I guess that’s the side effect of trusting people?” Tim hypothesised.

“You trust me?”

“Of course.” Tim replied. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Oh. I trust you too.”

“Even though I lied?”

“Even though you hadn’t told me you were Robin yet, yes. Is that why- is that how you got hurt? Being Robin?”

“Huh?”

“On your neck.” Bernard gestured towards his own, bare and scarless.

“Oh. Right. Yes.”

“Oh Tim….”

“I’ll tell you what happened.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Well, I want to talk about at least some of it.” Tim said.

“How about,” Bernard offered, “you tell me about just one part of this, okay?”

“Two?” Tim bargained up.

“Alright.” Bernard accepted.

“This one,” Tim took Bernard’s hand, before taking the tips of his fingers up to a specific part of the layered scar on his neck. It was seemingly one of the smaller parts, thin and healed well. Bernard wondered why Tim had chosen it first, and also wondered just how well Tim knew them all to be able to directly go to it without looking, “was from Jason.”

Bernard startled a bit at that. “Your brother, Jason?”

Tim gave a small nod. “It wasn’t too bad, it was more me being used as bait than an actual murder attempt, you know? I could still stand afterwards.” At Bernard’s incredulous look, he tacked on, “It needed stitches, sure, but it wasn’t too bad.”

“Tim. It left a scar. You needed stitches. That’s generally what we consider a bad injury.”

Tim didn’t respond to that, instead moving Bernard’s fingers to another, a splayed out star like one with some branching lines off to the side that felt thin and professional and surgical. “That’s from where I got shot in the throat. It hit an artery. That one was a bad injury, I ended up in hospital afterwards.”

Bernard remained silent, and Tim began to move their hands again.

“And this one,”

Bernard pulled his hand back slightly, pausing Tim’s path and words. “You can stop here and tell me another time, okay? Don’t feel obligated to tell me.”

Tim scrutinised Bernard’s face, before nodding.

“Oh, Tim.”

Tim let himself fall forward onto Bernard, clutching him close as if he was scared Bernard would go. Bernard wrapped his arms around into a hug. He reached up, stroking Tim’s hair softly.

“Thank you.” Tim mumbled out.

Their mugs lay abandoned and forgotten on the table, cooling completely before they were touched again.