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Bart has never been able to sit still. Even now, with his suit torn and singed by acid, with Tim hovering over him, he taps his foot impatiently. He sniffs, no doubt smelling the antiseptic in the air and Tim grits his teeth.
“I still don’t think this is really necessary. I mean my metabolism-“
“Makes you immune to poison, yeah I know,” Tim cuts in without looking up. His tone stays even, but he knows his hands are shaking too much for Bart not to notice. He tries to work quickly, scraping the partially dried substance on Bart's shoulder into a test tube. Bart leans forward, his nose brushing against the top of Tim's head.
“What are we doing this for then?” he asks, genuinely confused.
Tim pouts as he looks for a second test tube. He wants to take as many samples as he can, he'd even take a blood sample if he could convince Bart to let him. He can’t think of a way to ask him though, a way in which he himself wouldn’t start panicking. Tim always counts on Bart to stay calm, in his own way. Collected, helping him stay on track.
“We don’t know if this is poison. It could be some concoction from the future, where they know how to deal with speedster biology better, or something from outer space. Maybe even a magic potion,” he explains softly.
God he hopes it's not magic. He can deal with the other things, he does often enough, but magic is incomprehensible to him.
Bart takes the first tube off of Tim's hands and presses the lid shut, snapping him out of his thoughts. “But wouldn’t I be reacting to it if it was magic or whatever?”
He’s still sitting too close, and if it were anyone else, Tim would’ve moved by now, shifted without thinking to focus on his work. But it’s Bart, and that’s enough to keep him in place. He slows down, his movements less frantic as he gathers his tools. He glances up, meets Bart's eye. He huffs as he waits for an answer, ever so impatient, and his breath grazes against Tim's forehead. His heart stutters in response. He’s still too close but he doesn’t mind.
“You could have a delayed reaction. Can you let me make sure you’re okay?”
Bart's foot tapping stops for just a moment. He swallows roughly and looks off to the side, nods.
“Thank you,” Tim whispers. He lays his tube down, and brushes a lock of hair behind Bart's ear, for no apparent reason, just because he wants to. Bart swallows again, and Tim feels the heat of his skin through gloved fingers. He shrugs it off; he knows speedsters run hot.
He takes the second sample in a comfortable silence. Tim knows Bart's eyes are on him, watching him work. He wonders what he’s thinking of as he tracks his movements. Bart waits until he’s finished and wraps a hand around Tim's wrist, presses the first tube into his hand.
“Now what?”
Tim motions toward the work station. “I think we’ll start with a microscope, see what we find. Then check against some databases.”
He maneuvers around his makeshift lab with Bart behind him. Tim snaps on a new pair of gloves and starts to prepare a slide. Bart leans over his shoulder, points towards the microscope.
“This is new. Electron microscope, right?” he asks.
Tim glances over to Bart. “I- Yes. How did you know?”
He shrugs. “You complained about how old the tech was a few months ago. Said you could get higher resolution with a newer one.”
“Right, yeah. You do listen when I talk, huh?” Tim mutters, more to himself than anything. Bart hears though, and it’s hard to focus on not messing up his slide when Tim can see his bright grin from the corner of his eye. He’s just over his shoulder, close. Somewhere between comforting and distracting.
Tim squints into the microscope. He readjusts the focus, again and again, but the image before him makes no sense. The molecules move too fast, or they’re not moving at all, or maybe he’s not even looking at molecules. He blinks and tries again, unsuccessfully.
Tim groans as he sits back, frustrated.
“Uh oh. Magic?” Bart asks with raised eyebrows, clearly amused.
“Probably. You wanna have a look?”
Tim scoots to the side and Bart giggles. He takes off his goggles before stepping in, hands resting against the table.
Tim watches as Bart leans down to take a look, notes the way he shakes his head when his hair falls into his face, the slight furrow in Bart's brow.
There’s lots of things that Tim could be doing in the meantime. Preparing a slide with the second sample he took, checking the calibration of his microscope, starting up his computer to pull up the databases. But Tim stays put and watches Bart's fingers tap against the wooden table, his pursed lips as he concentrates.
“It’s very pink,” Bart murmurs, still peering through the microscope. “And very confusing. That’s gotta be magic.”
Tim sighs as he looks at his computer. All his technological skill rendered nil by a magic potion. Maybe he should pick up a grimoire at some point, so he feels less useless in situations like these.
He slides his chair over to his computer and turns it on. “I’m going to digitize the image first, then send it to Oracle. Maybe she’ll know what to do with this.”
Bart leans against the desk. “And then we just wait?”
“I mean, I gotta keep an eye on you don’t I?” he answers, moving back to the microscope to look for the slide scanner.
There’s a bit of a pause, just long enough for it to be noticeable.
“Right,” Bart says. Tim thinks he can hear a shifting in his voice, a waver maybe. He glances up at him and even though he’s turned away, he sees color rising up his neck. If he could see his face properly, he might see a blush on his cheeks as well.
With a raised eyebrow Tim turns back to his screen.
“Might take a minute. You’re feeling okay still?” he asks as he begins uploading the images.
Bart clears his throat. “Yeah, all good.”
Tim leans back in his chair and turns to Bart again. He tries to bite back a grin when he looks at him and sees flushed cheeks. What did he do to get him all flustered?
“Helen taught me how to play poker the other day,” he says abruptly, as if desperate to bridge the silence. “We could play while we wait?”
Tim laughs. “Sure. I bet you have a terrible poker face though.”
Bart gasps in mock-offense. “I do not!”
“You’re literally red right now.” Tim scoots closer, squinting as he reaches out to him. He wants to tap against his cheek, pointing out the traitorous colour but Bart is quicker and swats his hand away, grasps his hand with his own. Tim's hand stills in the air, their fingers half-curled in each other.
“That’s - That's not the same. I literally have a secret identity so I'm great at lying.”
“The secret identity that I figured out within an hour of meeting you?”
Tim can’t help his focus shifting, warm skin against his gloved fingers pulling his attention away from their conversation. Neither of them pull away. Maybe Bart isn’t even aware that they’re practically holding hands.
Bart huffs and rolls his eyes. “Okay, that’s not fair, that’s like your whole thing.”
Tim sees the effort he’s making in not smiling, the twitch in the corner of his mouth as he’s talking. He holds eye contact for just a bit longer, letting him struggle before the laughter bubbling up in him betrays him.
They both laugh, a little breathless, and Tim notices the tiny steps Bart takes toward him, placing himself firmly in front of him. Tim guides him further, pulling him along by their entwined hands until Bart comes to a halt, his other hand resting on the back of his chair.
Tim watches him hover over him, whatever words he wanted to say caught in his throat. Bart grins as he looks down at him, teeth flashing and a warmth coils in his chest.
Bart's hand still rests on the back of his chair, close, so close. But not close enough. His fingers twitch and Tim anticipates, though he does not know what.
“Do we have any playing cards here?” Bart asks. His eyes flit away and Tim silently curses the concept of Poker.
“No,” he says too quickly. “I don't think so.” He wants him to stay right there, to extend this moment selfishly. Will him into place, somehow.
Not that that would work.
“Okay, be right back then!” Bart chirps, and Tim barely has any time to notice his voice breaking before he’s gone, wind brushing through Tim's hair.
He spins in his chair, drops his head against the table in front of him and groans.
“…Goddamnit.”
Of course he doesn't get to wallow for very long. He runs his fingers through his hair as he takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm his pounding heart. Still wearing the gloves, the vinyl snags against his hair and he huffs. As he peels off his gloves, he hears a persistent beeping from his ear piece.
Babs calls out for him as he opens the line. “Robin?”
“Slow day? Didn’t think I'd hear from you so soon.” Tim throws the gloves on the table absentmindedly as he waits for her to speak.
“Yeah, kind of. Constantine is here with me.”
Tim winces and exhales roughly. “Oh God, it is magic,” he complains. He hopes Constantine doesn’t take any offense to that, if he can hear him.
Babs hums. “A love potion to be exact. Where’d you pick this stuff up?”
“We were trying to run some surveillance when we got ambushed and Impulse got hit with - Wait did you say a love potion?”
Tim almost chokes on his own words as he actually processes what he’s just heard. Something flares up in his chest, trashes against his ribcage. Panic, probably, though not the kind he’s familiar with.
“How does it work? I mean, does he have to ingest it? Is he going to fall in love with everyone he talks to? Or, or is it-”
He knows he’s asking too much, talking too quickly. It’s no use trying to seem calm right now.
He hears Babs laughing over the line. “It just needs to come into contact with someone, and they’re going to fall in love with whoever they see first. That’s probably you in this case.”
A violent thrumming burns in his veins. He should say something but he can’t. His entire body is tensed up, his shoulders hunched uncomfortably.
“Guess that explains why he’s acting all weird around you right now, huh?” Babs prods further.
Tim tilts his head to the side, staring blankly at the wall opposite him. Did Bart act weird? He has no idea what he would be like if he was in love. Would he try to keep his distance, or go all in?
“No…he’s acting like he always is…”
He’s thinking out loud by accident. His own words startle him out of his stupor and he jerks up in chair.
He knows it’s the truth, because he’s been in love sans any potions for too damn long. He’s spent nights replaying every and all interaction between them, memorized facial expressions. Aimed to surprise him, to see him light up. There was no other rush like it, to have Bart's attention on him, because he spends all of his time thinking and thinking and thinking. Of toothy grins and flushed cheeks, unruly hair and bright eyes.
If anything were to be different, he would know.
But it wasn’t.
What does that mean?
The silence stretches for a bit before Babs makes herself known again.
“Oh?” she asks, making no effort in concealing the amusement in her voice.
“I - I’ll get back to you?” Despite clearing his throat Tim's voice cracks awkwardly. He’s too preoccupied to be embarrassed about it. He disconnects the line.
The door creaks open barely a second later. Bart bursts into the room in his usual manner, a blur of motion that comes to an abrupt halt in front of Tim.
“Sorry, I got a bit distracted. But I got them!”
He holds up a deck of cards for a second before ripping into the packaging eagerly. Tim gathers all his courage and stands up from his chair.
Bart's eyes widen - he never did put his goggles back on - and he momentarily stops fidgeting with the deck. They’re standing so close Tim could count the freckles on his face. Bart tries to step back but finds the table behind him instead, caged in.
“Oracle got back to me,” Tim says, his voice low.
He hesitates for a second before placing a hand on Barts shoulder, his fingers resting against bare skin. It’s where the acidic potion burned through his suit, and though any injury to him was promptly healed, his suit couldn’t regenerate like he did.
Tim can’t look at Bart right now, or rather, he doesn’t trust himself to, so he focuses on the exposed skin. He had always wondered if Bart had freckles on the rest of his body as well. Now he knows. He marvels at them, scattered across the slope of his shoulders. His mind still wanders. Do his freckles continue down his back? Are there stray marks on his knees?
Bart looks down at his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Right, so what’s up? Am I gonna grow a second head or something?”
He tries to grin but it falters a bit, just at the edges. He looks nervous, maybe for the first time today. Tim swallows and tries not to spend too much time wondering why.
With his hand still on his shoulder; he tries to draw soothing circles against his skin to calm Bart's nerves, and his own, but it seems to have the opposite effect. Bart heats up underneath him, even more than what is typical for speedsters, and red color paints his neck.
With another deep breath, Tim finally looks up.
Oh well. Here goes nothing.
“It’s a love potion,” he chokes out. His mouth is so dry, and he knows his palms are clammy but he can’t stop. Not now, not when he sees emotion flicker across Bart's eyes. An emotion he can’t assign. Tim can’t remember the last time this happened.
“Right now, you’re magically compelled to be in love with me. And I would think that you would be acting differently than usual, but you’re not.” He hates how even his voice sounds, almost clinical. It’s mismatched with the turmoil inside. He can feel his pulse almost painfully against his ear drums, his heart threatening to burst out of his ribcage.
Bart drops his head and hides his face in the crook of Tim's neck. “Oh Grife,” he mutters. His lips brush faintly against skin and Tim has to grit his teeth to not react to it, to not be phased by the jolt through his spine.
Tim moves his hand along Bart's shoulder and comes to a stop at his nape. His hair falls soft against his fingers.
“Bart-” he starts but is interrupted by Bart looking up abruptly. They’ve found themselves in this spot again, standing too close for comfort but no one moves, as always. Bart's eyes are set on Tim, steady and calm. It takes a truly ridiculous amount of effort for Tim to maintain eye contact, to not let his gaze wander back to his freckled shoulders, or worse, his lips.
“Guess that gave me away, no?” Bart smiles softly, eyes creasing at the corners.
Tim wants to say something, but it seems the connection between his brain and his mouth has been severed. He opens his mouth, closes it again and tries not to think about how stupid he must look right now.
Bart tilts his head and tentatively places a hand on Tim's waist. He’s so careful, the touch so gentle, but Tim flinches regardless.
“Some days it’s harder to pretend I'm not in love with you. I thought that today was like that. Maybe that’s what the potion did,” he muses.
Tim stops breathing. Bart is still watching him, patient for the first time in his life and he might be about to pass out. He balls his hand at his side into a fist to regulate, but he can’t do anything against the fact that he’s burning up.
“And if the potion fades?” he asks, his voice finally returning to him.
“Then I’ll still love you, like always. You’ll just know about it now.”
He’s said that he loves him twice in as many minutes. So casual, so matter of fact. As if it's some sort of basic principle he’s structured his life around.
Tim is shocked out of his frozen state by that. He finally dares to move again as he softly cups Bart's face in his hands. Tracing a line along his jaw, pressing a thumb against his cheek. Bart's eyes flutter shut as he leans into the touch and Tim thinks about kissing him.
He doesn’t get the chance to ask. Bart furrows his brows as he opens his eyes again and squints.
“Wait, you didn’t get hit by the potion, did you?”
Tim snorts at the sudden seriousness in his tone and brushes a stray lock out of his forehead.
“No, you jumped in front of me, remember? Which you shouldn’t have, by the way, that was reckless and-”
“Impulsive?” Bart looks at him with a dopey grin as he interrupts. He squeezes his waist jokingly and Tim's heart stutters. He almost forgot that he was holding on to him like that.
“Yeah, that. Also, my suit would’ve kept it out anyway,” he explains.
Bart looks down at his exposed shoulder. “Are you saying my suit is cheap?”
Tim shakes his head. His hand trembles as he places it under Bart's chin to angle his face up again.
“Im saying that I love you. No potion here.”
Bart's breath catches audibly. His eyes search Tims, bright and hopeful and Tim pulls him closer to lean his forehead against his.
Bart exhales a soft laugh in response and Tim can’t help but freeze in disbelief for a second as he moves to lean in.
It’s not as first kisses usually go with Tim. He knows not to expect the unhurried pace he’s used to. And still, his heart can barely handle it when Bart’s arms come around his waist to pull him impossibly closer, when Bart tilts his head to urge him deeper into a kiss that's burning at the edges with a fizzling impatience.
Tim stumbles a half step forward, chasing after him, pushing Bart against the table as his hands find their way into his hair, untangling soft strands between his finger tips.
Bart's voice is raw when they finally pull apart, barely, their bodies still entwined.
“This is really happening?”
Tim runs his nails across his scalp and earns a soft hum in return. He turns his head and places kisses against his temple, his ear.
“Yes,” he mumbles against his ear and delights when he feels Bart shudder against him.
Bart laughs, light and airy in the way that always makes Tim feel lightheaded.
“Thank god for magic, huh?”
Tim frowns and gently tugs at a strand of hair. “Absolutely not. I could have figured it out without it,” he claims.
“Of course.” Bart nods with a sharp grin and Tim forgets about all his surroundings as he leans in again.
His expensive microscope, the deck of cards laying against the table, the beeping of his ear piece all ignored in favor of one more kiss.