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Getting benched sucked.
Tim knew this from first hand experience, just like every other vigilante operating in Gotham. Of course that experience didn’t stop him from working multiple cases behind Batman’s back.
Tailing Poison Ivy, who he suspected of cultivating a highly toxic, hybrid poison led to a full blown shoot out between her and some of the Penguin’s goons.
Robin had jumped into the fray, perfectly setting the stage for him to be doused with some new variant of the rogue’s pollen and Ivy’s escape. Fun.
Logically, he knew he was only out of action until they could determine what exactly he got hit with, that Batman and Alfred were only looking out for his health but now Tim’s mind was running through every possible formula, every possible schematic, and bringing into account the trace he had to go off, waiting was currently not an option.
At five am almost everyone had gone to sleep aside from Duke who’d be waking up soon to start his morning patrol. Creeping down to the cave was less demanding than it should have been.
Tim set aside the pollen sample he collected from his suit to run a mass spectrometry scan, using the total mass of the organic substance to generate possible chemical formulas. Whilst waiting for results he resorted to a microscope slide to analyse the remaining microspores and see if they'd been mutated in any way.
After uploading the scan’s findings on the chemical constituents in the pollen to the batcomputer and a whole lot of tinkering, he finally had a way to track it through the city; a device that could pick up unnaturally high concentrations of the compounds in Ivy’s newest formula.
Traipsing through Gotham, Tim spent the next few days setting up receptors, wired to alert him whenever there was a possible hit. It was surprisingly easy to pretend he was heading to Wayne Enterprises, his favourite internet cafe or the public library and dummy up some fake records of his presence.
Then again, Oracle sees all. There’s no way Babs hadn’t caught wind of Tim’s sneaking around.
𓊝𓂃𓂃
An incessant buzz turned into full blown chatter as the students of Louis E. Grieve Memorial flooded the canteen. Tim glanced up as Bernard let his tray clatter and sat down opposite him. The blonde slid a can across the table.
“We should hang out after school today.”
Tim raised an eyebrow as his eyes flicked from the energy drink to his friend. That seriously sounded like a bribe.
“Sorry, I’m busy tonight,” he said, pointedly taking a bite of the stir fry Alfred made him.
“Come on, I wanna check out this abandoned place on the outskirts, where the Narrows meets the harbour.” Bernard said, half pouting.
That piqued Tim’s interest but he forced his expression to stay neutral. An abandoned house on the outskirts of the Narrows by the waters just so happened to be the latest place his scanners found a large concentration of Ivy’s pollen variants.
“Bernard, is this another conspiracy theory?” Is what he asks instead.
There was a pause as the two boys stared each other down before the other finally relented.
“Fine you got me. But it’s only ‘cause multiple sources are saying that the ghosts of the first and second Robin are crashing in that old house. Mind you, it’s obviously not true considering Robin I is most definitely Nightwing-”
Tim reminded himself to keep chewing at the same pace. Leave it to Bernard to figure out Dick left Robin in Batman’s shadow and fittingly grew into the hero Nightwing; most people didn’t bother digging deep into the lives of their mysterious protectors.
He watched the other boy rant on about some wacky theory involving ghosts and calculated the risks to their secret identities, noticed the way his easy smile somehow made the douchey sunglasses atop his head look less douchey.
“-which is why I want to check it out. Plus it’d be so much more fun with a friend.” The blonde wiggled his eyebrows as if saying: you know you want to go.
And truthfully, Tim did know he wanted to go. He cracked open the can and took a sip watching the way Bernard’s lips ticked up at his nonverbal acceptance.
“Fine, I’ll go with you.”
The blonde raised a brow. “Didn’t you have plans?”
“I can cancel.”
Thankfully, he didn’t question it and shot Tim an endearing grin.
“Sweet.”
𓊝𓂃𓂃
The house vaguely resembled those built with Gotham old money, redbrick with a tarnished, alabaster trim, complete by the overgrown ivy crawling up and around in a makeshift chokehold.
It was pretty decent, for a piece in the Narrows, minus the skittering rats, smashed in windows and leaky ceiling. But that was part of the charm.
“Do you think Robin comes here often?” Bernard asked as he hopped through the broken window.
Interesting perspective. “Why would he? Unless this is some secret bird cave.” Tim suggested as he followed the other boy through the window.
The blonde snorted. “If Robin has a birdcave, Batman totally has a batcave.”
“You think he puts bat- in front of everything.”
“Oh I know he does. Besides this is the type of place you’d bring someone to kiss in secret: abandoned like any other warehouse but cosy in a rustic, Narrows way.”
Tim faltered at that, fleeting thoughts of coffee irises framed by long lashes, the phantom feeling of soft golden hair brushing his, and a smile against his lips.
Maybe it was one of those pollens. He searched for an answer in Bernard's face but the other had his back to him, seemingly interested in the china cabinet with a distinct lack of china.
Sticking his composure back together, Tim replied with an amused lilt, “You think the Boy Wonder has a paramour?”
The other boy finally turned to him with a knowing smirk. “Well yeah, he’s attractive as hell.”
Tim tried not to flush at that.
“Almost makes me kinda jealous.” Bernard added on, like it was an afterthought. An afterthought meaning he’s not attracted to Robin…right?
𓊝𓂃𓂃
The setting sun cast shadows across the concrete walls, illuminating shards of shattered glass. Tim pushed open a door on the second floor – a large attic space converted into multiple rooms, listening as it creaked alongside the dripping pipes and echoed into the silence.
Or what would’ve been silence, if not for a pretty blonde boy who just so happened to be a conspiracy theorist extraordinaire and the wrench in Tim’s plans.
“Tim! Look at this!” Bernard called from somewhere on the first floor.
Tim sighed, somewhat fondly and peered over the banister, looking down to see the other boy leaning precariously against the railing below, holding up a potted purple flower. Crimped and united petals, five on each flower, growing up a floral stalk. Tim’s eyes widened albeit only slightly.
He tilted further over the railing and said, “Bernard, that flower is poisonous.”
Tim turned away and headed to the stair case, listening to the sounds of his friend scrambling to get away from the amethyst plant. On the last step he was greeted by said friend crouched four feet away from where the flower had been deposited in a rush, staring at it intently. Tim dropped down next to him, pulling on a pair of gloves and reaching for the pot.
Bernard eyed him. “You make a habit of carrying those around?”
Tim scoffed and tilted a flower towards the brightness streaming through the fractured skylight, confirming what his mind had pulled out his mental filling cabinet.
“Delphinium bicolour, more commonly known as larkspur. It's a variation of garden plant that contains diterpene alkaloids, methyllycaconitine and nudicauline.”
The other fully turned to stare at him now. “Cool. Mind repeating that in English?”
Rolling his eyes playfully, Tim avoided Bernard’s gaze, blaming the subtle warmth he felt on Ivy’s pollen. “All parts of larkspur are toxic to humans – the leaves and seeds cause skin irritation. If you eat it, it can cause muscular paralysis, bloat and even death.”
“Oh…oh, wow. Don’t die on me Tim.” Bernard said, pinching Tim’s jacket sleeve as ensurance.
The boy in question snorted and continued to analyse the flower, making no move to shrug the other off. After a moment Bernard let go, opting to take pictures of the bare, warmly lit room they found themselves in.
Sunlight caught on his hair like an iridescent halo, Tim noted. The blonde reached up to pull on a tattered, moth-eaten curtain and Tim wondered what it would be like to hold his hand, to compare those slender fingers to his. He also took note of the vines unnaturally creeping through the window, a possible indication that Poison Ivy had indeed been here.
“Who just leaves toxic plants laying around anyway?”
An eco-friendly rouge with a very valid ideology but questionable methods, Tim thought to himself.
“Sounds like Poison Ivy actually.” The other amends as if he could actually read minds. Maybe Kate was onto something.
Bernard crouched down on the other side of the flower to take a picture of it and Tim is once again reminded of the blonde’s subtle perceptiveness.
After producing a zip lock bag seemingly out of nowhere and securing a sample of the larkspur, Tim let Bernard lead them through the house as they explored each room together.
It was your typical abandoned house: peeling, patterned wallpaper, cracked stone fireplaces, dust and cobwebs congregating in every crevice or corner. Everything of value had been striped away leaving the empty shell of a building.
The pair wandered down to the ground floor, peeking through doorways and peering into cupboards and drawers. There was an abnormal amount of vines almost mapping out the house by branching over windows and walls.
Tim subtly steered their path to follow the creepers back to their source, hoping to find some sort of evidence of Ivy’s presence. Lo and behold, they approached what appeared to be a conservatory, brimming with plant life that cast shadows across the glass.
“Definitely Poison Ivy.” Bernard breathed out, before fiddling with the sliding doors. “Y’know, larkspur sounds like a bird.”
Tim snorted. “You think? Imagine a Gotham vigilante called ‘Larkspur’.”
“Hey, it sounds cool.” The blonde said as he pushed the doors open.
As they stepped inside, the scent of earth hit them: warm and inviting. A whole array of plants stood tall and plotted, others crept up trellises and more cascaded down from hanging baskets.
Tim had to duck under some trailing lobelia whilst Bernard belatedly remembered to take pictures of the balmy, enchanting room.
The noirette passed the outstretched branches of a ficus elastica and wove through a curtain of creepers to find what seemed to be a makeshift lab.
A desk stood in the centre with cabinets, countertops and drawers taking up the north side of the ivy curtain. All sorts of equipment from beakers to condensers filled the spaces. Strangely, a large ornate wardrobe rested against the east wall, out of place and directly opposite Tim with the table between them.
Setting sunlight filtered in through the glass door off to his right, leading to what appeared to be a garden and the clouded ceiling, casting a warm humid glow over the entire conservatory. A garden tap protruded from the wall with a bucket placed under it.
Bright red berries caught his eye from the desk in the centre of the area. Yew, Tim’s mind supplied. Everything on the plant except the berry flesh is toxic. Next to it sat a flower with midnight purple berries. Deadly nightshade, fatal if ingested. The third and final plant which occupied a larger pot was composed of lots of little white flowers. Giant hogweed, contains furocoumarins which prevent the skin from protecting itself from UV rays, leading to burns, blisters and scarring.
Well, that was concerning. Tim pulled out his gloves again and secured samples of each of the toxic plants. He’d have to run some tests to see if they’d been genetically altered in any way.
The vines rustled and Tim could feel Bernard attempting to sneak up on him before he heard it. The raven haired boy kept his stance relaxed and pretended not to notice the other behind him.
“Boo.”
Tim involuntarily flinched away in surprise when he felt the whispered word tickle his ear. Not what he expected. Tim instinctively brought his hand up to feel his too warm ear and whipped around to see Bernard cackling brightly.
“Dude, you should see your face,” he said between bouts of laughter, “Your ears are red red.”
“Bernard,” Tim dragged a hand over his face and groaned . Before he could utter any reprimand, his too warm ears prickled at the sound of flowers rustling, creepers slithering across the clay tiled floor as if alive and footsteps. “Someone's coming.”
Grabbing Bernard’s arm and scanning the room, he dashed around the table and pulled them both into the large, ornate closet.
“Hey!”
Darkness engulfed the two as the door swung quietly shut, save for the little sliver that served as a window. They both peered through it quietly and Tim felt the other boy's breath hitch as the vines parted for none other than Poison Ivy herself.
“Is that-”
He clasped his hand over Bernard's mouth, pressing a finger to his lips with the other, a sign that could barely be seen in the darkness. Slowly, he dropped the action and crouched in the middle of the wardrobe to peer through the gap, acutely aware of the other pressed up to his left side.
Ivy greeted something unseen with a brush of her fingers and leant over the potted plants, copper hair drawing a curtain around them as she carefully inspected the nightshade’s leaves for discolouration. Tim watched her drift around the table and out of sight listening to the sound of cabinets and draws being riffled through.
The two boys could only watch whilst the rogue ground a few nightshade berries in a mortar and pestle and extracted a blood red liquid from the yew – most likely its sap. Ivy mixed the two almost casually as if the combined tropane and taxine alkaloids in the two substances wouldn’t cause severe multi-system poisoning if administered.
They waited for what felt like a little less than an hour before she finally left the area, humming gently to herself and the plants around her.
Tim grabbed Bernard’s wrist and waited for another ten minutes for good measure until he finally pushed open the wardrobe doors and let the light spill in. He motioned for the other to keep quiet to which the blonde responded with an exaggerated act of zipping his lips.
Tim couldn’t help but smile as he tugged Bernard’s phone out the boy’s back pocket, emboldened by a little moment of confidence that washed over him, and snapped a couple photos of the lab swamped by nature.
He returned the cell, refusing to look the other in the eye, instead pulling him to the glass door leading out onto the revived lawns surrounding the house. Tim opened it without a creak and slipped through with Bernard in tow.
As soon as he carefully closed the conservatory door, Bernard tugged their interlinked hands dragging him into a sprint as they ran round through the grassy land surrounding the house.
“Holy shit!” The blonde’s laughter rang out, near hysterical but bright nonetheless. Tim couldn’t help but join in, a smile blossoming on his face; the other's grin was infectious.
Tim chanced a glance at him whilst they ran, taking in the puff of his cheeks and the still-douchey sunglasses fixed atop his head. The way he blew hair out his face and the glint in his eyes. Bernard stared right back, face splitting into a smile – bright, steady and beautiful.
…Huh. He really couldn’t blame Ivy’s pollen for that one.
“That was the Poison Ivy! How are we not dead? Or like, being mauled on by a carnivorous plant?” Bernard gasped as they slowed enough to get a proper breath in, away from the house in the Narrows.
“I don't think she would’ve gone that far...probably.” Tim started to lead the other by their intertwined hands like it was natural. “It was getting late anyways. Let’s call it a night.”
Twilight settled in the sky as the two walked to the nearest bus stop and chatted about everything and nothing, looking at all the photos they took. Tim thought about how he could bust Ivy’s alchemy sessions without tipping off Bruce and the others – maybe Steph and Babs would help him.
𓊝𓂃𓂃
Tim watched Bernard ascend the front steps of his family brownstone from a fire escape across the street, having alluded to heading to the condo in Old Gotham he shared with his dad and Dana. It's not like he could say goodbye at the door; Bernard's father would have a field day with that. So all Tim could do was watch from outside, unable to account for what might happen inside.
Not that the other had said anything. It was all speculation on the noirette’s part.
Tim thought that perhaps one day, they could share goodnight kisses on each other's doorsteps like no one was watching, and he knew that wasn’t the pollen talking.