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thejusticelounge2014-11-08 07:22 am
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2014-11-08 07:22 am
meet the press
"So you think you’re ready for the big leagues?"
It’s almost a ridiculous question, because Ollie asking it at this juncture — when he and Tim are just about to go out onto the stairs of the Central City Public Library to sell a story to the assembled press about the strength of the Queen and Wayne empires separately and together — makes it completely rhetorical. If one of them pulled out now, it would only ignite speculation and make things worse. So far they’d done a few small, polite, softball interviews that allowed them to reassure the public of the solvency of their businesses; this would be nothing like that. No pre-planned questions, no press pool stocked with friendly faces.
Grinning at Tim, Ollie bounced on the toes of his sneakers (he’d opted for a more dressed-down look for the Midwest, appeal to their sensibilities) and swung his arms back and forth. “You’ll see,” he promises. “You’ll be glad we’re doing our first no-holds-barred interview in front of a live crowd instead of in a sterile, cramped television studio. There’s nothing like having a conversation in the fresh air, addressing a throng in front of a hallowed public service building to get the blood and the brainmeats pumping, Tim.”
They could hear the reporters outside, in fact, chatting with each other and issuing challenges, comparing notes. The banks of photographers were nothing to sneer at, either, or the various video cameras from the stations. Central City had turned out in force for this. “There’s a lot riding on us making a good impression,” Ollie intones, watching Tim closely.
Unlike Ollie, Tim’s dressed properly from head to toe in a three piece suit with shiny black shoes and a red tie he’s currently caressing into perfection. In stead of eager he looks calm and collected, familiar with the watchful eyes and eager reporters awaiting them in the next room. He hears them also, their rumours and accusations, their preparation of the attempts to lure them out of their comfort zone. Tim won’t let them, isn’t certain what to expect but he knows what pieces of information he’s willing to share or not. Nothing too harmful and enough good words towards Queen Industries.
"Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I’ve never dealt with these people before," he responds with what he hopes is a confident look and smile. When he promised Ollie to help, he didn’t know he’d have to appear at the Central City Public Library. But alas, here they are."You be your loud and shameless self and I’ll act accordingly, mister Queen." Tim flings his bangs out of his eyes, catching sight of the security signing their approval and allowing them to take their place. The younger man motions forwards. "After you, flamboyant one."
"Shameless!" Ollie repeats, as if this is the most outlandish way to characterize his general attitude. "Flamboyant! Them’s fightin’ words, young Master Drake." But the clap on the shoulder that Ollie gives Tim as he moves past him is warm, bolstering, and Ollie raises his hands to greet the array of flashes that go off when he walks out onto the front steps of the Central City Public Library. In this town, the library stairs are where a lot of pertinent and groundbreaking history for the cause of democracy has been made, and it’s for that reason that Ollie’s chosen this venue for their press appearance.
"Nice to see you could all make it out to this shindig," he says cheerfully to the assembled crowd. "And I know you’ll be kind to my friend Tim Drake-Wayne, here, seeing as this is his first time in the shark tank." This despite what Tim had told him before they came out here, about having dealt with the fifth estate before. But it’s a better dynamic to play Tim off as the newbie, small and serious against Ollie’s … shameless flamboyance.
He grins widely, beckoning for Tim to join him.
Tim is inclined to snort in reaction to Ollie’s exaggerations, but settles with a chuckle instead, shaking his head slightly. He watches the man confront the media, observes his broad back and the light of the cameras taking pictures of his relaxed composure. If only he’d ever feel that at ease doing this. Although part of him warns him quietly that if that day ever comes, he’s in too far. There is a fine line between Tim Drake-Wayne and Tim Drake, after all.
And then it’s his turn. Tim ventures after him, emerging with a small smile to Ollie’s kind introduction. Taking his place next to the tall blonde, he faces him shortly. “Thank you for the introduction, Ollie. I can only wish to gain a fragment of your confidence regarding public speech.” His eyes avoid the papparazi for another ten seconds or so, hands smoothening his tie in a planned nervous motion. “Good afternoon everyone, it is a pleasure to meet you all here at the Central City Public Library where I hope to answer any and all of your questions to your heart´s content.” Even if he truly won’t. He faces them and his vision is blinded momentarilly as he waves carefully at the reporters.
The act is impressive indeed, and hell, it’s not like Ollie expected anything different from Tim. Couldn’t put on the Robin wings unless you knew how to pull off a fakey public persona if needed. But still, it was a riot to watch the kid work, the carefully seeded-in nervous gestures and modest demeanour all creating a picture of Tim Drake-Wayne, brave little toaster.
Still, when the first question (lobbed at them by Axel Stolenrod of the Keystone Gazette) is: “How can Wayne Enterprises justify being associated with the vigilante Green Arrow? Is it because he has the Queen billions behind him to buy his way out of being prosecuted for his violent, illegal actions?” it’s enough, Ollie wagers, to make a little of that nervousness real.
Leaning into the mic, Ollie drawls, “Maybe the billionaire vigilante Green Arrow should answer that one, Axel, since he’s standing right in front’a you in his size twelves.”
The reporter barely even glances at Ollie, staring at Tim. “I’d like a response from Mr. Drake-Wayne.”
Ollie’s drawl is ineffective, Tim knows instantly as Axel Stolenrod refuses penetrative gaze refuses to shift when spoken to. It isn’t the first time he speaks with the noisy reporter. Doesn’t make answering this particular question any easier however. Tim is somewhat prepared, expected this type of accusation disguised as a question. He hopes Bruce approves of his reply, and honestly that is the only matter of his public persona that continues to make him uneasy: his actions and words directly influencing Bruce Wayne’s carefully chosen persona. All the effort and time to depict him as he is can be easily shattered into a million tiny pieces.
Tim glances at Ollie. Well, if the man’s outing as a vigilante hasn’t ruined W.E. so far, his answer can’t possibly do any worse. He clears his throat, fingering the knot of his tie pretending to choose his words. “Allow me, Ollie. I assume what you’re asking is: ‘does Wayne Enterprises care more for money than the city’s civillians?’ The answer is no. The answer is W.E. doesn’t believe a person can only be good or bad. These are two elements which are to be balanced. Ollie chose the life of a vigilante to protect the citizens of Star City even while he was already doing so with Queen Industries. W.E. believes his intentions were, for lack of better words, good. The strike of violent, illegal actions can’t be overseen, but shouldn’t make Star City, nor the rest of the world, forget what great things he has accomplished and will positively accomplish in the near future. With this mindset, Wayne Enterprises will resume its coalition with Queen Industries.”
Well, maybe that was more his personal opinion of Ollie’s behaviour than anything else. Tim stares at the reporter and the squinted eyes that observe him closely. “Does that answer your question?” He asks with a glance in Ollie’s general direction. “Would you like to add anything, Ollie?
"Don’t think I coulda said it any better myself," Ollie says. Although he then continues, addressing the whole of the assemblage instead of just Axel Stolenrod: "Both Queen Industries and Wayne Enterprises have always put a strong, committed focus on the communities that we live and work in. Gotham City is inextricable from the Wayne family and what they’ve done there, and even if Tim is too polite to say it, I think it’s very poor form to attack Bruce and his family when they’re dealing with the loss of their home and still trying to rebuild the city after the Arhkam breakout."
There’s a babble among the reporters, and Theresa Lim of the Coast City News asks, “When you say attacks, Mr. Spencer Queen, are you referring to the critiques of the Wayne family’s corporate involvement with you and your wife, Kate Spencer, who’s also a known vigilante?”
Scratching his beard, Ollie says, “Now, Theresa, I’m not trying to make this personal. I’m talking about the systematic attacks on Wayne Enterprises from an outside party, trying to destabilize the company and buy up the majority stock while the family’s dealing with personal tragedy. Considering all of the charitable work and major donations to rebuilding the city that Wayne Enterprises has made and continues to make, well … where I come from, that kind of behaviour’s reserved for vultures and the like.”
After that, there’s a number of questions the reporters clamour to ask Tim — about this mysterious figure trying to buy out Wayne Enterprises, about the fate of Wayne Manor, about what his family’s doing to help Gotham recover from Arkham and the Joker — and Ollie lets Tim field them as he takes stock of which way the questions are running, what direction the reporters’ sympathies are turning.
Tim listens carefully when Ollie speaks, picks up on his subtle change of subject regarding the loss of Wayne Manor and Tim closes his eyes for a moment while remembering his first impression seeing the grand mansion, entering its spacious lobby and descending the hidden stairwell to the Cave.Gone, all gone. He allows his brows to knot, eyes opening once more but less focussed as before. Let them see, his inner self snaps in a sudden rush of anger for their lack of compassion towards his family, the pressure it adds on Bruce’s shoulders in particular.
The questioning continues, Tim’s attention drifting from reporter to reporter with honest but vague answers to not truly let anyone in on the company’s struggles. No, the identity of the person trying to take over W.E. has not been found yet. And no, they don’t expect this figure to succeed. No, rebuilding Wayne Manor is not a priority despite its heritage and the landmark it stood for. Definitely not, Wayne Enterprises isn’t using Green Arrow’s skillset on Gotham’s rooftops simply to reel in Arkham escapees, Gothamites will have to grow accostumed to his presence in this city.
The reporters appear determined asking him a question Tim will have to confirm rather than reject, their frustration clearly growing with his polite and correct speech. He wonders if they simply want him to admit that W.E., the financial pilar of Gotham City, is facing tremendous difficulty in supporting the city as it used to. There is a moment where there’s only murmurs from the crowded flock before them. Tim fills the silence with a deep sigh, truly feeling the pressure of defending their company and personal life and growing tenser by the moment. None of them will notice, Tim doesn’t allow them to, but his back straightens at the sudden question aimed at Ollie by a woman Tim’s unfamiliar with, perhaps a new reporter on the field?
"Mister Queen, if you don’t mind my addresing this issue again, isn’t it peculiar you and your wife both turn out to be vigilantes? It makes a curious woman wonder, who else in your inner circle is part of this self-rightous club? How many are there, hiding amongst us in such influential positions? Any comments?" Her curiosity is contagious, reporters falling silent and awaiting Ollie’s responds while Tim observes her, hoping Ollie will channel that itsy bitsy part of subtlety that he possesses.
Ollie doesn’t answer the question right away. He lets the implications of it brew and bubble among the reporters, watches their expressions become cagey, suspicious, before he steps closer to the mic, big hands grasping the sides of the podium.
"I don’t mind at all," he begins, courteously. "Even though that’s a pretty convoluted way to ask a man how he met his wife." There’s a couple of snickers, but most of the reporters don’t laugh. Ollie goes on.
"Kate and I had a workplace romance, that’s all. I didn’t have any reason to know her through her work in LA; we met while we were collaborating on a rehabilitation project within … well, I guess you call it the ‘cape’ community. Helping minor baddies and good-guys-gone-wrong to get on the righteous path again. So no, it was no big coincidence that we’re both vigilantes. Just happens to be how we met.
"As for the other thing." Ollie’s face shifts from its mild, pleasant expression to one a little more intense, a little more fiery. "The inner circle of influential people who’re secret vigilantes." He doesn’t look over at Tim — it’s as if he’s forgotten his companion’s even there — and instead leans forward to the mic, the wood podium creaking a bit in his grip.
"You’re right," Ollie says. "There’s thousands of influential people who are capes." The reporters start to mutter like a crowd of seagulls, but Ollie’s voice raises and he keeps going: "Some of the people I work with are nurses. They’re farmers. They’re cops and teachers and artists and designers and hell, some of ‘em are waitresses and busboys. They go out every day to their jobs and then go out at night to protect their families and their neighbours when local government and law enforcement fail them. They raise their children, they mow their lawns, they go to bake sales. They’re the backbone of this country. So yeah—" Ollie stands up straight again, lifting his bearded chin slightly to regard the reporters down the long slant of his nose, "—you could say there’s members of my community in every influential position you can imagine. And I couldn’t be prouder to be one of ‘em."
Turning from the podium, Ollie raises a hand to wave at the crowd as he heads away from the reporters to the holding area, winking at Tim along the way.
There isn’t much Tim can do while Ollie starts his speech. It’s admirable how easy he moves and speaks before they hungry eyes, even if he knows the man’s careful with his choice of words. “Thank you for your time. Have a nice day,” Tim says when Ollie passes him by. The wink causes him to smile amusedly. This man is full of surprises. He waves, stays for a few seconds longer and showing fake remorse for the reporters who didn’t get to ask their questions.
"Long and a bit over the top, but an adequate responds," he says after finally following Ollie to the holding area. Running a hand through his bangs, he exhales roughly as he is obviously glad it’s over. "I must admit that last one caught me by surprise. I thought the hype about your outing and Kate’s was over. I don’t think they suspect anything odd however." Tim has to look up at the blonde man and usually is reminded of his short height, but he has learned to deal with it, a little. Ollie’s a great man so he doesn’t mind bending his neck all the time while conversating with him.
Ollie finishes swigging water from one of his Qleen bottles and groans at Tim’s assessment of his speech. “Adequate!” he repeats. “That little masterpiece of razzle dazzle and oration out there and all I rate from you is an adequate?” He shakes his head, reaching out to flick a finger against Tim’s shoulder. “Jeez, you and your pa are tough customers. Once I made four bulls-eyes in the dark — in the PITCH dark, mind you — and all Big B had for me was a measly little ‘not bad’.”
The handlers move them out through the side entrance of the library into the town car that will take them back to the hotel, not a moment wasted for them to potentially be ambushed by the press. “I don’t think they smelled anything fishy either,” he agrees. “Not with how well you do the ‘young heir to the family empire trying to make good’ act, Tim. You’re a tricksier young man than you’d have people believe.”
Ollie’s grin fades a bit, though, when he says, “The grief over losing the Manor, though. You didn’t have to fake that part.”
"I guess Wayne men aren’t easy to impress," Tim quips feeling cheeky and enjoying Ollie’s frustration with their lack of proper enthusiastic reactions. The flick to his shoulder is playful, affectionate in a way Tim’s a tad unfamiliar with. IN the back of his mind, he whispers that now he understands why Jason stayed with Ollie when off his game entirely. The man.. so easy to get along with, no expectations, no scolding glares and awkward silences. Olliue’s booming voice is difficult to ignore, even when it becomes as soft as it does when addressing Tim’s acting and honest feelings shining through.
"Tricksier.. The role I play is simple, I try to please everyone as well as possible, telling them what they want to hear to a certain degree, showing understanding and remorse," Tim leans back into the firm material of the seat in the car, tipping his head back. "They will never understand how valuable the Manor was to us, to Alfred, Bruce and Dick, Jason and Damian, Cass, Steph and even Babs. It was home, it was headquarters, it was the place that connected us more than his symbol ever will. I learned the true meaning of family in that house and now it’s gone, along with that.. the family hasn’t been the same ever since," Tim murmurs as quietly as if about to fall asleep. Truth is he hasn’t talked about his feelings regarding the Manor very much, hasn’t given himself time to process properly. His throat feels a bit tight, but his eyes aren’t stinging, thank God. "We are broken, Ollie. That’s what it feels like, to me. He broke us that day."
The nakedness of Tim’s words stuns Ollie into silence for a while. The others have expressed grief over the Manor’s destruction, of course, but with Bruce and Jason it’s been jagged, only barely articulated. Understandable for the two of them, of course (so alike in their twinned need and difficulty in talking, so the parsimonious words come out like mouthfuls of blood), and Ollie hadn’t been sure if Tim, polite little Tim, would be similarly tight about it.
But no, here he is laying it out in words plain as piecrust; his assessment of what losing the Manor meant to the family. And not just to them as individuals, but to them as a family entity. And one that was none too stable to begin with.
"Hey, listen, kiddo." Ollie reached over to bump his knuckles companionably against Tim’s wrist, lying lax and pale on the seat. "Your family’s come back from some pretty awful shit. Each one of you individually and as a whole — I mean, hell, the fact that you’re all even around to think of yourself as a family after everything you’ve been through is saying something. The Manor being gone, it’s—"
Ollie stops there for a moment, his hand curling into a fist on the seat as Bruce’s voice replays in his head: stay with me. come live in the manor. i want you there. It hadn’t been a real option, not for the scion of Star City, but Ollie’d always put it off with the promise: one day, when we’re all too old to do this gig anymore. And now that future that he’d worked so hard to convince Kate and Bruce was waiting for them, their reward for all this, it was crumbled into the ground.
Swallowing, he finishes, “—it’s hard to take. Damned hard. But it’s not the end of everything, and there’s much more that connects you all.” He pats Tim’s chest, over the young man’s heart. “This isn’t broken, Tim. You’re still going.”
Tim directs his gaze to the window, regretful of his moment of weakness. He doesn’t want to bother Ollie, to pass on this intense feeling of sadness. Sometimes it seems like he can either say nothing or has to say everything at once. How annoying, but Ollie takes it well and Tim is thankful for it, for him. His small touches, kind and comforting, pull him from his self-pity party. Everything they’ve been through, his mind starts pinning in an attempt to remember it all: yelling, fighting, pain, injuries, death and resurrection. Birthdays, Father’s Day. Tim nods.
"I’m sorry," he finally responds. Sorry for suddenly diving into the depths of this subject, for obviously triggering an emotional memory in the blonde’s mind and for—"I’m sorry for being so skeptical about your relationship with Bruce while married to Kate. I wasn’t as supportive as I should have been, and I will try to improve." He pats his own heart as well, copying Ollie’s movement and feeling its beating. "He isn’t.. He’s.. troubled, and I guess you’re an adequat candidate to ease him through it," the younger one says giving Ollie a small smile. Bruce is kind of lucky, he thinks gingerly.
What they’ve been talking about is serious, and the emotional resonance is heavy in the car, but at Tim’s measured apology and subsequent approval, Ollie laughs. Loud and warm and sudden, the sound filling the back of the car like the winter sunshine that floods in as they turn out of the shadow of the downtown buildings.
"Two ‘adequates’ over the course of one conversation!" he crows. "High praise indeed, if your comment about the Wayne predilection for doling compliments out stingily is to be believed." Snickering, Ollie tugs at his jacket lapels and runs his hand over his moustache. "Tim, don’t ever change."
The town car pulls up at their hotel and Ollie’s touching the handle, ready to spring out, but he pauses, looking back at his young companion. “It means a lot, though,” he says. “Your … well, I guess your support. I know how much Bruce means to you, and it’s good to know that you trust me with him. That’s important stuff, in a family.”
Tim genuinely startles at Ollie’s booming laughter. He watches, lips curling into a smile and heaves a relieved little sigh. Leave it to Ollie to lift the mood. He silently dubs the man sunshine in his mind, gets embarrased and snorts at himself, lowering his gaze. “I don’t do well with changes,” he states, glancing the man’s way, “but I can do with modifications. The modification of adding you to the family is in process.”
The thought of telling Ollie not to hurt Bruce and threaten him with cruel punishments is silly. The man will do well and will do wrong, and he and Bruce will have to cope with it in their own way. Therefore Tim nods confidentially at him, grasping the handle of his door and stepping out first. The fresh air overwhelms him, but feels pleasant to his skin. “Perhaps I need a drink,” he says out loud, pondering and slamming the door shut behind him to release some restless energy.
"Now that sounds like an excellent proposal." They make their way up the short staircase to the hotel’s front door ("Why does every damn building in this burg have stairs in front?" Ollie grouses companionably) and return the concierge’s nod of inquiry, but carry on without the man’s assistance. "From what I heard two gloriously hung-over models discussing in the elevator this morning, this bar makes a killer sidecar. Which, if you’ve never had one, is a drink to be reckoned with, my young friend."
The bar, like the city, is a little old-fashioned: dark wood, coloured glass panels, low leather club chairs. But it’s big enough for people to have private conversations and there seems to be an extensive appetizer menu, both of which Ollie approves of. Taking a seat at one of the two-person tables, he picks up the menu but doesn’t look at it yet, tapping the edge against his hand as he smirks, “By the way, it might speed up your modification somewhat if you consider the might of the combined empires of Arrow and Bat, wouldn’tja say?”
As the less experienced one when it comes to bars and alcohol, Tim trusts Ollie’s words to be truth. The bar is to his liking with its dark and secretive personality. It’s a place he will frequent perhaps, or perhaps not, depending on the end of this night. He sits and observes the few people accompanying them, mostly loners, some duos who appear more interested in their drinks than anything else. Nothing suspcious. Tim tugs on the knot of his tie, lowering it untill he can fully undo it. “Sidecar I’ve never heard of. I’ll give it a try.” He’s feeling a bit adventurous today, Tim decides, slipping the silk fabric of his tie onto the table.
His eyes find Ollie’s, the smile returning on his face. “The might? As far as I see it the glowering Bat will cover for the Arrow’s straightforward and most likely inappropriate shot. But Q.I. has done well by itself, so you must know more about running a business then you’re letting on. The coalition is bound to be interesting,” he says brushing bangs from his face and snatching the menu from Ollie’s hands. Curiously as ever, he contemplates his options, clearly not settling for one drink tonight. “They have interesting names for their shots Ever had a Cocksucking Cowboy, mister Queen?” He questions with a straight face and staring Ollie in the eyes.
"Can’t say I have," Ollie drawls with a twinkle of mirth in his green eyes, "but I have had a Royal Fuck and a Screaming Orgasm. Several, in fact." He leans back in his chair, slanting his hips down so his long legs fall open lazily as he gets comfortable. "No time like the present to try one out, hey?"
As if they’d summoned her by magic, a waitperson appears to discreetly take their orders and then disappears again after leaving them each a bowl of cocktail nibbles. “Walnuts and cheese twists,” Ollie observes in further amusement, picking up his bowl and eating a few of the bits. “Ahhhh, the good ol’ Midwest. I suppose I should be grateful for a respite from the wasabi peas and wasabi edamame that every single Californian bar seems to stock now.”
Munching on a cheese twist, Ollie fixes Tim with a look. “I wouldn’t have brought this up on my own,” he begins, “but since you kinda opened the door there for me with your talk of orally gifted gauchos and the like, Tim, I gotta ask — how’re things going on the romantical front? Since last time we talked, you mentioned something of a … dilemma.” Ollie doesn’t mention Kyle directly (not that hard, since he’s made a habit of not referring to Kyle), but he raises his eyebrows significantly.
Tim shakes his head goodnaturedly at Ollue’s responds and the names of equally ridiculous shots of alcohol. Their names pique his interest and Tim finds himself agreeing with the man, making sure to order one of each as the waitperson appears. The nibbles stare up at him, but look hardly appetiting. Tim saves them for later, taking a cheese twist if only to occupy his hands.
He taps the salty treat on the table at the sound of Ollie’s question. The subject of romance causes his body to tense, eyes lowering. “No time, no progress,” he states softly, not ready to have a conversation rivalling Steph’s about coming out to the Green Lantern and get it over with. He can’t, Tim decides again pushing down on the cheese twist and breaking off the tip. “No need to worry, It has yet to influence my performance at night,” Tim reassures the older man while careful of her words even if the few other guests are hardly within earshot.
"Your performance at night is kinda germane to the topic at hand, spatzi," Ollie grins, tossing a walnut in the air and catching it in his mouth. "And no, I didn’t have any worries about you being distracted from the job, are you kidding me? With you the problem’s more that you /need/ more distractions from the job or you’d never leave it."
He seems about to say something more, but then the waitress returns with their small fleet of drinks, setting them up rapidly and then disappearing again. Selecting the Cocksucking Cowboy, Ollie raises it in Tim’s direction and throws it back, licking his teeth afterwards. “Jesus,” he laughs, “it’s like candy.”
Pointing his pinkie finger at Tim, Ollie intones, “Anyhow, the matter at hand. What you need is a one-night stand, Drake. That’ll clear out the cobwebs and get you moving again, instead of this fruitless pining.” He puts down the shot glass hard enough that it makes a ringing sound against the table, as if to punctuate this declaration.
"Well, I admit I am somewhat a workaholic," Tim comments and munches on the cheese twist with a small smile. He watches Ollie intently, awaiting the man’s reaction to the shot of creamy white alcohol and chuckles. "Disappointed? Thought the flavour would be more realistic?" he asks crunching the treat between his teeth. He licks the crumbs of his lips, aligning his shots with a thoughtful look.
Tim looks up at the mention of a one-night stand. Been there, done that, hated it, Ollie should know after their conversation, but he nods at him either way. Pining, as Ollie calls it, because to Tim it’s admiring, really, after a guy who is already in a relationship won’t get him the intimacy of a special relationship that he’s secretly been longing for, you know, in between office work and kicking criminals to the curb.
"I didn’t order these because I am actually in need of a Royal Fuck and Screaming Orgasm. One-night stands, with whom even,” he mutters, raising his Royal Fuck and downing it. The sour apple schnapps lingers on his tongue, the drink burning down his throat pleasantly. Tim clears his throat. “But it would be nice—I mean, it tastes nice.”
The dry look that Tim gives Ollie following his suggestion of a hookup is enough to remind the older man of their previous conversation on the subject, and he smacks his forehead with his open palm. “Ah, jeez, Tim — I forgot you’re not a big fan of the one-nighter, sorry ‘bout that. Old habits and pieces of advice die hard, I guess.” Focusing on his sidecar, Ollie confesses, “I mean, hell, it’s not like /I/ even take that advice anymore. A months-long estrangement from my partners and I didn’t pick up anybody at a bar once. Didn’t even think about it. And forget sleeping with anybody I actually /know/.”
He coughs in amusement but doesn’t directly address Tim’s slip of the tongue, instead diplomatically saying, “So I suppose if an old dog like me can do without the aformentioned fucks and orgasms, a young pup like you who gets more turned on by satellites than suckjobs is gonna have an easier time dealing with a dry spell.”
While Ollie apologizes, Tim let’s the Screaming Orgasm roll down his throat and sets the shot glass down with an appreciative little sigh. The coffee liquer mixed in the drink with vodka and the Irish cream was delicious. “No need to apologize, although I’d like to mention there’s nothing wrong with my libido nor do I have infatuations with hardware. I only speak with it when thinking,” Tim says as his eyes scan the room for the waitress, wanting to ask for another shot even if he still has to start on his sidecar as well.
"Besides, I wouldn’t know what that feels like anyway," he adds more quietly, waving the girl over and offering her his empty shots asking for a refill. The waitress is happy to oblige and Tim smiles as he leans back in his seat, the alcohol warming his belly and easing his limbs into relaxation. He should drink more often, Tim thinks caressing his sidecar and thoughts starting to wander, returning to Ollie’s previously spoken words. "It’s a good thing, not getting persuaded by your needs when in a relationship even though unable to reach that level of intimacy," the younger man states, watching Ollie with a slight tilt of his head. "Seems like you really love her, and him."
"I do," Ollie says softly, his gaze getting a little distant as he considers Tim’s words. He hasn’t known the kid long, and for most of that time the three of them have been struggling to repair their relationship; it’s a relief, in a way, to know that despite all the strife Tim can still see how Ollie feels about Kate and Bruce. "I love them both like crazy. It’s not a conventional relationship, I’ll grant you, but we don’t live conventional lives. It hasn’t been easy getting over my, uh…" he shifts, uncomfortably, "…well, I mean, I’ve always been fine with /other/ people being queer, but not me. I’ve lived through my share of being in denial."
He bolts back the rest of his sidecar and signals for another, leaning over to give his shots to Tim. “Too sweet for me,” Ollie explains. “I’ll stick to the less titillating cocktails.”
Tim takes the shots, but lets the alcohol be as he sense the conversation has taken a turn. Ollie’s expression leaves him staring openly, looking the man up and down. It is odd and admirable, the bond he shares with KAte and Bruce. It is something Tim’s unable to understand, p[erhaps because he is still too young and inexperienced or perhaps some things aren’t meant to make sense to everyone. Althought he hopes to fully understand and be genuinely fine with it, with his father sharing his most intimate emotions with not one, but two. Tim sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. It’s the dividing of attention and affection that bothers him, he notices quietly, believing there will always be a favourite and hating the fact it might not be Bruce, because he deserves to be the only one, the favourite.
"That’s surprising," he says honestly, "I didn’t picture you as a hypocrite." And that might sound harsher than he meant, but he said it and let’s Ollie think of it whatever. "What made you confesses to yourself?"
At Tim’s mention of the word hypocrite, Ollie scratches the front of his head and gives the younger man a wry look. “Well,” he says, “you haven’t really known me for that long, Tim.”
Sighing, Ollie sits back and spreads his hands along the armrests of his chair. “There’ve been … relationships along the way that made me wonder,” he explains, and even as he does it, he wonders why the fuck he’s saying all this to Tim. Maybe it’s the exhilaration of the press conference or the not-quite-real-life feeling of being on the road, but this seems the time and place for confessionals. Maybe because Tim’s been pretty upfront about his own ideas concerning romance. “But I never thought much of it past the idea that if it was fleeting, and if I was the one in control, then it didn’t mean anything. About me personally, I mean, about my sexuality. Sportfucking, y’know. Doesn’t count as gay if you’re of a certain social class.” Ollie shakes his head at the ridiculousness of the conceit.
"When I realized how much I was in love with your dad, and how much I wanted to /be/ with him instead of just doing the halfass flirting thing we’ve always done, I couldn’t pretend anymore." He picks up his glass, turning it in his fingers. "And being with Kate, that was like … having her with me, and knowing she wanted him too, it was like I had permission to want Bruce. Don’t ask me how that makes sense, it’s all too convoluted and heteronormative." He snorts at himself, taking a draught of his liquor.
It’s true. Tim has known of Ollie’s crime-fighting persona longer than he has known the real Oliver Queen. Along with that talk at the Watchtower where he confessesd his love for a certain taken man, this is only the second time they speak of private matters. Still, Tim has certain expectations. Someone viewing homosexuality as sportfucking does not meet those at all. Tim’s mouth frowns, eyes judging but also taking note of Ollie’s self-assessment. Well then.
It doesn’t make sense, indeed, not at all. Tim rests his elbow on the table, hand cupping his chin thoughtfully. “Doesn’t that make you a polygamist?” He’s opted the term before, but it was shot down. All things considered, it’s the only logical explanation in his mind to which he can link the man’s unconvential relationship with his father and Kate. Pulling at his upper lip, the younger man baths in his own thoughts and questions. “I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense to me, why.. how even.. I never thought Bruce.. Does that make me a discriminator?” he mumbles even though wanting to and trying to show his support. It feels half-assed, and that’s the alcohol speaking, to congratulate Ollie with his two partners without properly supporting them.
"I think to be a polygamist you have to be legally married." Ollie shrugs. "And anyhow, even if you counted a symbolic marriage, it’s not like Bruce has agreed to do anything like that with us. He can be pretty stubborn, your old man." Snorting, Ollie devotes his attention to eating the rest of the cheese twists, trying to remember all of the many times he’s brought up the idea of marriage to Bruce and been met with flat refusal or been outright ignored.
"I dunno if it makes you a discriminator, kid, but it can be a hard thing to wrap your head around. Hell, it was hard for me to get myself to a place where I was comfortable with the whole thing, and I’m /in/ the relationship. From the outside it’s … well, with three sometimes it can seem like one person’s always left out," Ollie says, unconsciously giving voice to Tim’s own concern. "And I guess each one of us has had a turn feeling that way, but man, Tim — when we’re on, and we’re in harmony and everything’s going along well, there’s nothing like it." He digs his fingers into the arms of his chair, looking at Tim directly, forthright, green eyes shining. "It’s the most whole and at peace I’ve ever felt. So how could it be wrong?"
These sentiments sound well-worn, like they’ve been rounded in Ollie’s brain and mouth a million times before. But that makes them no less sincere, it’s plain to see.
Stubborn doesn’t even cut it, Tim thought wryly while sipping on Ollie’s shots. If anything Bruce told them how to not cave in for anything, as frustrating that can be. He is glad Ollie’s taking it so well, with all the questions and the doubt and judgement even if Tim’s okay with it. The look in the man’s eyes is genuine. It causes gosseflesh to crawl over his arms and Tim holds his breath, not understanding Ollie’s words but thinking it must be an amazing feeling. Perhaps someday he will experience it as well.
The younger man smiles wistfully, lowering his eyes to the table. “Have you told Bruce about that?” he asks softly, imagining the man in a more domestic form, no cowl, no scowl, no hard lines on his face or unreadable eyes, perhaps even an easy smile? Maybe that would be too much, but it’s a nice image, Bruce distracted from the hardships of life by someone he cares for so deeply. Tim taps his fingers against the shot glass, downing it. “I imagine he isn’t much of a charmer,” he jokes.
"Are you kidding? I never /stop/ telling him about that. And you’d be surprised how much of a charmer he is," Ollie says, then after a moment amends with a quirk of a grin, "in his own inimitable fashion." He doubts that anybody who’d get involved with Bruce would expect the Hallmark hearts and flowers, anyhow. Ollie almost adds "and he’s a knockout in the sack" but then decides this would be far too much information, no matter how many drinks they’ve had.
Leaning forward, Ollie reaches over to pat Tim’s knee. “I know you care for him a lot,” he says, “and you want him to be happy. I’m not gonna make any extravagant claims to that effect but … I’m pretty sure Kate and me make him happy, Tim.” He sits back in his chair, expression a little more somber when he says, “I don’t think either of them — Bruce or Kate — are really accustomed to being loved all that much. Without it coming with strings, or with some horrible ending. But I’m trying my best to change that story for them.” Ollie blinks, looking down at the toes of his sneakers. “And they’re doing the same thing for me.”
Tim is surprised and boesn’t bother hiding it. There’s a little laugh that escapes him before his hand covers his mouth. “Inimitable fashion is an interesting choice of words,” he says in reply, smile as gentle as the pat to his knee. Part of him feels envious of Ollie when he speaks of happiness. “I have never seen him happy, not really,” he tells him. There have been the little upturns of his lips, the approving nods and large hand clasping his shoulder at a job well done, but true happiness such as Ollie claims to give him, Tim has never witnessed it.
"I can’t speak for Bruce, no one can, but I believe you’re right. Sometimes I wonder.. why he doesn’t allow anyone to care for him.." With the exception of Alfred of course, but the man is likely a father figure to him like he is to Tim. "I’m glad though.. that there seem to be a few exceptions. And it is the little things that matter the most, like.. speaking," Tim grows restless suddenly, placing his hands in his lap. "Bruce and I haven’t truly spoken much ever since I returned and part of me is relieved, because I fear there are nothing but hurtful topics to discuss." Like Ollie, he becomes somber, withdrawns, eyes scanning the floor for distractions.
As much as he could talk about his partners for eons, Ollie latches onto the change of topic with relish, deciding to order some shrimp along with his new drinks. “It can be harder between parents and kids sometimes,” he acknowledges. “As partners you come into something as peers, and you’ve got that understanding from the get-go — with parent-child stuff, it’s a constant re-negotiation as you younguns get older and more independent. Can be hard to figure out what counts as being a good dad and what counts as being an overbearing ass.” Ollie smirks. “Speaking from experience.”
He crosses his legs, resting an ankle atop the opposing knee, and spreads his hands. “Okay, so tell me, then, a neutral party. Or semi-neutral. What’re the topics you’re afraid will come up? Is it stuff that came up the last time you talked to him?” Ollie nods encouragingly. “We can do some impromptu workshopping, appeal to your orderly little soul.”
Being a good parent. What does that even mean, really? All it does is remind him of Bruce asking him for another chance, admiting that he has disappointed him, not been there when needed, not acted properly. And all Tim could do was assure him he had as many chances as necessary. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t make demands—should he have? Is it alright to act that selfishly right now? But then, when will ever be a good time to do so? It’s too sensitive, too painful, all the time.
Tim remains quiet for a long while. He has already said more than necessary, more than he is normally willing to share and has grown insecure of how to act further and accordingly without sounding either immature or utterly embarrassed. Usually not one to whine and complain concerning private issues, he shakes his head, declining Ollie’s offer of practicing the child-parent conversation. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but.. let’s not,” Tim says pushing a few bangs of hair behind his ear and closing his little heart-to-heart with Ollie before it gets out of hand. He had no need emphasizing on the disappointment he feels, the yearning twisting his throat into a tight knot.
Ollie makes a wry face, tapping his fingers along his knee. “If you’re sure,” he says, chronically unable to stop pushing once he feels that somebody needs to talk about something (which Bruce could probably have warned Tim about, had any of them expected this to happen). “I mean, sometimes it helps to go over it a little, instead of keeping it tumbling in your brain like it’s a cement mixer. Hard to get a fresh perspective that way.”
The shrimp arrive, looking plump and delectable, but Ollie doesn’t touch them yet, saying, “I’m not a great father or even a good one most of the time, y’know. There’s no judgement here, if that’s what you’re worried about, on you /or/ Bruce. I’ve got no grounds to lecture you about anything. Just, y’know — willing to do sounding board duties. For me, at least, I figure shit out best if it’s aloud.”
Tim instinctively presses his lips together tightly, not wanting anything to slip through. Ollie is persistant, differently than his Titan friends are usually, less pestering and more persuasion. It works, if only a little. He jams the nail of his thumb between his lips, teeth biting down hard. No judgement, he can trust Ollie. A fresh perspective could be able to clear some matters. Ollie´s not the best rolemodel, either, he should understand Tim´s feelings slightly if he and Roy ever had a similar conversation.
He exhales suddenly, caving in but not without rubbing a hand over his face. “Bruce leaves a lot to be desired, from a child-parent perspective,” he starts carefully, “I know he cares, somehow I know. If only he’d show it sometimes.. it would make.. things easier, make it easier to ignore everything else.” He ends the mumble with a shrug, not quite meeting Ollie’s eyes.
"Well," Ollie says, picking up his shrimp — served ringed on the rim of a martini glass, god bless old-fashioned bars — "I don’t think you necessarily need to ignore all the other stuff, if it’s stuff that you want changed. But I can see how having some open affection would ease the way to discussing the more painful things."
He keeps his attention on the food, hoping that it’ll make Tim feel less on the spot, less scrutinized. “For me, the solution to getting more open affection was to be persistent and demand it. But that’s not your job, as his kid, to do that. And if you don’t feel comfortable bringing it up with him, that probably makes it all seem like a no-win situation, huh.” He sets aside a tail shell, carefully asking, “How’s he done it before, if he’s done it before? Shown he cares, I mean.”
"Only Dick can do such a thing," Tim says in reply to the persistence he will never possess, simply because he doesn’t want it to be forced, he needs it to be willing, for Bruce to take the initiative not only to give orders but also embraces. "I don’t know how long it took for Bruce to get used to it though."
The same feeling surfaces, a feeling of unease and guilt. He shouldn’t be whining like a child, and especially not to his father’s partner. Ending the conversation now would be rude however, and Ollie’s meaning well, wants to help. Just tell him. “There’s.. He’s done it before. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been gone for two years that it feels so long ago, perhaps I’m exaggerating,” he thinks aloud with downcast eyes. “A hand on a shoulder, the approving nod, or what I think is approval anyway,” the man rubs his face with both hands, wishing he didn’t have so many shots. He’s not drunk, but blames the alcohol for his rambling. “I can’t remeber the last time we embraced.”
"It took me a long time," Ollie says in a measured, thoughtful tone, "before I realized how much a word of approval from me meant to Roy. One careless ‘attaboy’ would get him glowing for days." He shakes his head. "Unbelievable, really, considering how much of my childhood /I/ spent wishing that somebody would do the same thing for me. Approve of me. Tell me I was good." How much time Ollie’d spent relentlessly trying to quash that desire for adult validation and affection, the wretched and faulty coping mechanisms he’d replaced that desire with.
Pushing that aside, Ollie brings it back to here and now, Tim sitting tense across from him but faintly crumpled around the edges, now, blurred with liquor and emotion. “What I’m saying,” he clarifies, keeping the timbre of his voice gentle, “is that Bruce might not really understand how to comfortably show his approval.” /Because he’s so hungry for it himself,/ Ollie doesn’t say out loud. “And that’s not to excuse him. It’s just to maybe let you know that it’s not any fault in you, Tim, that makes him sparse with the affection. Give it a little time. Sometimes with this kind of stuff, emotion all jammed up and stuck inside, it takes some big event to shake it all loose.”
Ollie couldn’t know how ominous that statement was, would be, in the weeks to follow. But he gives Tim a sympathetic smile, over the rim of his shrimp glass.
He’s smiling, if only a little. Ollie does understand him and in this case, can also see where Bruce is coming from. Quietly, Tim wishes Bruce would make him glow. How much more time will he need however? Was it even harder on Dick and Jason when they were younger? One would think the man knows how to appraise his sons by now. Can’t forget he’s the Batman, stoic and brooding.
"I suppose.. we’ll see what the future brings," Tim says thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat with a small sigh. He smiles wryly at the older man, going for his sidecar. Be careful what you wish for, a tiny voice in the back of his head warns him. He tenses, but pushes it away. For once, he doesn’t want to think, just feel.
It’s almost a ridiculous question, because Ollie asking it at this juncture — when he and Tim are just about to go out onto the stairs of the Central City Public Library to sell a story to the assembled press about the strength of the Queen and Wayne empires separately and together — makes it completely rhetorical. If one of them pulled out now, it would only ignite speculation and make things worse. So far they’d done a few small, polite, softball interviews that allowed them to reassure the public of the solvency of their businesses; this would be nothing like that. No pre-planned questions, no press pool stocked with friendly faces.
Grinning at Tim, Ollie bounced on the toes of his sneakers (he’d opted for a more dressed-down look for the Midwest, appeal to their sensibilities) and swung his arms back and forth. “You’ll see,” he promises. “You’ll be glad we’re doing our first no-holds-barred interview in front of a live crowd instead of in a sterile, cramped television studio. There’s nothing like having a conversation in the fresh air, addressing a throng in front of a hallowed public service building to get the blood and the brainmeats pumping, Tim.”
They could hear the reporters outside, in fact, chatting with each other and issuing challenges, comparing notes. The banks of photographers were nothing to sneer at, either, or the various video cameras from the stations. Central City had turned out in force for this. “There’s a lot riding on us making a good impression,” Ollie intones, watching Tim closely.
Unlike Ollie, Tim’s dressed properly from head to toe in a three piece suit with shiny black shoes and a red tie he’s currently caressing into perfection. In stead of eager he looks calm and collected, familiar with the watchful eyes and eager reporters awaiting them in the next room. He hears them also, their rumours and accusations, their preparation of the attempts to lure them out of their comfort zone. Tim won’t let them, isn’t certain what to expect but he knows what pieces of information he’s willing to share or not. Nothing too harmful and enough good words towards Queen Industries.
"Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I’ve never dealt with these people before," he responds with what he hopes is a confident look and smile. When he promised Ollie to help, he didn’t know he’d have to appear at the Central City Public Library. But alas, here they are."You be your loud and shameless self and I’ll act accordingly, mister Queen." Tim flings his bangs out of his eyes, catching sight of the security signing their approval and allowing them to take their place. The younger man motions forwards. "After you, flamboyant one."
"Shameless!" Ollie repeats, as if this is the most outlandish way to characterize his general attitude. "Flamboyant! Them’s fightin’ words, young Master Drake." But the clap on the shoulder that Ollie gives Tim as he moves past him is warm, bolstering, and Ollie raises his hands to greet the array of flashes that go off when he walks out onto the front steps of the Central City Public Library. In this town, the library stairs are where a lot of pertinent and groundbreaking history for the cause of democracy has been made, and it’s for that reason that Ollie’s chosen this venue for their press appearance.
"Nice to see you could all make it out to this shindig," he says cheerfully to the assembled crowd. "And I know you’ll be kind to my friend Tim Drake-Wayne, here, seeing as this is his first time in the shark tank." This despite what Tim had told him before they came out here, about having dealt with the fifth estate before. But it’s a better dynamic to play Tim off as the newbie, small and serious against Ollie’s … shameless flamboyance.
He grins widely, beckoning for Tim to join him.
Tim is inclined to snort in reaction to Ollie’s exaggerations, but settles with a chuckle instead, shaking his head slightly. He watches the man confront the media, observes his broad back and the light of the cameras taking pictures of his relaxed composure. If only he’d ever feel that at ease doing this. Although part of him warns him quietly that if that day ever comes, he’s in too far. There is a fine line between Tim Drake-Wayne and Tim Drake, after all.
And then it’s his turn. Tim ventures after him, emerging with a small smile to Ollie’s kind introduction. Taking his place next to the tall blonde, he faces him shortly. “Thank you for the introduction, Ollie. I can only wish to gain a fragment of your confidence regarding public speech.” His eyes avoid the papparazi for another ten seconds or so, hands smoothening his tie in a planned nervous motion. “Good afternoon everyone, it is a pleasure to meet you all here at the Central City Public Library where I hope to answer any and all of your questions to your heart´s content.” Even if he truly won’t. He faces them and his vision is blinded momentarilly as he waves carefully at the reporters.
The act is impressive indeed, and hell, it’s not like Ollie expected anything different from Tim. Couldn’t put on the Robin wings unless you knew how to pull off a fakey public persona if needed. But still, it was a riot to watch the kid work, the carefully seeded-in nervous gestures and modest demeanour all creating a picture of Tim Drake-Wayne, brave little toaster.
Still, when the first question (lobbed at them by Axel Stolenrod of the Keystone Gazette) is: “How can Wayne Enterprises justify being associated with the vigilante Green Arrow? Is it because he has the Queen billions behind him to buy his way out of being prosecuted for his violent, illegal actions?” it’s enough, Ollie wagers, to make a little of that nervousness real.
Leaning into the mic, Ollie drawls, “Maybe the billionaire vigilante Green Arrow should answer that one, Axel, since he’s standing right in front’a you in his size twelves.”
The reporter barely even glances at Ollie, staring at Tim. “I’d like a response from Mr. Drake-Wayne.”
Ollie’s drawl is ineffective, Tim knows instantly as Axel Stolenrod refuses penetrative gaze refuses to shift when spoken to. It isn’t the first time he speaks with the noisy reporter. Doesn’t make answering this particular question any easier however. Tim is somewhat prepared, expected this type of accusation disguised as a question. He hopes Bruce approves of his reply, and honestly that is the only matter of his public persona that continues to make him uneasy: his actions and words directly influencing Bruce Wayne’s carefully chosen persona. All the effort and time to depict him as he is can be easily shattered into a million tiny pieces.
Tim glances at Ollie. Well, if the man’s outing as a vigilante hasn’t ruined W.E. so far, his answer can’t possibly do any worse. He clears his throat, fingering the knot of his tie pretending to choose his words. “Allow me, Ollie. I assume what you’re asking is: ‘does Wayne Enterprises care more for money than the city’s civillians?’ The answer is no. The answer is W.E. doesn’t believe a person can only be good or bad. These are two elements which are to be balanced. Ollie chose the life of a vigilante to protect the citizens of Star City even while he was already doing so with Queen Industries. W.E. believes his intentions were, for lack of better words, good. The strike of violent, illegal actions can’t be overseen, but shouldn’t make Star City, nor the rest of the world, forget what great things he has accomplished and will positively accomplish in the near future. With this mindset, Wayne Enterprises will resume its coalition with Queen Industries.”
Well, maybe that was more his personal opinion of Ollie’s behaviour than anything else. Tim stares at the reporter and the squinted eyes that observe him closely. “Does that answer your question?” He asks with a glance in Ollie’s general direction. “Would you like to add anything, Ollie?
"Don’t think I coulda said it any better myself," Ollie says. Although he then continues, addressing the whole of the assemblage instead of just Axel Stolenrod: "Both Queen Industries and Wayne Enterprises have always put a strong, committed focus on the communities that we live and work in. Gotham City is inextricable from the Wayne family and what they’ve done there, and even if Tim is too polite to say it, I think it’s very poor form to attack Bruce and his family when they’re dealing with the loss of their home and still trying to rebuild the city after the Arhkam breakout."
There’s a babble among the reporters, and Theresa Lim of the Coast City News asks, “When you say attacks, Mr. Spencer Queen, are you referring to the critiques of the Wayne family’s corporate involvement with you and your wife, Kate Spencer, who’s also a known vigilante?”
Scratching his beard, Ollie says, “Now, Theresa, I’m not trying to make this personal. I’m talking about the systematic attacks on Wayne Enterprises from an outside party, trying to destabilize the company and buy up the majority stock while the family’s dealing with personal tragedy. Considering all of the charitable work and major donations to rebuilding the city that Wayne Enterprises has made and continues to make, well … where I come from, that kind of behaviour’s reserved for vultures and the like.”
After that, there’s a number of questions the reporters clamour to ask Tim — about this mysterious figure trying to buy out Wayne Enterprises, about the fate of Wayne Manor, about what his family’s doing to help Gotham recover from Arkham and the Joker — and Ollie lets Tim field them as he takes stock of which way the questions are running, what direction the reporters’ sympathies are turning.
Tim listens carefully when Ollie speaks, picks up on his subtle change of subject regarding the loss of Wayne Manor and Tim closes his eyes for a moment while remembering his first impression seeing the grand mansion, entering its spacious lobby and descending the hidden stairwell to the Cave.Gone, all gone. He allows his brows to knot, eyes opening once more but less focussed as before. Let them see, his inner self snaps in a sudden rush of anger for their lack of compassion towards his family, the pressure it adds on Bruce’s shoulders in particular.
The questioning continues, Tim’s attention drifting from reporter to reporter with honest but vague answers to not truly let anyone in on the company’s struggles. No, the identity of the person trying to take over W.E. has not been found yet. And no, they don’t expect this figure to succeed. No, rebuilding Wayne Manor is not a priority despite its heritage and the landmark it stood for. Definitely not, Wayne Enterprises isn’t using Green Arrow’s skillset on Gotham’s rooftops simply to reel in Arkham escapees, Gothamites will have to grow accostumed to his presence in this city.
The reporters appear determined asking him a question Tim will have to confirm rather than reject, their frustration clearly growing with his polite and correct speech. He wonders if they simply want him to admit that W.E., the financial pilar of Gotham City, is facing tremendous difficulty in supporting the city as it used to. There is a moment where there’s only murmurs from the crowded flock before them. Tim fills the silence with a deep sigh, truly feeling the pressure of defending their company and personal life and growing tenser by the moment. None of them will notice, Tim doesn’t allow them to, but his back straightens at the sudden question aimed at Ollie by a woman Tim’s unfamiliar with, perhaps a new reporter on the field?
"Mister Queen, if you don’t mind my addresing this issue again, isn’t it peculiar you and your wife both turn out to be vigilantes? It makes a curious woman wonder, who else in your inner circle is part of this self-rightous club? How many are there, hiding amongst us in such influential positions? Any comments?" Her curiosity is contagious, reporters falling silent and awaiting Ollie’s responds while Tim observes her, hoping Ollie will channel that itsy bitsy part of subtlety that he possesses.
Ollie doesn’t answer the question right away. He lets the implications of it brew and bubble among the reporters, watches their expressions become cagey, suspicious, before he steps closer to the mic, big hands grasping the sides of the podium.
"I don’t mind at all," he begins, courteously. "Even though that’s a pretty convoluted way to ask a man how he met his wife." There’s a couple of snickers, but most of the reporters don’t laugh. Ollie goes on.
"Kate and I had a workplace romance, that’s all. I didn’t have any reason to know her through her work in LA; we met while we were collaborating on a rehabilitation project within … well, I guess you call it the ‘cape’ community. Helping minor baddies and good-guys-gone-wrong to get on the righteous path again. So no, it was no big coincidence that we’re both vigilantes. Just happens to be how we met.
"As for the other thing." Ollie’s face shifts from its mild, pleasant expression to one a little more intense, a little more fiery. "The inner circle of influential people who’re secret vigilantes." He doesn’t look over at Tim — it’s as if he’s forgotten his companion’s even there — and instead leans forward to the mic, the wood podium creaking a bit in his grip.
"You’re right," Ollie says. "There’s thousands of influential people who are capes." The reporters start to mutter like a crowd of seagulls, but Ollie’s voice raises and he keeps going: "Some of the people I work with are nurses. They’re farmers. They’re cops and teachers and artists and designers and hell, some of ‘em are waitresses and busboys. They go out every day to their jobs and then go out at night to protect their families and their neighbours when local government and law enforcement fail them. They raise their children, they mow their lawns, they go to bake sales. They’re the backbone of this country. So yeah—" Ollie stands up straight again, lifting his bearded chin slightly to regard the reporters down the long slant of his nose, "—you could say there’s members of my community in every influential position you can imagine. And I couldn’t be prouder to be one of ‘em."
Turning from the podium, Ollie raises a hand to wave at the crowd as he heads away from the reporters to the holding area, winking at Tim along the way.
There isn’t much Tim can do while Ollie starts his speech. It’s admirable how easy he moves and speaks before they hungry eyes, even if he knows the man’s careful with his choice of words. “Thank you for your time. Have a nice day,” Tim says when Ollie passes him by. The wink causes him to smile amusedly. This man is full of surprises. He waves, stays for a few seconds longer and showing fake remorse for the reporters who didn’t get to ask their questions.
"Long and a bit over the top, but an adequate responds," he says after finally following Ollie to the holding area. Running a hand through his bangs, he exhales roughly as he is obviously glad it’s over. "I must admit that last one caught me by surprise. I thought the hype about your outing and Kate’s was over. I don’t think they suspect anything odd however." Tim has to look up at the blonde man and usually is reminded of his short height, but he has learned to deal with it, a little. Ollie’s a great man so he doesn’t mind bending his neck all the time while conversating with him.
Ollie finishes swigging water from one of his Qleen bottles and groans at Tim’s assessment of his speech. “Adequate!” he repeats. “That little masterpiece of razzle dazzle and oration out there and all I rate from you is an adequate?” He shakes his head, reaching out to flick a finger against Tim’s shoulder. “Jeez, you and your pa are tough customers. Once I made four bulls-eyes in the dark — in the PITCH dark, mind you — and all Big B had for me was a measly little ‘not bad’.”
The handlers move them out through the side entrance of the library into the town car that will take them back to the hotel, not a moment wasted for them to potentially be ambushed by the press. “I don’t think they smelled anything fishy either,” he agrees. “Not with how well you do the ‘young heir to the family empire trying to make good’ act, Tim. You’re a tricksier young man than you’d have people believe.”
Ollie’s grin fades a bit, though, when he says, “The grief over losing the Manor, though. You didn’t have to fake that part.”
"I guess Wayne men aren’t easy to impress," Tim quips feeling cheeky and enjoying Ollie’s frustration with their lack of proper enthusiastic reactions. The flick to his shoulder is playful, affectionate in a way Tim’s a tad unfamiliar with. IN the back of his mind, he whispers that now he understands why Jason stayed with Ollie when off his game entirely. The man.. so easy to get along with, no expectations, no scolding glares and awkward silences. Olliue’s booming voice is difficult to ignore, even when it becomes as soft as it does when addressing Tim’s acting and honest feelings shining through.
"Tricksier.. The role I play is simple, I try to please everyone as well as possible, telling them what they want to hear to a certain degree, showing understanding and remorse," Tim leans back into the firm material of the seat in the car, tipping his head back. "They will never understand how valuable the Manor was to us, to Alfred, Bruce and Dick, Jason and Damian, Cass, Steph and even Babs. It was home, it was headquarters, it was the place that connected us more than his symbol ever will. I learned the true meaning of family in that house and now it’s gone, along with that.. the family hasn’t been the same ever since," Tim murmurs as quietly as if about to fall asleep. Truth is he hasn’t talked about his feelings regarding the Manor very much, hasn’t given himself time to process properly. His throat feels a bit tight, but his eyes aren’t stinging, thank God. "We are broken, Ollie. That’s what it feels like, to me. He broke us that day."
The nakedness of Tim’s words stuns Ollie into silence for a while. The others have expressed grief over the Manor’s destruction, of course, but with Bruce and Jason it’s been jagged, only barely articulated. Understandable for the two of them, of course (so alike in their twinned need and difficulty in talking, so the parsimonious words come out like mouthfuls of blood), and Ollie hadn’t been sure if Tim, polite little Tim, would be similarly tight about it.
But no, here he is laying it out in words plain as piecrust; his assessment of what losing the Manor meant to the family. And not just to them as individuals, but to them as a family entity. And one that was none too stable to begin with.
"Hey, listen, kiddo." Ollie reached over to bump his knuckles companionably against Tim’s wrist, lying lax and pale on the seat. "Your family’s come back from some pretty awful shit. Each one of you individually and as a whole — I mean, hell, the fact that you’re all even around to think of yourself as a family after everything you’ve been through is saying something. The Manor being gone, it’s—"
Ollie stops there for a moment, his hand curling into a fist on the seat as Bruce’s voice replays in his head: stay with me. come live in the manor. i want you there. It hadn’t been a real option, not for the scion of Star City, but Ollie’d always put it off with the promise: one day, when we’re all too old to do this gig anymore. And now that future that he’d worked so hard to convince Kate and Bruce was waiting for them, their reward for all this, it was crumbled into the ground.
Swallowing, he finishes, “—it’s hard to take. Damned hard. But it’s not the end of everything, and there’s much more that connects you all.” He pats Tim’s chest, over the young man’s heart. “This isn’t broken, Tim. You’re still going.”
Tim directs his gaze to the window, regretful of his moment of weakness. He doesn’t want to bother Ollie, to pass on this intense feeling of sadness. Sometimes it seems like he can either say nothing or has to say everything at once. How annoying, but Ollie takes it well and Tim is thankful for it, for him. His small touches, kind and comforting, pull him from his self-pity party. Everything they’ve been through, his mind starts pinning in an attempt to remember it all: yelling, fighting, pain, injuries, death and resurrection. Birthdays, Father’s Day. Tim nods.
"I’m sorry," he finally responds. Sorry for suddenly diving into the depths of this subject, for obviously triggering an emotional memory in the blonde’s mind and for—"I’m sorry for being so skeptical about your relationship with Bruce while married to Kate. I wasn’t as supportive as I should have been, and I will try to improve." He pats his own heart as well, copying Ollie’s movement and feeling its beating. "He isn’t.. He’s.. troubled, and I guess you’re an adequat candidate to ease him through it," the younger one says giving Ollie a small smile. Bruce is kind of lucky, he thinks gingerly.
What they’ve been talking about is serious, and the emotional resonance is heavy in the car, but at Tim’s measured apology and subsequent approval, Ollie laughs. Loud and warm and sudden, the sound filling the back of the car like the winter sunshine that floods in as they turn out of the shadow of the downtown buildings.
"Two ‘adequates’ over the course of one conversation!" he crows. "High praise indeed, if your comment about the Wayne predilection for doling compliments out stingily is to be believed." Snickering, Ollie tugs at his jacket lapels and runs his hand over his moustache. "Tim, don’t ever change."
The town car pulls up at their hotel and Ollie’s touching the handle, ready to spring out, but he pauses, looking back at his young companion. “It means a lot, though,” he says. “Your … well, I guess your support. I know how much Bruce means to you, and it’s good to know that you trust me with him. That’s important stuff, in a family.”
Tim genuinely startles at Ollie’s booming laughter. He watches, lips curling into a smile and heaves a relieved little sigh. Leave it to Ollie to lift the mood. He silently dubs the man sunshine in his mind, gets embarrased and snorts at himself, lowering his gaze. “I don’t do well with changes,” he states, glancing the man’s way, “but I can do with modifications. The modification of adding you to the family is in process.”
The thought of telling Ollie not to hurt Bruce and threaten him with cruel punishments is silly. The man will do well and will do wrong, and he and Bruce will have to cope with it in their own way. Therefore Tim nods confidentially at him, grasping the handle of his door and stepping out first. The fresh air overwhelms him, but feels pleasant to his skin. “Perhaps I need a drink,” he says out loud, pondering and slamming the door shut behind him to release some restless energy.
"Now that sounds like an excellent proposal." They make their way up the short staircase to the hotel’s front door ("Why does every damn building in this burg have stairs in front?" Ollie grouses companionably) and return the concierge’s nod of inquiry, but carry on without the man’s assistance. "From what I heard two gloriously hung-over models discussing in the elevator this morning, this bar makes a killer sidecar. Which, if you’ve never had one, is a drink to be reckoned with, my young friend."
The bar, like the city, is a little old-fashioned: dark wood, coloured glass panels, low leather club chairs. But it’s big enough for people to have private conversations and there seems to be an extensive appetizer menu, both of which Ollie approves of. Taking a seat at one of the two-person tables, he picks up the menu but doesn’t look at it yet, tapping the edge against his hand as he smirks, “By the way, it might speed up your modification somewhat if you consider the might of the combined empires of Arrow and Bat, wouldn’tja say?”
As the less experienced one when it comes to bars and alcohol, Tim trusts Ollie’s words to be truth. The bar is to his liking with its dark and secretive personality. It’s a place he will frequent perhaps, or perhaps not, depending on the end of this night. He sits and observes the few people accompanying them, mostly loners, some duos who appear more interested in their drinks than anything else. Nothing suspcious. Tim tugs on the knot of his tie, lowering it untill he can fully undo it. “Sidecar I’ve never heard of. I’ll give it a try.” He’s feeling a bit adventurous today, Tim decides, slipping the silk fabric of his tie onto the table.
His eyes find Ollie’s, the smile returning on his face. “The might? As far as I see it the glowering Bat will cover for the Arrow’s straightforward and most likely inappropriate shot. But Q.I. has done well by itself, so you must know more about running a business then you’re letting on. The coalition is bound to be interesting,” he says brushing bangs from his face and snatching the menu from Ollie’s hands. Curiously as ever, he contemplates his options, clearly not settling for one drink tonight. “They have interesting names for their shots Ever had a Cocksucking Cowboy, mister Queen?” He questions with a straight face and staring Ollie in the eyes.
"Can’t say I have," Ollie drawls with a twinkle of mirth in his green eyes, "but I have had a Royal Fuck and a Screaming Orgasm. Several, in fact." He leans back in his chair, slanting his hips down so his long legs fall open lazily as he gets comfortable. "No time like the present to try one out, hey?"
As if they’d summoned her by magic, a waitperson appears to discreetly take their orders and then disappears again after leaving them each a bowl of cocktail nibbles. “Walnuts and cheese twists,” Ollie observes in further amusement, picking up his bowl and eating a few of the bits. “Ahhhh, the good ol’ Midwest. I suppose I should be grateful for a respite from the wasabi peas and wasabi edamame that every single Californian bar seems to stock now.”
Munching on a cheese twist, Ollie fixes Tim with a look. “I wouldn’t have brought this up on my own,” he begins, “but since you kinda opened the door there for me with your talk of orally gifted gauchos and the like, Tim, I gotta ask — how’re things going on the romantical front? Since last time we talked, you mentioned something of a … dilemma.” Ollie doesn’t mention Kyle directly (not that hard, since he’s made a habit of not referring to Kyle), but he raises his eyebrows significantly.
Tim shakes his head goodnaturedly at Ollue’s responds and the names of equally ridiculous shots of alcohol. Their names pique his interest and Tim finds himself agreeing with the man, making sure to order one of each as the waitperson appears. The nibbles stare up at him, but look hardly appetiting. Tim saves them for later, taking a cheese twist if only to occupy his hands.
He taps the salty treat on the table at the sound of Ollie’s question. The subject of romance causes his body to tense, eyes lowering. “No time, no progress,” he states softly, not ready to have a conversation rivalling Steph’s about coming out to the Green Lantern and get it over with. He can’t, Tim decides again pushing down on the cheese twist and breaking off the tip. “No need to worry, It has yet to influence my performance at night,” Tim reassures the older man while careful of her words even if the few other guests are hardly within earshot.
"Your performance at night is kinda germane to the topic at hand, spatzi," Ollie grins, tossing a walnut in the air and catching it in his mouth. "And no, I didn’t have any worries about you being distracted from the job, are you kidding me? With you the problem’s more that you /need/ more distractions from the job or you’d never leave it."
He seems about to say something more, but then the waitress returns with their small fleet of drinks, setting them up rapidly and then disappearing again. Selecting the Cocksucking Cowboy, Ollie raises it in Tim’s direction and throws it back, licking his teeth afterwards. “Jesus,” he laughs, “it’s like candy.”
Pointing his pinkie finger at Tim, Ollie intones, “Anyhow, the matter at hand. What you need is a one-night stand, Drake. That’ll clear out the cobwebs and get you moving again, instead of this fruitless pining.” He puts down the shot glass hard enough that it makes a ringing sound against the table, as if to punctuate this declaration.
"Well, I admit I am somewhat a workaholic," Tim comments and munches on the cheese twist with a small smile. He watches Ollie intently, awaiting the man’s reaction to the shot of creamy white alcohol and chuckles. "Disappointed? Thought the flavour would be more realistic?" he asks crunching the treat between his teeth. He licks the crumbs of his lips, aligning his shots with a thoughtful look.
Tim looks up at the mention of a one-night stand. Been there, done that, hated it, Ollie should know after their conversation, but he nods at him either way. Pining, as Ollie calls it, because to Tim it’s admiring, really, after a guy who is already in a relationship won’t get him the intimacy of a special relationship that he’s secretly been longing for, you know, in between office work and kicking criminals to the curb.
"I didn’t order these because I am actually in need of a Royal Fuck and Screaming Orgasm. One-night stands, with whom even,” he mutters, raising his Royal Fuck and downing it. The sour apple schnapps lingers on his tongue, the drink burning down his throat pleasantly. Tim clears his throat. “But it would be nice—I mean, it tastes nice.”
The dry look that Tim gives Ollie following his suggestion of a hookup is enough to remind the older man of their previous conversation on the subject, and he smacks his forehead with his open palm. “Ah, jeez, Tim — I forgot you’re not a big fan of the one-nighter, sorry ‘bout that. Old habits and pieces of advice die hard, I guess.” Focusing on his sidecar, Ollie confesses, “I mean, hell, it’s not like /I/ even take that advice anymore. A months-long estrangement from my partners and I didn’t pick up anybody at a bar once. Didn’t even think about it. And forget sleeping with anybody I actually /know/.”
He coughs in amusement but doesn’t directly address Tim’s slip of the tongue, instead diplomatically saying, “So I suppose if an old dog like me can do without the aformentioned fucks and orgasms, a young pup like you who gets more turned on by satellites than suckjobs is gonna have an easier time dealing with a dry spell.”
While Ollie apologizes, Tim let’s the Screaming Orgasm roll down his throat and sets the shot glass down with an appreciative little sigh. The coffee liquer mixed in the drink with vodka and the Irish cream was delicious. “No need to apologize, although I’d like to mention there’s nothing wrong with my libido nor do I have infatuations with hardware. I only speak with it when thinking,” Tim says as his eyes scan the room for the waitress, wanting to ask for another shot even if he still has to start on his sidecar as well.
"Besides, I wouldn’t know what that feels like anyway," he adds more quietly, waving the girl over and offering her his empty shots asking for a refill. The waitress is happy to oblige and Tim smiles as he leans back in his seat, the alcohol warming his belly and easing his limbs into relaxation. He should drink more often, Tim thinks caressing his sidecar and thoughts starting to wander, returning to Ollie’s previously spoken words. "It’s a good thing, not getting persuaded by your needs when in a relationship even though unable to reach that level of intimacy," the younger man states, watching Ollie with a slight tilt of his head. "Seems like you really love her, and him."
"I do," Ollie says softly, his gaze getting a little distant as he considers Tim’s words. He hasn’t known the kid long, and for most of that time the three of them have been struggling to repair their relationship; it’s a relief, in a way, to know that despite all the strife Tim can still see how Ollie feels about Kate and Bruce. "I love them both like crazy. It’s not a conventional relationship, I’ll grant you, but we don’t live conventional lives. It hasn’t been easy getting over my, uh…" he shifts, uncomfortably, "…well, I mean, I’ve always been fine with /other/ people being queer, but not me. I’ve lived through my share of being in denial."
He bolts back the rest of his sidecar and signals for another, leaning over to give his shots to Tim. “Too sweet for me,” Ollie explains. “I’ll stick to the less titillating cocktails.”
Tim takes the shots, but lets the alcohol be as he sense the conversation has taken a turn. Ollie’s expression leaves him staring openly, looking the man up and down. It is odd and admirable, the bond he shares with KAte and Bruce. It is something Tim’s unable to understand, p[erhaps because he is still too young and inexperienced or perhaps some things aren’t meant to make sense to everyone. Althought he hopes to fully understand and be genuinely fine with it, with his father sharing his most intimate emotions with not one, but two. Tim sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. It’s the dividing of attention and affection that bothers him, he notices quietly, believing there will always be a favourite and hating the fact it might not be Bruce, because he deserves to be the only one, the favourite.
"That’s surprising," he says honestly, "I didn’t picture you as a hypocrite." And that might sound harsher than he meant, but he said it and let’s Ollie think of it whatever. "What made you confesses to yourself?"
At Tim’s mention of the word hypocrite, Ollie scratches the front of his head and gives the younger man a wry look. “Well,” he says, “you haven’t really known me for that long, Tim.”
Sighing, Ollie sits back and spreads his hands along the armrests of his chair. “There’ve been … relationships along the way that made me wonder,” he explains, and even as he does it, he wonders why the fuck he’s saying all this to Tim. Maybe it’s the exhilaration of the press conference or the not-quite-real-life feeling of being on the road, but this seems the time and place for confessionals. Maybe because Tim’s been pretty upfront about his own ideas concerning romance. “But I never thought much of it past the idea that if it was fleeting, and if I was the one in control, then it didn’t mean anything. About me personally, I mean, about my sexuality. Sportfucking, y’know. Doesn’t count as gay if you’re of a certain social class.” Ollie shakes his head at the ridiculousness of the conceit.
"When I realized how much I was in love with your dad, and how much I wanted to /be/ with him instead of just doing the halfass flirting thing we’ve always done, I couldn’t pretend anymore." He picks up his glass, turning it in his fingers. "And being with Kate, that was like … having her with me, and knowing she wanted him too, it was like I had permission to want Bruce. Don’t ask me how that makes sense, it’s all too convoluted and heteronormative." He snorts at himself, taking a draught of his liquor.
It’s true. Tim has known of Ollie’s crime-fighting persona longer than he has known the real Oliver Queen. Along with that talk at the Watchtower where he confessesd his love for a certain taken man, this is only the second time they speak of private matters. Still, Tim has certain expectations. Someone viewing homosexuality as sportfucking does not meet those at all. Tim’s mouth frowns, eyes judging but also taking note of Ollie’s self-assessment. Well then.
It doesn’t make sense, indeed, not at all. Tim rests his elbow on the table, hand cupping his chin thoughtfully. “Doesn’t that make you a polygamist?” He’s opted the term before, but it was shot down. All things considered, it’s the only logical explanation in his mind to which he can link the man’s unconvential relationship with his father and Kate. Pulling at his upper lip, the younger man baths in his own thoughts and questions. “I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense to me, why.. how even.. I never thought Bruce.. Does that make me a discriminator?” he mumbles even though wanting to and trying to show his support. It feels half-assed, and that’s the alcohol speaking, to congratulate Ollie with his two partners without properly supporting them.
"I think to be a polygamist you have to be legally married." Ollie shrugs. "And anyhow, even if you counted a symbolic marriage, it’s not like Bruce has agreed to do anything like that with us. He can be pretty stubborn, your old man." Snorting, Ollie devotes his attention to eating the rest of the cheese twists, trying to remember all of the many times he’s brought up the idea of marriage to Bruce and been met with flat refusal or been outright ignored.
"I dunno if it makes you a discriminator, kid, but it can be a hard thing to wrap your head around. Hell, it was hard for me to get myself to a place where I was comfortable with the whole thing, and I’m /in/ the relationship. From the outside it’s … well, with three sometimes it can seem like one person’s always left out," Ollie says, unconsciously giving voice to Tim’s own concern. "And I guess each one of us has had a turn feeling that way, but man, Tim — when we’re on, and we’re in harmony and everything’s going along well, there’s nothing like it." He digs his fingers into the arms of his chair, looking at Tim directly, forthright, green eyes shining. "It’s the most whole and at peace I’ve ever felt. So how could it be wrong?"
These sentiments sound well-worn, like they’ve been rounded in Ollie’s brain and mouth a million times before. But that makes them no less sincere, it’s plain to see.
Stubborn doesn’t even cut it, Tim thought wryly while sipping on Ollie’s shots. If anything Bruce told them how to not cave in for anything, as frustrating that can be. He is glad Ollie’s taking it so well, with all the questions and the doubt and judgement even if Tim’s okay with it. The look in the man’s eyes is genuine. It causes gosseflesh to crawl over his arms and Tim holds his breath, not understanding Ollie’s words but thinking it must be an amazing feeling. Perhaps someday he will experience it as well.
The younger man smiles wistfully, lowering his eyes to the table. “Have you told Bruce about that?” he asks softly, imagining the man in a more domestic form, no cowl, no scowl, no hard lines on his face or unreadable eyes, perhaps even an easy smile? Maybe that would be too much, but it’s a nice image, Bruce distracted from the hardships of life by someone he cares for so deeply. Tim taps his fingers against the shot glass, downing it. “I imagine he isn’t much of a charmer,” he jokes.
"Are you kidding? I never /stop/ telling him about that. And you’d be surprised how much of a charmer he is," Ollie says, then after a moment amends with a quirk of a grin, "in his own inimitable fashion." He doubts that anybody who’d get involved with Bruce would expect the Hallmark hearts and flowers, anyhow. Ollie almost adds "and he’s a knockout in the sack" but then decides this would be far too much information, no matter how many drinks they’ve had.
Leaning forward, Ollie reaches over to pat Tim’s knee. “I know you care for him a lot,” he says, “and you want him to be happy. I’m not gonna make any extravagant claims to that effect but … I’m pretty sure Kate and me make him happy, Tim.” He sits back in his chair, expression a little more somber when he says, “I don’t think either of them — Bruce or Kate — are really accustomed to being loved all that much. Without it coming with strings, or with some horrible ending. But I’m trying my best to change that story for them.” Ollie blinks, looking down at the toes of his sneakers. “And they’re doing the same thing for me.”
Tim is surprised and boesn’t bother hiding it. There’s a little laugh that escapes him before his hand covers his mouth. “Inimitable fashion is an interesting choice of words,” he says in reply, smile as gentle as the pat to his knee. Part of him feels envious of Ollie when he speaks of happiness. “I have never seen him happy, not really,” he tells him. There have been the little upturns of his lips, the approving nods and large hand clasping his shoulder at a job well done, but true happiness such as Ollie claims to give him, Tim has never witnessed it.
"I can’t speak for Bruce, no one can, but I believe you’re right. Sometimes I wonder.. why he doesn’t allow anyone to care for him.." With the exception of Alfred of course, but the man is likely a father figure to him like he is to Tim. "I’m glad though.. that there seem to be a few exceptions. And it is the little things that matter the most, like.. speaking," Tim grows restless suddenly, placing his hands in his lap. "Bruce and I haven’t truly spoken much ever since I returned and part of me is relieved, because I fear there are nothing but hurtful topics to discuss." Like Ollie, he becomes somber, withdrawns, eyes scanning the floor for distractions.
As much as he could talk about his partners for eons, Ollie latches onto the change of topic with relish, deciding to order some shrimp along with his new drinks. “It can be harder between parents and kids sometimes,” he acknowledges. “As partners you come into something as peers, and you’ve got that understanding from the get-go — with parent-child stuff, it’s a constant re-negotiation as you younguns get older and more independent. Can be hard to figure out what counts as being a good dad and what counts as being an overbearing ass.” Ollie smirks. “Speaking from experience.”
He crosses his legs, resting an ankle atop the opposing knee, and spreads his hands. “Okay, so tell me, then, a neutral party. Or semi-neutral. What’re the topics you’re afraid will come up? Is it stuff that came up the last time you talked to him?” Ollie nods encouragingly. “We can do some impromptu workshopping, appeal to your orderly little soul.”
Being a good parent. What does that even mean, really? All it does is remind him of Bruce asking him for another chance, admiting that he has disappointed him, not been there when needed, not acted properly. And all Tim could do was assure him he had as many chances as necessary. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t make demands—should he have? Is it alright to act that selfishly right now? But then, when will ever be a good time to do so? It’s too sensitive, too painful, all the time.
Tim remains quiet for a long while. He has already said more than necessary, more than he is normally willing to share and has grown insecure of how to act further and accordingly without sounding either immature or utterly embarrassed. Usually not one to whine and complain concerning private issues, he shakes his head, declining Ollie’s offer of practicing the child-parent conversation. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but.. let’s not,” Tim says pushing a few bangs of hair behind his ear and closing his little heart-to-heart with Ollie before it gets out of hand. He had no need emphasizing on the disappointment he feels, the yearning twisting his throat into a tight knot.
Ollie makes a wry face, tapping his fingers along his knee. “If you’re sure,” he says, chronically unable to stop pushing once he feels that somebody needs to talk about something (which Bruce could probably have warned Tim about, had any of them expected this to happen). “I mean, sometimes it helps to go over it a little, instead of keeping it tumbling in your brain like it’s a cement mixer. Hard to get a fresh perspective that way.”
The shrimp arrive, looking plump and delectable, but Ollie doesn’t touch them yet, saying, “I’m not a great father or even a good one most of the time, y’know. There’s no judgement here, if that’s what you’re worried about, on you /or/ Bruce. I’ve got no grounds to lecture you about anything. Just, y’know — willing to do sounding board duties. For me, at least, I figure shit out best if it’s aloud.”
Tim instinctively presses his lips together tightly, not wanting anything to slip through. Ollie is persistant, differently than his Titan friends are usually, less pestering and more persuasion. It works, if only a little. He jams the nail of his thumb between his lips, teeth biting down hard. No judgement, he can trust Ollie. A fresh perspective could be able to clear some matters. Ollie´s not the best rolemodel, either, he should understand Tim´s feelings slightly if he and Roy ever had a similar conversation.
He exhales suddenly, caving in but not without rubbing a hand over his face. “Bruce leaves a lot to be desired, from a child-parent perspective,” he starts carefully, “I know he cares, somehow I know. If only he’d show it sometimes.. it would make.. things easier, make it easier to ignore everything else.” He ends the mumble with a shrug, not quite meeting Ollie’s eyes.
"Well," Ollie says, picking up his shrimp — served ringed on the rim of a martini glass, god bless old-fashioned bars — "I don’t think you necessarily need to ignore all the other stuff, if it’s stuff that you want changed. But I can see how having some open affection would ease the way to discussing the more painful things."
He keeps his attention on the food, hoping that it’ll make Tim feel less on the spot, less scrutinized. “For me, the solution to getting more open affection was to be persistent and demand it. But that’s not your job, as his kid, to do that. And if you don’t feel comfortable bringing it up with him, that probably makes it all seem like a no-win situation, huh.” He sets aside a tail shell, carefully asking, “How’s he done it before, if he’s done it before? Shown he cares, I mean.”
"Only Dick can do such a thing," Tim says in reply to the persistence he will never possess, simply because he doesn’t want it to be forced, he needs it to be willing, for Bruce to take the initiative not only to give orders but also embraces. "I don’t know how long it took for Bruce to get used to it though."
The same feeling surfaces, a feeling of unease and guilt. He shouldn’t be whining like a child, and especially not to his father’s partner. Ending the conversation now would be rude however, and Ollie’s meaning well, wants to help. Just tell him. “There’s.. He’s done it before. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been gone for two years that it feels so long ago, perhaps I’m exaggerating,” he thinks aloud with downcast eyes. “A hand on a shoulder, the approving nod, or what I think is approval anyway,” the man rubs his face with both hands, wishing he didn’t have so many shots. He’s not drunk, but blames the alcohol for his rambling. “I can’t remeber the last time we embraced.”
"It took me a long time," Ollie says in a measured, thoughtful tone, "before I realized how much a word of approval from me meant to Roy. One careless ‘attaboy’ would get him glowing for days." He shakes his head. "Unbelievable, really, considering how much of my childhood /I/ spent wishing that somebody would do the same thing for me. Approve of me. Tell me I was good." How much time Ollie’d spent relentlessly trying to quash that desire for adult validation and affection, the wretched and faulty coping mechanisms he’d replaced that desire with.
Pushing that aside, Ollie brings it back to here and now, Tim sitting tense across from him but faintly crumpled around the edges, now, blurred with liquor and emotion. “What I’m saying,” he clarifies, keeping the timbre of his voice gentle, “is that Bruce might not really understand how to comfortably show his approval.” /Because he’s so hungry for it himself,/ Ollie doesn’t say out loud. “And that’s not to excuse him. It’s just to maybe let you know that it’s not any fault in you, Tim, that makes him sparse with the affection. Give it a little time. Sometimes with this kind of stuff, emotion all jammed up and stuck inside, it takes some big event to shake it all loose.”
Ollie couldn’t know how ominous that statement was, would be, in the weeks to follow. But he gives Tim a sympathetic smile, over the rim of his shrimp glass.
He’s smiling, if only a little. Ollie does understand him and in this case, can also see where Bruce is coming from. Quietly, Tim wishes Bruce would make him glow. How much more time will he need however? Was it even harder on Dick and Jason when they were younger? One would think the man knows how to appraise his sons by now. Can’t forget he’s the Batman, stoic and brooding.
"I suppose.. we’ll see what the future brings," Tim says thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat with a small sigh. He smiles wryly at the older man, going for his sidecar. Be careful what you wish for, a tiny voice in the back of his head warns him. He tenses, but pushes it away. For once, he doesn’t want to think, just feel.