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thejusticelounge2014-12-31 06:10 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2014-12-31 06:10 pm
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flies so high and feels no pain
Tim takes shelter in his room, newly organized with objects of his former and current self. He has been attempting to do some yago and mediation mantras, but he can't stop thinking, can't shut off his brain. In the end, he reaches for his phone and finds Ollie's contact info. [Text] I need your assistance. Are you still at the Manor
Ollie is, in fact, tooling around in one of Alfred’s vast pantries of preserves, sampling from the different jams and jellies and conserves and marmalades quite shamelessly. It’s the holidays; he figures whatever he opens will be used up in a snap, with so many people around who’ll be wanting toast and toppings.
The text distracts him from a particularly perfect jar of stewed strawberries, and Ollie takes the fruit and a clean silver teaspoon with him as he leaves the pantry. [TXT] Sure am! Where you at, spatzi?
Tim closes the door behind him, thumb sweeping over his touchscreen at the sound of Ollie’s reply. He stops, head tilted slightly. Spatzi? He didn’t know Ollie spoke German. Perhaps it is time to get to know his father’s partners better. Even if he knows far more about Ollie than he does about Kate.
[Text] Can you meet me in the den? I’ll be there shortly.
[Text] Also, I’m a robin, not a sparrow.
[TXT] Except I don’t know the word for robin.
Chuckling at Tim’s innate need to be pedantic, Ollie makes his way to the den. It’s not a room that gets that much use (at least, not from Ollie) so he takes the moment or two before Tim gets there to look around. It’s a Bruce Wayne room, more than a Bruce room, as far as Ollie can tell, and he understands why — between him and Alfred they’ve managed to keep Wayne Manor from being a place where society people feel free to drop in, but as a playboy billionaire and captain of industry Bruce Wayne will inevitably have to meet at least /some/ people in his home.
The den fits the bill perfectly, and in fact Ollie smirks to himself at /how/ perfectly it aligns with the decor of a dozen moneyed dens he’s been in over the years. Could’ve been pulled straight from a catalogue.
When he hears Tim arrive, Ollie announces to him, “—I do know songs about both robins /and/ sparrows, though.”
It’s a neutral room, in his mind at least, and therefore a safe place to experiment. Tim enters with more confidence than he has shown the past few days, dressed in casual sweatpants, hoodie and worn down sneakers, his favourite. If he believed in good luck charms, his shoes would be the strongest charm he owns. He wants to snort at Ollie’s comment, but can’t be distracted right now. While he’s still in motion—keep going, it’s not that difficult—Tim crosses the distance from the doorway to the man and successfully swings his arms around his broader bulk.
His breathing hitches, his heart thundering against his ribcage as he practically clings—and that was not part of the plan, really—to his torso and one am. Awkwardly uncomfortable, but he’s done it. Tim can feel Ollie’s warmth through his clothes and presses his face to the man’s shoulder, exhaling slowly. It’s a good warmth, a good pressure, a good sensation, he tells himself. He hopes he can convince himself.
"Oh, hey," Ollie says gently, but he doesn’t remove Tim or hug him closer. He can practically feel the desperation in the gesture, the tense nervous willpower that Tim’s expending in order to do this, so Ollie confines himself to cupping the back of Tim’s dark head with his palm.
"Pretty impressive, kid," he murmurs, tousling the straight, neat hair a little bit. "Family trait, huh? The being impressive, I mean." Ollie considers for a moment. "And I guess the internal issues with social contact too, now that I think about it."
Just remember how to breathe. Remember what Jason said. Tim feels his muscles quiver, feels it in his core that this isn’t exactly what his body wants to experience right now, but he ignores it the best he can. It’s not impressive to him, not at all. Human contact shouldn’t be this frightening and Tim wonders if he is currently more afraid of holding on or letting go.
"You can blame Bruce.. for all of it," he replies into the man’s shoulder, feeling the large hand on his head. It starts pounding, a sudden headache making him cringe. Eyes closed, Tim grunts lightly. Ollie means well. Bruce approves of him, what more does he need in order to trust him? Biological father or not, he rarely doubts Bruce’s judgement. "Bruce.. We hardly talk. I won’t.. I can’t afford to lose this form of contact."
"Listen to me," Ollie says, and although he’s keeping his voice a mellow murmur, there’s no doubt in the conviction behind his words. "You won’t lose it. Bruce will be there when you’re ready, Tim, I promise." A rash promise, perhaps, to anybody else, but Ollie’s confidence in this is unshakable. "And that’s the important thing: /when you’re ready/. It’s good that you’re trying but don’t force yourself because you’re afraid you’ll lose your father. You won’t, Tim."
He can’t quite pick up on whether or not Tim’s okay with Ollie’s hand at the back of his head, so he leaves it there, hoping it’s all right. Or that Tim can let him know it isn’t. “Bruce taking the blame for good things /and/ bad things is par the course,” he smiles. “I get that too. It’s the contract we agree to by being the men we are.” Ollie looks down at Tim, the young man’s pointed face smashed into his shoulder. “Maybe someday you’ll understand that particular position, when you’re older and the head of a clan and empire. But for now, Tim, you can be easy on yourself. For this, at least. Forcing it won’t help any.”
But it’s taking too long! The whine nearly passes his lips, barely contained if not for the fact that he wants to prove Ollie he’s no longer a child even if not head of an empire. Yet, his ambitious side thinks He does feel small when spoken to like this, in this current position brought onto him by no other than Tim himself so there’s no one to blame for the look of embarrassment and colouring of his cheeks.
The distraction works miracles on the headache that has faded to a faint knocking, not entirely comfortable, but it’s easier to cope with. There’s a n increasing ache in his chest however. The way Ollie talks of Bruce is genuine and comforting. Tim decides he enjoys hearing him speak of his father and takes his words as truth, for now. He loosens his grip on the man’s torso, alters the position of his arm to properly embrace the man, but refuses to look at him. Ollie is more comfortable to embrace than Jason, he decides also. “I wish I could say I know him as well as I used to. Leaving wasn’t such a good idea, after all. He is different and I feel estranged, even without the trauma,” he mutters disappointed in himself.
"I bet you’re different too, though." Ollie sighs, adjusting to the new position with ease, letting his hand drop to the base of Tim’s neck where he normally gives his own kids affectionate squeezes. "It can be … a challenge to reconnect if you had some time apart. Believe me, I’ve done it multiple times with multiple kids. But I think with Roy it was the most like with you and Bruce — we were estranged for a while and then when we started trying to reconcile, he was a grown-up and I’d changed from the parent he knew." Hell, it was still hard with Roy, but Ollie didn’t go into that much detail.
"Give yourselves some time," Ollie suggests, smoothing the heel of his hand against the small, tidy knobs of Tim’s vertebrae. "You’re both trying, and that’s something, right? Even if you don’t succeed right away. Any progress is good progress." This is something Ollie seems to say to members of the Batclan with regularity, and it’s because he’s musing on the similarity that he continues aloud, "…no wonder you’re all so tense all the time, with the perfectionism rampant among you."
"I’m not a perfectionist, I prefer the term: ambitious. I’m ambitious to always improve." Surely that’s different. Tim feels a shiver run down his spine as the man’s hand changes position. Excuses, excuses. Ollie’s giving him a lot to think about today. Odd, but appreciated. He wiggles slightly, but doesn’t pulle back, tries to copy the man’s relaxed posture, finds his limbs too stiff to comply and leaves it at that. Small steps at a time, apparently. forcing his body beyond this point won’t do. Tim looks up with curious, squinted eyes. “But you and Roy have never fully reconciled, have you?” The fear that this might be his and Bruce’s future is clear in his large blue eyes.
Snorting, Ollie drawls, “Sure, sure. Ambitious. Call it what you want, Tim, doesn’t change the fact that it’s hard for you guys to accept that you’re not gonna succeed at things immediately. And while you can change that when it comes to physical skills by just working like the dickens, it seems to paralyze you all when it comes to emotional stuff.”
He leaves that where it is, though, not wanting to head into lecture territory or start to sound accusing — he only means it as an observation, but Tim’s in a fragile state right now — and says, “We haven’t. But I was a lot worse than Bruce has ever been.” Ollie doesn’t look down at Tim for this part, instead fixing his gaze on a leather strap of brass horse medallions hanging on the wall. “I’ve never been the best of fathers, Tim, or even a decent one. I’m not great at any of this either. So I don’t want you to think that the things I’m saying are in any way intended to sound like expertise. It’s just … stuff I’m figuring out that could maybe be helpful, and you could tell me what you’ve found useful too. We’re all learning this together, y’know?”
Well there’s nothing he can say that won’t sound like an obvious illogical denial. Emotions have always been difficult to deal with in this household, after all. They’ve made progress, Tim likes to think as he remembers Bruce giving him the cold shoulder at the start, Jason and Damian threatening to hurt him and Dick—well, there’s always an exception.
Tim sighs and sees Ollie’s distant look as the man continues. Sharing is caring, a fortune cookie once told him. He supposes giving Ollie feedback is in everyone’s advantage, despite the awkwardness of it all. “I’m fairly certain no one’s asking you to be a the best or even a decent father, whatever definition that may have, trying is most important,” Tim reasons, remembering how Bruce is still trying to make up to him and Jason and how he will probably never be satisfied even if they claim to be, one day. He pulls back from the embrace, not entirely comfortable assessing Ollie’s ‘father sklls’ and distances himself in order to think wisely of his words. “You’re honest and considerate, that shows you care and take fatherhood seriously.. Hm.. You..” Tim falls silent, prodding his lips with his thumb, thinking still. “You’re approachable. That’s somthing.” Bruce can improve on, he adds silently.
"Approachability’s fine and good," Ollie says a little brusquely, "but it counts for shit in the long run. It’s commitment and dependability that make the difference and those are things that I’ve lacked all my life." He gives Tim a steady look. "I don’t know the ins and outs of your relationship with Bruce, but he’s got me beat there by a country mile, ask anybody. Once you two manage to work past the initial feeling-out stages, Tim, I’m sure you’ll find out things about each other that’ll surprise you. In a good way, even."
He waves a hand as he moves over to a side table. “Anyhow. It doesn’t really matter about my failings as a parent, that’s not the point here. I only brought it up to let you know that it can be hard work to do, and you’re not alone in feeling that way. But there’s gains to be made, with each attempt to make a connection.” Ollie picks up the jar of stewed strawberries, holding out the clean teaspoon to Tim. “Want some? Alfred made ‘em, so you know they’re good. When I’m talking about heavy shit I find it’s nice to have a snack to replenish the energy.”
Tim’s uncertain if he angered Ollie or if the man’s angry at himself. Thoughtfully, he takes the spoon and dips it in the jar, scooping the strawberries and nibbling at it bit by bit. “I feel like I offended you somehow. I’m sorry,” he says, licking at his lips. His gaze lingers on the jar. “I meant well. You work just as hard. And I wish I could talk this freely with Bruce, which is why I ambushed you, kind of. I apologize for that as well.” Tim licks at his spoon, wanting to dip it in again but resisting. He doesn’t want to ruin his appetite. “Jason helped me figure out that if I initiate the physical contact it’s easier for me to cope with it. I.. used you to see if it was a fluke or not, before trying it on Bruce. I don’t want it to fail at that moment. Sorry.”
"Aw, hell, kid — I’m not offended, don’t worry about it." Ollie fishes his own spoon out of his pocket and takes a heaping helping of strawberries. "I mean, jesus," he says, and even though his voice is wry it’s good-natured and sincere, "If I got sore every time somebody used me as a practice run or a cheap substitute for Bruce, I’d’ve gone off to be a hermit about a decade and a half ago. It’s practically what I built my vigilante career on, no point complaining about it."
He does look curious when he asks, “So you’re experimenting with building up your tolerance for physical contact again? That /is/ very ambitious.” He holds the jar out to Tim. “Go on, it’s fruit, it’s healthy. And it makes sense that if things are as tenuous as it sounds while you’re both finding your footing, you wouldn’t want to go through a bad reaction trying to be close with Bruce. No need to apologize. I’m glad I could help, if this helps.”
He takes Ollie’s word for it, observant of the man’s body language however. The spoon goes back into the jar, quickly retreating back into his mouth before he changes his mind. He lets the fruit rest on his tongue, enjoying the sweetness that tickles his taste buds, then swallows. There’s a little pleased smile on his face.
"Tolerance, yes. There is no point in avoiding people until the end of day. I can’t do my job properly like that and.. well, like I said before: I don’t want to increase the distance between Bruce and I even further. This did help, it proves it is possible, which is better than I expected." Tim rubs at the back of his head where Ollie’s head was before. "There are side-effects, still. They are less intense however, compared to contact that’s unbeknowst to me. I’m don’t think I’m ready for Bruce yet though."
"Bruce can be a lot to work up to," Ollie agrees. "Especially since it’s physical contact with him that’s most important to you. But like I said, spatzi—" Ollie dips out another mounded spoonful of the jewel-red strawberries for himself, "—he’s not going anywhere. And he won’t hold any of this against you, I promise." He licks the underside of his spoon and adds, the thought just occurring to him, "I mean, you’ve been away for a while, right? It’s not just your physicality that needs to be adjusted, it’s your whole mindset when it comes to him, and you, and your relationship. He’s not the man he was when you left. I don’t think you need to worry about distance as much as maybe you used to."
Finishing off his jam, Ollie bounces the bowl of the spoon against his palm. “You boys are important to him. And he knows he’s made mistakes, god knows the both of us have with our kids, but he doesn’t want to /live/ in those mistakes. Think positively, Tim. Think on the possibilities instead of the deficits of the past. Think progressively instead of defensively. You won’t be disappointed.”
Ollie is, in fact, tooling around in one of Alfred’s vast pantries of preserves, sampling from the different jams and jellies and conserves and marmalades quite shamelessly. It’s the holidays; he figures whatever he opens will be used up in a snap, with so many people around who’ll be wanting toast and toppings.
The text distracts him from a particularly perfect jar of stewed strawberries, and Ollie takes the fruit and a clean silver teaspoon with him as he leaves the pantry. [TXT] Sure am! Where you at, spatzi?
Tim closes the door behind him, thumb sweeping over his touchscreen at the sound of Ollie’s reply. He stops, head tilted slightly. Spatzi? He didn’t know Ollie spoke German. Perhaps it is time to get to know his father’s partners better. Even if he knows far more about Ollie than he does about Kate.
[Text] Can you meet me in the den? I’ll be there shortly.
[Text] Also, I’m a robin, not a sparrow.
[TXT] Except I don’t know the word for robin.
Chuckling at Tim’s innate need to be pedantic, Ollie makes his way to the den. It’s not a room that gets that much use (at least, not from Ollie) so he takes the moment or two before Tim gets there to look around. It’s a Bruce Wayne room, more than a Bruce room, as far as Ollie can tell, and he understands why — between him and Alfred they’ve managed to keep Wayne Manor from being a place where society people feel free to drop in, but as a playboy billionaire and captain of industry Bruce Wayne will inevitably have to meet at least /some/ people in his home.
The den fits the bill perfectly, and in fact Ollie smirks to himself at /how/ perfectly it aligns with the decor of a dozen moneyed dens he’s been in over the years. Could’ve been pulled straight from a catalogue.
When he hears Tim arrive, Ollie announces to him, “—I do know songs about both robins /and/ sparrows, though.”
It’s a neutral room, in his mind at least, and therefore a safe place to experiment. Tim enters with more confidence than he has shown the past few days, dressed in casual sweatpants, hoodie and worn down sneakers, his favourite. If he believed in good luck charms, his shoes would be the strongest charm he owns. He wants to snort at Ollie’s comment, but can’t be distracted right now. While he’s still in motion—keep going, it’s not that difficult—Tim crosses the distance from the doorway to the man and successfully swings his arms around his broader bulk.
His breathing hitches, his heart thundering against his ribcage as he practically clings—and that was not part of the plan, really—to his torso and one am. Awkwardly uncomfortable, but he’s done it. Tim can feel Ollie’s warmth through his clothes and presses his face to the man’s shoulder, exhaling slowly. It’s a good warmth, a good pressure, a good sensation, he tells himself. He hopes he can convince himself.
"Oh, hey," Ollie says gently, but he doesn’t remove Tim or hug him closer. He can practically feel the desperation in the gesture, the tense nervous willpower that Tim’s expending in order to do this, so Ollie confines himself to cupping the back of Tim’s dark head with his palm.
"Pretty impressive, kid," he murmurs, tousling the straight, neat hair a little bit. "Family trait, huh? The being impressive, I mean." Ollie considers for a moment. "And I guess the internal issues with social contact too, now that I think about it."
Just remember how to breathe. Remember what Jason said. Tim feels his muscles quiver, feels it in his core that this isn’t exactly what his body wants to experience right now, but he ignores it the best he can. It’s not impressive to him, not at all. Human contact shouldn’t be this frightening and Tim wonders if he is currently more afraid of holding on or letting go.
"You can blame Bruce.. for all of it," he replies into the man’s shoulder, feeling the large hand on his head. It starts pounding, a sudden headache making him cringe. Eyes closed, Tim grunts lightly. Ollie means well. Bruce approves of him, what more does he need in order to trust him? Biological father or not, he rarely doubts Bruce’s judgement. "Bruce.. We hardly talk. I won’t.. I can’t afford to lose this form of contact."
"Listen to me," Ollie says, and although he’s keeping his voice a mellow murmur, there’s no doubt in the conviction behind his words. "You won’t lose it. Bruce will be there when you’re ready, Tim, I promise." A rash promise, perhaps, to anybody else, but Ollie’s confidence in this is unshakable. "And that’s the important thing: /when you’re ready/. It’s good that you’re trying but don’t force yourself because you’re afraid you’ll lose your father. You won’t, Tim."
He can’t quite pick up on whether or not Tim’s okay with Ollie’s hand at the back of his head, so he leaves it there, hoping it’s all right. Or that Tim can let him know it isn’t. “Bruce taking the blame for good things /and/ bad things is par the course,” he smiles. “I get that too. It’s the contract we agree to by being the men we are.” Ollie looks down at Tim, the young man’s pointed face smashed into his shoulder. “Maybe someday you’ll understand that particular position, when you’re older and the head of a clan and empire. But for now, Tim, you can be easy on yourself. For this, at least. Forcing it won’t help any.”
But it’s taking too long! The whine nearly passes his lips, barely contained if not for the fact that he wants to prove Ollie he’s no longer a child even if not head of an empire. Yet, his ambitious side thinks He does feel small when spoken to like this, in this current position brought onto him by no other than Tim himself so there’s no one to blame for the look of embarrassment and colouring of his cheeks.
The distraction works miracles on the headache that has faded to a faint knocking, not entirely comfortable, but it’s easier to cope with. There’s a n increasing ache in his chest however. The way Ollie talks of Bruce is genuine and comforting. Tim decides he enjoys hearing him speak of his father and takes his words as truth, for now. He loosens his grip on the man’s torso, alters the position of his arm to properly embrace the man, but refuses to look at him. Ollie is more comfortable to embrace than Jason, he decides also. “I wish I could say I know him as well as I used to. Leaving wasn’t such a good idea, after all. He is different and I feel estranged, even without the trauma,” he mutters disappointed in himself.
"I bet you’re different too, though." Ollie sighs, adjusting to the new position with ease, letting his hand drop to the base of Tim’s neck where he normally gives his own kids affectionate squeezes. "It can be … a challenge to reconnect if you had some time apart. Believe me, I’ve done it multiple times with multiple kids. But I think with Roy it was the most like with you and Bruce — we were estranged for a while and then when we started trying to reconcile, he was a grown-up and I’d changed from the parent he knew." Hell, it was still hard with Roy, but Ollie didn’t go into that much detail.
"Give yourselves some time," Ollie suggests, smoothing the heel of his hand against the small, tidy knobs of Tim’s vertebrae. "You’re both trying, and that’s something, right? Even if you don’t succeed right away. Any progress is good progress." This is something Ollie seems to say to members of the Batclan with regularity, and it’s because he’s musing on the similarity that he continues aloud, "…no wonder you’re all so tense all the time, with the perfectionism rampant among you."
"I’m not a perfectionist, I prefer the term: ambitious. I’m ambitious to always improve." Surely that’s different. Tim feels a shiver run down his spine as the man’s hand changes position. Excuses, excuses. Ollie’s giving him a lot to think about today. Odd, but appreciated. He wiggles slightly, but doesn’t pulle back, tries to copy the man’s relaxed posture, finds his limbs too stiff to comply and leaves it at that. Small steps at a time, apparently. forcing his body beyond this point won’t do. Tim looks up with curious, squinted eyes. “But you and Roy have never fully reconciled, have you?” The fear that this might be his and Bruce’s future is clear in his large blue eyes.
Snorting, Ollie drawls, “Sure, sure. Ambitious. Call it what you want, Tim, doesn’t change the fact that it’s hard for you guys to accept that you’re not gonna succeed at things immediately. And while you can change that when it comes to physical skills by just working like the dickens, it seems to paralyze you all when it comes to emotional stuff.”
He leaves that where it is, though, not wanting to head into lecture territory or start to sound accusing — he only means it as an observation, but Tim’s in a fragile state right now — and says, “We haven’t. But I was a lot worse than Bruce has ever been.” Ollie doesn’t look down at Tim for this part, instead fixing his gaze on a leather strap of brass horse medallions hanging on the wall. “I’ve never been the best of fathers, Tim, or even a decent one. I’m not great at any of this either. So I don’t want you to think that the things I’m saying are in any way intended to sound like expertise. It’s just … stuff I’m figuring out that could maybe be helpful, and you could tell me what you’ve found useful too. We’re all learning this together, y’know?”
Well there’s nothing he can say that won’t sound like an obvious illogical denial. Emotions have always been difficult to deal with in this household, after all. They’ve made progress, Tim likes to think as he remembers Bruce giving him the cold shoulder at the start, Jason and Damian threatening to hurt him and Dick—well, there’s always an exception.
Tim sighs and sees Ollie’s distant look as the man continues. Sharing is caring, a fortune cookie once told him. He supposes giving Ollie feedback is in everyone’s advantage, despite the awkwardness of it all. “I’m fairly certain no one’s asking you to be a the best or even a decent father, whatever definition that may have, trying is most important,” Tim reasons, remembering how Bruce is still trying to make up to him and Jason and how he will probably never be satisfied even if they claim to be, one day. He pulls back from the embrace, not entirely comfortable assessing Ollie’s ‘father sklls’ and distances himself in order to think wisely of his words. “You’re honest and considerate, that shows you care and take fatherhood seriously.. Hm.. You..” Tim falls silent, prodding his lips with his thumb, thinking still. “You’re approachable. That’s somthing.” Bruce can improve on, he adds silently.
"Approachability’s fine and good," Ollie says a little brusquely, "but it counts for shit in the long run. It’s commitment and dependability that make the difference and those are things that I’ve lacked all my life." He gives Tim a steady look. "I don’t know the ins and outs of your relationship with Bruce, but he’s got me beat there by a country mile, ask anybody. Once you two manage to work past the initial feeling-out stages, Tim, I’m sure you’ll find out things about each other that’ll surprise you. In a good way, even."
He waves a hand as he moves over to a side table. “Anyhow. It doesn’t really matter about my failings as a parent, that’s not the point here. I only brought it up to let you know that it can be hard work to do, and you’re not alone in feeling that way. But there’s gains to be made, with each attempt to make a connection.” Ollie picks up the jar of stewed strawberries, holding out the clean teaspoon to Tim. “Want some? Alfred made ‘em, so you know they’re good. When I’m talking about heavy shit I find it’s nice to have a snack to replenish the energy.”
Tim’s uncertain if he angered Ollie or if the man’s angry at himself. Thoughtfully, he takes the spoon and dips it in the jar, scooping the strawberries and nibbling at it bit by bit. “I feel like I offended you somehow. I’m sorry,” he says, licking at his lips. His gaze lingers on the jar. “I meant well. You work just as hard. And I wish I could talk this freely with Bruce, which is why I ambushed you, kind of. I apologize for that as well.” Tim licks at his spoon, wanting to dip it in again but resisting. He doesn’t want to ruin his appetite. “Jason helped me figure out that if I initiate the physical contact it’s easier for me to cope with it. I.. used you to see if it was a fluke or not, before trying it on Bruce. I don’t want it to fail at that moment. Sorry.”
"Aw, hell, kid — I’m not offended, don’t worry about it." Ollie fishes his own spoon out of his pocket and takes a heaping helping of strawberries. "I mean, jesus," he says, and even though his voice is wry it’s good-natured and sincere, "If I got sore every time somebody used me as a practice run or a cheap substitute for Bruce, I’d’ve gone off to be a hermit about a decade and a half ago. It’s practically what I built my vigilante career on, no point complaining about it."
He does look curious when he asks, “So you’re experimenting with building up your tolerance for physical contact again? That /is/ very ambitious.” He holds the jar out to Tim. “Go on, it’s fruit, it’s healthy. And it makes sense that if things are as tenuous as it sounds while you’re both finding your footing, you wouldn’t want to go through a bad reaction trying to be close with Bruce. No need to apologize. I’m glad I could help, if this helps.”
He takes Ollie’s word for it, observant of the man’s body language however. The spoon goes back into the jar, quickly retreating back into his mouth before he changes his mind. He lets the fruit rest on his tongue, enjoying the sweetness that tickles his taste buds, then swallows. There’s a little pleased smile on his face.
"Tolerance, yes. There is no point in avoiding people until the end of day. I can’t do my job properly like that and.. well, like I said before: I don’t want to increase the distance between Bruce and I even further. This did help, it proves it is possible, which is better than I expected." Tim rubs at the back of his head where Ollie’s head was before. "There are side-effects, still. They are less intense however, compared to contact that’s unbeknowst to me. I’m don’t think I’m ready for Bruce yet though."
"Bruce can be a lot to work up to," Ollie agrees. "Especially since it’s physical contact with him that’s most important to you. But like I said, spatzi—" Ollie dips out another mounded spoonful of the jewel-red strawberries for himself, "—he’s not going anywhere. And he won’t hold any of this against you, I promise." He licks the underside of his spoon and adds, the thought just occurring to him, "I mean, you’ve been away for a while, right? It’s not just your physicality that needs to be adjusted, it’s your whole mindset when it comes to him, and you, and your relationship. He’s not the man he was when you left. I don’t think you need to worry about distance as much as maybe you used to."
Finishing off his jam, Ollie bounces the bowl of the spoon against his palm. “You boys are important to him. And he knows he’s made mistakes, god knows the both of us have with our kids, but he doesn’t want to /live/ in those mistakes. Think positively, Tim. Think on the possibilities instead of the deficits of the past. Think progressively instead of defensively. You won’t be disappointed.”