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“Hold still, you idiot. One would think you’re being kidnapped and not rescued.” Red Hood shifts his grip on Tim, dragging him along the rooftop.
“Maybe I didn’t notice the difference,” Tim chirps, trying in vain to shake off Hood’s tight grip.
“If I was kidnapping you, you’d already be unconscious. All your yapping is giving me a headache. Also, I’d have demanded a payment upfront,” Hood adds like an afterthought.
“Oh please,” Tim dismisses, trying to swiftly drop his weight to throw Hood off but the man doesn’t even falter, carrying all of Tim’s weight without stopping. “As if you could kidnap me in the first place.”
“Why not, sure seems Ra’s did a pretty good job. Got the jump on you, didn’t he? Had you tied up neat and tight. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be locked up somewhere in his evil lair.”
“He doesn’t have an evil lair,” Tim says but he doesn’t sound sure even to his own ears. “Besides, I’ve had it handled. I was getting intel. Every villain loves their monologues. You’re proving my point, by the way.”
“Uh-huh.” Hood stops moving. They’ve reached a point where the roof ends with the side of another, taller, building. There is a cage ladder fixed to its wall.
Tim glances down at his bad leg where one of Ra’s men managed to get him with a chakram. The wrapping was done in haste.
“It’s bled through,” Hood observes.
“I’m fine. Lets keep moving before Ra’s men notice us.” Tim grabs the first rung and pulls himself up, clenching his teeth against the pain.
If it wasn’t for Hood giving him a push from bellow, Tim isn’t sure he’d make it. Fuck.
“You’ve had it handled, right,” Hood says and though his face is hidden behind his helmet, Tim can picture the judgemental look he’s being given just fine.
“Who are you to judge?”
“Ha. Me? I’m a bit of an expert. The whole kidnapping people, running a little crime gig, you know. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. Or you’ve read the file.”
“Between you and me, I’m pretty sure I have more experience with kidnapping than you do,” Tim says.
“That’s… frankly, that’s a little worrying, Red.”
Tim groans. “I didn’t mean that I was kidnapping people! Jesus.”
“I know. That’s why it’s worrying. Just shut up and enjoy the help.”
They make it up the ladder, painfully slowly, before they reach the other rooftop.
“I didn’t need to be rescued,” Tim bristles, then asks, “Are you sure I’m not being kidnapped?”
Hood sets him down and waits until Tim gets his footing before letting go. “Quite sure,” he says, voice distorted by his helmet. “You are free to go.”
Tim doesn’t wait for more. He drops to his right, rolls over the roof and from a crouch, he tries to jump to a ledge on the other side. Tries being the key word.
His leg gives out, the weight of his body too much for his ankle as it crumples underneath him at the worst possible moment when he’s just committed to the leap.
His hand swats at empty air, his jump too short, the ledge remaining out of reach.
There is a moment of adrenaline kicking in as he freefalls, then Hood slams into him.
His stomach flies up to his throat as he’s yanked into an upward swoop. Tim’s heart is going a mile a minute when they safely reach someone’s balcony.
“Holy fuck, are you insane?” Hood snaps.
“Thought you said I was free to go,” Tim gasps.
“Oh my god, you’re insufferable,” Hood says, leaning forward, breathing hard. His grip on Tim is painfully tight and he doesn’t seem to be willing to let go again. “Are you actually trying to kill yourself? Because that’s not happening on my watch.” The curtains shift behind them and a dog appears, eyes zeroing in on them before it starts barking so loud it’s heard even though the sliding door. “Aw, sorry buddy,” Hood says, voice dropping so low the helmet’s mic has troubles carrying the sound over. Hood wraps his arm around Tim. “We’re going, we’re going. Good boy.” Then, to Tim, “Hold on tight.”
It’s the only warning Tim gets before they’re moving again.
They make it a full block before Tim feels like his leg is on fire. He needs a moment. He can work through the pain just fine but he needs to catch his breath, feel a solid ground underneath his feet.
He doesn’t have to ask, something in the tension of his body gives him off to Hood and a moment later, they’re landing in between two alleyways.
“Are you sick? Feeling feverish?” It’s a little hard to tell because the stupid helmet masks most of his emotions but Tim is sure Hood sounds worried. “I thought they only got the toxin into the food.”
Tim feels a sudden chill settle over him. “What?”
Hood is trying to check him over for other injuries. “It was just the food that was poisoned at the party. Since you wouldn’t touch that, you should be fine,” Hood mutters distractedly.
Tim sees red. He grabs his bo staff, extends it in one swift motion and shoves the end of it against the mocking red batsymbol on Red Hood’s chest. He moves so fast the man doesn’t have time to brace. “How did you know?” He seethes. “About the food.”
Hood’s voice is masked by the helmet but Tim reads the amused tone anyway, he sees it in the way Hood moves with the blow, in the casual stance, the unhurried approach.
He doesn’t try to play dumb. “No one ever sees you eat.”
Tim goes still.
Hood knows he has Tim’s full attention now and he’s enjoying it. “No pictures of you eating anything. Not even at the formal dinner parties. Not whenever you’re out on a patrol.”
Tim’s heart is beating madly in his chest. Hood has been keeping tabs on him. It’s not like they haven’t been keeping tabs on the new threat raising in the Narrows but this is next level. Hood shouldn’t know the things he knows. Notice the things others have never noticed. “Who are you?”
“Haven’t you checked Bat’s database? I’m the enemy.”
Tim has not only checked. He’s helped edit the files. Reports of gang violence, reports of girls going missing from the alley. Based on how cagey Bruce has been acting about Hood’s sudden appearance in Gotham, there is a story here. Tim remembers watching the footage of Red Hood cutting himself free of Batman’s enforced bindings. Like he’d been expecting it and armed up accordingly. Yet, neither of them got hurt in the ongoing manhunt. Bruce was reluctant to move forward with an arrest and Hood seemed hesitant to deal any real damage to the Bats.
Tim collapses the bo staff. “Fine. Where are you taking me?” he demands. “I should know, shouldn’t I? Considering I am not being kidnapped.”
“A safe place,” Hood offers.
“Hmph. Safe for you or safe for me?”
“Safe from Ra’s. That good enough for you?”
“Yes. Lead the way.” Hood shifts, uncertain but before he could say anything, Tim sighs and goes back to his side, letting Hood support some of his weight. “Not a word,” he warns.
Thankfully, the hideout isn’t far away and somehow Hood manages to keep silent all the way. His gloved hand on Tim’s thigh, though, feels like it could burn through the fabric. Tim tries not to dwell on that too much.
They stop behind an unassuming building that looks like it’s seen better times.
“This is going to hurt,” Hood says and before Tim fully processes the sentence, a sharp, searing pain pulses through his shoulder blade. It’s gone as quickly as it’s flared but the shock of it leaves Tim gasping for air. “Sorry, sorry,” Hood mutters.
“What the fuck, Hood?”
“I had to. This was the fastest way to disable the tracker,” Hood says.
“The tracker,” Tim echoes.
“Yeah. I knew about it,” Hood admits, shoving a small device back into one of his many pockets. “Big B likes to keep tabs on you all, doesn’t he?”
Tim’s going to kill Bruce.
Tim did not know about it. But apparently, Red fucking Hood did. “How does that work?”
“By disrupting the electromagnetic, no wait.” Hood casts a quick look around them. “Listen, this isn’t the place to get technical. The League could have eyes anywhere, you know how Ra’s gets when you set fire to his plans.”
“To be fair,” Tim says, “I was just working the case when he swooped in and decided to kidnap me again. It’s not like I wanted to foil his plans, you did that all by yourself.”
Hood turns to look at him. Tim can’t even meet his eyes, all he sees is his own reflection in the visor. “Are you like, complaining I took you away from Ra’s? Are you two like… Uh. Errm.”
It takes a moment for Tim to parse that but when he does his cheeks flush scarlet. “What?! No! Ew, it’s not like that.”
“No judgement here. If you two are like, involved.”
“We’re not. I’m not. Jesus fuck, Hood,” Tim says, helpless. “I’m not involved with Ra’s! I’m not involved with anyone for that matter!”
“Good to know,” Hood says slowly. Then he clears his throat, the helmet making it sound like a broken radio. “Right. Let’s go in, then.”
The flat is on the sixth floor. There is no lift, of course. Tim’s death grip on the railing is making his knuckles go white but he refuses to ask Hood for help.
Hood seems to enjoy Tim’s little suffering, probably wanting to remind Tim just how much not in control of the whole situation he was.
Finally, they reach the flat. Hood punches in some code and the door opens.
Tim’s mind is already analysing everything but the picture doesn’t fit. Makes no sense. It’s a safe house, for sure. There is the unlived practicality of it. It looks so much like Bruce’s usual set up that it’s uncanny. There isn’t a single thing that would be linking the place to Hood. And Hood is moving through the space all careful, like he’s making sure there are no leftover booby traps, like he isn’t sure. Like the flat isn’t his. If he didn’t have the code, Tim would think they were breaking in.
Tim asks, “Whose place is this?”
“Not mine,” Hood says, though that much is obvious. “But make yourself comfortable.”
“Right.”
Hood reaches for the release mechanism, fingers pressing into the underside of his helmet and a second later, he’s taking it off with practised ease.
Tim’s breath catches.
Hood is wearing a domino mask underneath it.
This cautious, ridiculous man.
A startled chuckle escapes Tim. Hood hears it, he turns around, smirk already playing on his lips.
“Hey.” His eyes are bright behind the mask.
“Hey,” Tim echoes, taking in every little bit of his skin Hood has revealed. The little dimple in his cheek, the playful smirk, the crystal blue eyes, the freckles. The jaw line. The scars. The soft black hair curling around his neck. The shock of white hair above his mask.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hood says and his voice sounds a little hoarse.
“Huh?”
“The wound, let’s get that looked at before it gets infected.”
“Oh, right. Where’s the bathroom?”
Hood makes a broad gesture without actually pointing anywhere and steps deeper into the flat.
Tim trails after Hood.
“It doesn’t take a genius,” Hood says.
“Huh?”
“I’m answering the question you were trying to ask earlier. About the food.”
“Oh.”
“It’s simple. If anyone paid a little attention, they’d know.”
Tim’s voice is hoarse. “You pay attention to me, Hood?” Mentally panicking at the idea of someone paying him closer attention than Ra’s.
“What, don’t you like my attention?”
“No.”
“And yet you went with me. Didn’t fight me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Between you and Ra’s–”
“It’s the evil you know?”
“I don’t know much about you either,” Tim points out.
Hood shrugs. “You don’t ask.”
“Fine, I’m asking now. Let’s start with how you didn’t get the toxin in your system from the food. You were at the party, right?”
“Yeah, I’ve followed you in,” Hood nods, then taps the side of his helmet. “Didn’t eat anything either.”
“Lucky bastard.”
“Speaking of food, there should be some rations in there somewhere. Are you hungry?” Hood asks.
“Hunger is a state of mind,” Tim replies, automatic.
Hood turns to him, tense. “And the feeling passes after the third day? You don’t know true hunger until you hit day eight?”
Tim stills. “Oh.”
He looks at Hood again but the mask is as emotionless as ever. Yet, Hood knows this, intimately.
“Hits different when someone else says it, right?” Hood grumbles. “Hunger is the body’s weakness winning over discipline. You’re not an animal driven by its primal urges.”
“Stop. Who trained you?” Tim whispers, horrified.
Hood turns his back on him, checking the perimeter. “Who trained you?”
Tim stays silent and that’s probably an answer to both of them.
“Here. Found the medkit,” Hood says, handing it over. “Get that wound treated.”
The cut is deep but clean. It will heal just fine. Tim settles over the edge of a bath tub but his fingers are shaking. Hood carefully takes the medikit off his hands.
“How did you know Ra’s snatched me?” Tim asks, needing a distraction from the bulky form of a man kneeling right in front of him, prodding at his injured thigh oh, so gently, humming low and focused and helping Tim to push his pants down. Lord have mercy. “Why were you at the party?”
“Been following you,” Hood says, spraying some disinfectant on the wound. His hands are steady, his movements practical. His touch is hot, fingers wrapping around Tim’s thigh, assessing the gash for a possible need of stitches. Tim does his best not to react.
Tim keeps his face blank. “Should I be worried?”
From where he’s kneeling at Tim’s feet, Hood glances up. “You know, you should be. Because I’ve really been following you and I’m very worried. Your sleeping pattern is erratic. Your self-care none existent and your eating pattern is abysmal. I haven’t seen you eat anything today.”
Tim scowls. “It’s called OMAD and it works fine for me.”
Hood mouths around the word and Tim is a little distracted staring at his lips, so it takes a second for him to supply, “One meal a day.”
“Does the Big Bat know?”
“It’s a perfectly reasonable eating plan that doesn’t disrupt my schedule.”
Hood watches him for a moment. “Forget the Bat, if you don’t check that ‘eating plan’ with a proper nutritionist, I’ll make sure Alfred knows.”
Tim isn’t sure what’s scarier, Alfred knowing about the way Tim eats, or doesn’t eat, actually, or Hood somehow knowing all about them.
“Seriously man. I’ll check,” Hood says when Tim’s silence lasts too long.
“What do you care,” Tim huffs and before Hood gets to say anything, he gestures to his thigh. “No stitches, right?”
Hood pauses and for a second Tim thinks they’re about to argue about it but then the man’s shoulders drop. “No need. Just keep it clean. No more straining.”
“I know the routine,” Tim snaps.
“Knowing and following isn’t the same, Red.” Hood slowly raises to his feet but he doesn’t step away, which brings him towering over Tim.
Tim glances up. He refuses to scuttle away. There is such intense heat in Hood’s eyes that it makes Tim’s breath hitch in his throat when he notices.
The moment stretches, neither of them moving.
“Red.”
Tim stares and stares, eyes seeping into Hood’s. There is something. Something Tim can’t name but it has his full attention. “Yes?”
Hood gulps, the sound small and audible and Tim realizes how much he likes seeing the man without the helmet. Not just because there is more of him to see but because Hood has clearly grown accustomed to the mic stripping his voice of every emotion. The tone of his voice, the emotions passing over his face, it’s all there for Tim so take in. Thinks he would have missed otherwise.
Hood is the first to break the eye contact and shuffle away. “You’re all finished,” Hood says, setting the medikit aside and moving back into the hallway.
“No, I don’t think I am,” Tim says, following after him. It gives him Hood’s attention back, freezing him to the spot, eyes going back to seek out Tim’s. Good.
Testing the waters, Tim licks his lips.
Hood’s eyes flicker down.
Tim smiles, pondering this new observation. “You look at me like you want to kiss me,” Tim says.
Hood’s shoulders hunch over, like it’s a truth to be ashamed of.
“You do,” Tim realizes with startled clarity.
Hood shrugs and looks away from him, escaping into the living room.
Tim is hot on Hood’s heels. His heart skyrockets the way it does whenever he stumbles upon something profound by accident. “That wasn’t a no,” he points out.
“It wasn’t a yes, either,” Hood snaps.
“It’s a maybe,” Tim allows.
Hood’s head snaps back to look at Tim, really look. His gaze is searching and the longer he looks the more anguished his face gets. “Look, I–”
“Tim,” Tim cuts in. “My name’s Tim.” In case it helps Hood decide.
Hood gulps. He doesn’t look any less torn. Or shocked.
“You knew that,” Tim breathes out, surprised. How. When. For how long. Jesus fucking Christ. This guy. “But you still didn’t know if kissing me was a bad idea.”
“Oh, trust me, Red, I know it’s a bad idea.”
“Good thing one of us is kinda notorious for acting on his bad ideas.” Hood still hasn’t walked away, hasn’t rolled his eyes and told Tim he was being an idiot. Tim beckons with his head. “Come here.” There is a moment of stillness as Hood’s weighing his options before he decides. Tim sees the second Hood allows himself to have this.
“Tim,” he croaks, voice husky.
“Come here and kiss me,” Tim demands.
Hood follows as instructed.
Their lips meet, gentle at first but quickly growing hungry. More. More touches, more tongue more teeth. Closer. Faster. Needier.
Hood kisses like he’s been starving.
Tim opens his mouth and lets Hood lick into his mouth. Hood does just that, eager and a touch desperate, like if he doesn’t act fast enough, Tim will disappear from within his grasp.
Tim sneaks his hands firmly around Hood’s shoulder before he leans away, gasping for air.
Hood nuzzles the side of his neck, trying to catch his breath as well. Tim stills. Hood nuzzles the spot again.
“Don’t worry, Red.” Hood shifts his head a little back and forth. “I wouldn’t leave hickeys.”
A sudden lump forms in Tim’s throat. “Even if I asked you to?”
Hood makes a choked off sound. His stupid mask is sitting funny on his face. “I’d… I’d maul you if you asked nice enough,” he rasps.
“Oh,” Tim exhales sharply and tilts his head to the other side, offering more skin. “Pretty please?”
Hood’s laughing so hard he doesn’t even manage to close his mouth over Tim’s skin at the first few nips.
Time looses meaning, after that. He’s being ravished, he’s being cherished, his skin feels like it’s too hot and too tight. Hood’s touches are searing.
“Wait,” Hood says, pulling away from the kiss. “Wait.” Tim tries to follow and feels a little tinge of satisfaction when Hood gives in right away, parting his lips one more and leaning back to Tim like he’s pulled by a force he couldn’t battle against.
Tim cherishes each second, each caress, each shaky breath sucked in, each time Hood comes back to him like the ocean waves. Exploring, learning, leaving Tim shivering with want.
It’s all over all too soon and Hood is breaking free from the kiss for real.
“Not right now,” Hood croaks.
Tim’s brain is slow to come back online. “We’ve got time,” he assures. “I’m not in a hurry.”
Hood just stares at him.
Tim realizes that maybe Hood has other places to be.
“Give me your number,” Tim says.
Hood goes very still before he visibly forces himself back into the relaxed pose. “That good, huh?”
Tim flushes scarlet. “I meant for the case. You know, the one I’ve been working before Ra’s intervention. You’ve been following me. You clearly have some intel. We could team-up.”
“Team-up,” Hood drawls, low and amused and without the helmet to distort the sound, his voice is like a velvet. “That’s what you youngsters call it these days?”
Tim groans. “We’re about the same age.”
“I’m older,” Hood states simply, like it’s a fact he’s always known.
“Not that old,” Tim says but it only makes Hood grin like a shark.
“Tell you what, if you want my number, then you already have it.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I’ve edited it into the file Big B keeps on me in the Batcomputer.”
Tim splutters. “You did what?”
Hood shrugs, like breaking into the Batcave is just his usual Tuesday. For all Tim knows, it could be. Jesus.
“You did not,” Tim says, though he already knows Hood is telling the truth.
“Enjoyed putting a few more grey hair on that head of his.”
“You’re impossible,” Tim laughs, then admits, “I really want to kiss you again.”
Hood shakes his head, tucking a stray stand of hair behind his hair as it falls into his eyes. “They’re going to be here soon,” Hood says.
“What? No, Ra’s not like that, he won’t come looking. We’ve shaken off his men by the second block. C’mon.” He reaches for Hood again.
Hood chuckles, warm and pleased but he stubbornly remains out of reach. “I didn’t mean the League. I meant your Batclan.”
“Uh. What?”
“C’mon, Red, you’re smarter than that.” Hood gestures to Tim’s back. “That little tracker of yours suddenly stops emitting just around the corner from Malone’s hideout, of course the Bats come flying in.”
“Who is Malone?”
“Matches Malone,” Hood says. “You don’t know him? Should ask Big B about him, I hear they’re great pals. Two peas in a pod.”
Tim carefully files it away, along with the scornful tone, and focuses on the important bits. “How long do we have?”
Hood gives him a long look and Tim lets him look, lets him see the honesty, the want clearly written on his face.
“Tell you what,” Hood says as he steps closer, heat radiating from him. “We meet Sunday night after your usual patrol time is over. At the hospital’s rooftop. You bring Alfred’s honey cookies, I bring the intel,” he says in a voice that could only be described as wistful.
There are so many pressing questions. How does hood know Alfred? How long have they been compromised? More importantly, how long has Bruce known about Hood tracking them without telling any of them? Actually, equally as important– “What’s your name?” Tim whispers into the small gap between their lips.
“Why would I tell you,” Hood begins, leaning in again and Tim angles his face up to meet him but Hood just kisses his forehead in a big smack of a kiss. “When it’s so much fun like this.”
Tim shoves at his chest and Hood pretends to stumble back before he sways back in and kisses him proper.
Tim’s about to demand an answer again when there is a sound of feather light footsteps hurrying up the fire escape and in the next second, Dick somersaults through the window in his full Nightwing costume.
“He’s here!” Dick shouts into his earpiece, relief obvious in his voice. Then he notices Tim’s company and freezes. “You!”
Hood takes a step away from Tim, circling Dick. “I helped him!”
“He did,” Tim begrudgingly agrees.
Dick seems to take in Tim’s stiff posture, the way he’s favouring his left leg. Could never hide anything from that one. Or maybe it’s the blood that soaked through the bandages again that clues him in, Tim realizes as Dick looks him over, assessing the damage. “Tim. Oh my god, are you all right?”
“He was like that when I found him,” Hood feels the need to point out, quick to go defensive.
Dick swivels around to look at him.
Hood inches to the exit.
Dick glances back at Tim’s, eyes flickering between Tim’s leg and his neck. There is a moment when something unfathomable passes over his face before it morphs into full horror. “Even the hickeys?”
In one fluid motion, Hood takes a dive off the window.
Tim pinches the bridge of his nose. Ah well. Better use the little time he has before Bruce arrives to sway Dick to his side. Hood’s really not that bad.
Dick looks down the window and then back at Tim, completely caught off guard. The puzzlement is a good look on his face, Tim decides.
Hood’s really not that bad at all.
Maybe Tim should give it a go for real.
Maybe show up at the hospital’s rooftop on time.
Maybe find Hood already waiting there, equally as eager to meet again.