Chapter Text
“Good morning.”
Tim drops tea all over the floor and swears, his eyes going anxiously between Lonnie – holy shit, he’s awake – and the mess he’s just made. Lonnie laughs, his voice rough from prolonged disuse.
“Lonnie,” Tim says, his voice weak from too much use. “Crap. I’ll go get a nurse.”
“No,” Lonnie says, and Tim could cry. He’s not heard that voice in so long. Ignoring the period they spent rattling around in cyberspace together, Tim hasn’t heard a single word from him in what feels like forever.
“I want to talk to you first.”
Tim hesitates. He should get a nurse. He should clean up the liquid he spilled everywhere, too. He should ask Lonnie a million questions, but he just… It’s Lonnie. Awake.
“Sure. Hi, Lonnie. You’re okay.”
He comes meekly to the side of Lonnie’s bed, palms flat on the top of the computer, like he needs to type his questions to Lonnie. Tim is half-convinced he could have Lonnie standing and completely okay again in a matter of seconds. He could.
“I’m okay,” Lonnie confirms, clearing his throat. “Can I have-?”
“Oh, yeah, I- yeah, Lonnie, sure.”
He pulls the oxygen mask to one side and helps tip water into Lonnie’s mouth, watching his throat bob as he swallows, winces, and gulps down more.
“Thanks.”
Tim’s eyes trace the tip of Lonnie’s tongue as he licks water off of his chapped lips. Tim makes a mental note to add Chapstick to his as-of-yet non-existent Lonnie repair kit.
“I just wanted to thank you, Tim.”
Tim huffs, fingers curling around nothing.
“You already have,” he reminds him. They had talked, sort of: Lonnie’s crooning modulated voice had been in Tim’s dreams for weeks.
“No, not for that. For visiting me.”
That’s awkward. Tim had been here embarrassingly often, and usually without announcing himself to Lonnie. He had figured the other man wouldn’t know. So much for that. He’d probably spent hours curled up on the chair in the corner, watching Lonnie’s chest rise and fall; listening to the quiet beeps that assured him of life. Sometimes, he’d spoken – about Kon, and how grateful he was to have him back, about how confusing things with Steph were, and Bruce, and even –
Tim swallows.
“How’d you..?”
“Camera.” Lonnie nods weakly in the direction of the camera, Tim’s eyes following along and discovering, thank goodness, that it’s behind the chair, so Lonnie wouldn’t have been able to read his lips. He should’ve noticed that, really. Maybe he’s slipping. Maybe it’s just Lonnie.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Tim wonders aloud. Lonnie blinks slowly. Dry eyes – he makes a note to add eye drops to his Lonnie repair kit.
“Didn’t think I should disturb the great – ow – the great Red Robin.”
“Ow?” Tim repeats anxiously, too distracted to warn him to keep his voice down.
“Tried to move – fuck, Tim, I can’t-“
“Hey, hey,” Tim says quickly, trying to soothe Lonnie’s panic. He's been in similar situations too many times to count. “It’s just the coma wearing off. Plus some muscle wasting, and-”
“No,” Lonnie says quietly, furiously. “After Armstrong, I can’t just – Gotham needs me, you don’t understand.”
A moment of silence, punctuated by steady beeps, stretches out. Tim takes his hands off the computer.
“I do,” he says quietly. “I’ll ask if there’s anything else that can be done.”
“That isn’t good enough,” Lonnie snaps. “That isn’t enough. I couldn't stop him, barely protected myself or you, or- or you know... I have to be better. I have to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“You need to heal,” Tim says firmly.
“Fuck off,” Lonnie snaps. “Gotham-”
“She’s fine. Really.”
“Oh, yeah. I suppose two Batmen, a sociopathic Robin and a second-rate Batgirl-”
“She’s not second rate,” Tim interrupts, hackles raised.
“Not at all what you said,” Lonnie retorts.
“I- I didn’t say she was second rate, I said I worried about her.”
Great. So Lonnie did know what Tim had been saying. He ignores how embarrassing that is, and instead focuses on Lonnie using it against him. Sure, he imagines it’s pretty disorientating to wake up in a physical body after months, a body you can hardly use, with a guy you barely know, but that’s no excuse to twist Tim’s words back on him. No matter how scared Lonnie is.
“I’m getting a nurse,” Tim says. “You might want to calm down or they’ll sedate you.”
The prognosis is positive – Lonnie should be able to walk again with some extensive physical therapy. The better the therapist, the better the likelihood of a full recovery. Tim asks for the best, and signs a blank check then and there. When he turns around, Lonnie is staring at him.
“You know how unfair this is? Anybody else in my position would be dead, Tim,” Lonnie continues, “but no, because you have money, I’ll be fine.”
Tim looks at the doctor and her two nurses. They get the hint, and close the door as they leave.
“Nobody else would be in your position.”
“Nobody else would have my chance at recovery. I don’t want your money, Tim. Give it to a charity or something. I can do this by myself.”
Tim stares at him.
“You know that-”
“You can’t just throw money at problems, Wayne.”
“Drake,” Tim corrects, which, really, is only marginally better. “And some problems can be alleviated with a lot of money.”
“Put your money there, then.”
“I am.”
“I am not a problem!” Lonnie snaps. “I am Anarky!”
Tim looks at the security camera, and then scowls at Lonnie.
“Would you shut up? You wanna go straight to jail?”
Lonnie glares right back, and somehow, stupidly, Tim relents.
“The hospital – Gotham General, that is, offers subsidised physiotherapy sessions. If I put a lot of funding into the hospital, will you go there instead?”
Lonnie narrows his eyes.
“A lot of people will get better chances of recovery if you say yes,” Tim coaxes.
“That’s blackmail,” Lonnie says flatly, but he finds himself nodding slowly, “But fine. Only because if I didn’t, other people might not get the help.”
Tim doesn’t mention that he already funds the hospital. Lonnie probably knows that anyway.
“Blackmail,” Tim mutters. “I suppose that doesn’t help my case much.”
“Neither did threatening me with jail.”
“I want you to be okay,” Tim retorts. “I care about you. I wouldn’t have gone to all the effort of saving you from Armstrong if I didn’t.”
“You would’ve. You’re a good guy, Tim, you’d save anyone.”
It’s a little derisive. Still, it makes Tim feel good. Sometimes, Red Robin feels like a big flashing neon sign reading ‘I'M INADEQUATE!!!’, so he’ll take the vague compliment. Especially from Lonnie. Who is awake, by the way. Who is going to be okay, by the way.
“Okay, fine. I’m sorry. I’m not perfect and I like to throw money at my problems when that’s the easiest fix.”
He narrows his eyes. Lonnie narrows his eyes right back.
“I care about you,” Tim insists.
The silence stretches out, empty and saddening. He’s even tuned out the looming beeps of all of Lonnie’s machines, but from the way his mouth twists, it’s obvious that he hasn’t managed to do the same yet. After all that silence, Tim wonders if every sound feels as foreign and disturbing as he imagines.
“You just think I’m useful,” Lonnie says flatly. “And I will not be useful to a privileged billionaire vigilante. Especially when you could do more with your name alone that you have ever done with a mask.”
“That’s not tru- It's not even up to me! It’s Batman’s money.”
“You could do more,” Lonnie insists. Tim sighs, massaging the centremost point of his temple as he paces. He doesn’t know why he expected any change from Lonnie. He helped save Tim’s life, sure, but they’re from different strata. For all their similarities, there is a immeasurable gap between them; a space that requires a bridge that Tim isn’t even sure exists. He sure couldn't pay for that one.
“Fine. If you don’t believe Tim cares about you, maybe you believe Red Robin does.”
Another long, irritating pause. He hates that Lonnie distrusts him like that. He hates that Lonnie weighs up every word out of his mouth. He hates that he’s found someone just as smart (maybe smarter!) as him. He especially hates that it bothers him so strongly.
“Red Robin cares about me,” Lonnie repeats. Tim’s hands twitch again. He collapses into the seat beside Lonnie’s bed. For a second he doesn’t know if he wants to know, but the words come out anyway.
“What are those scars from?”
Lonnie stares at him. From the new angle, Tim can see the soft peach fuzz of strawberry blond hair just starting to peek through around all the sensors stuck in place. He has the insane urge to touch it and see if its as soft as it looks. He has the insane urge to touch Lonnie. He looks at the thin white palm turned up on the sheet and wonders if it’s warm enough, and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching out to hold it. He stops himself, thank God, but for a moment…
Lonnie's fingers twitch.
“Ra’s al Ghul.”
“What?” Tim snaps his gaze up again, mind splitting off into two threads. He doesn’t want to stop thinking about holding Lonnie’s hand. The imagined weight is much sweeter than his little headache.
“When did you meet Ra’s?” he demands, utterly bewildered. Lonnie is not the type of man to attract so much attention that Ra’s al Ghul would feel the need to inflict such wounds on him, unless Lonnie stumbled across something he shouldn’t have, and didn’t know how to back down. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it…
“A while ago.” Lonnie smiles wryly. “I don’t think he liked me.”
Tim feels giddiness bubbling up into his throat, but what comes out is just a nervous choking sound, the antithesis of the way his brain feels like it's floating.
“N-no,” he agrees. “Why did he..?”
“He wanted to bomb Iraq.”
Tim snorts.
“Sounds like him. The symbol is… well, it’s a little much. I thought you might’ve done it to yourself.” His voice trails off. That was the wrong thing to say, maybe, and Lonnie is half-glaring again.
“You though I’d-?”
“Yeah,” Tim admits. There’s no point in pretending otherwise. “This stuff is stressful. I don’t know what you’ve been through – obviously,” he adds, gesturing at Lonnie, his fingers tracing the shape in the air.
“I don’t know. You wouldn’t be the first to punish yourself like that.”
He tilts forward, resting his elbows on his knees and then his face in his cupped palms, and allows himself to stare at Lonnie. The still-present half-frown is throwing him off.
“I wouldn’t be the first,” Lonnie agrees quietly, and then Tim realises that look is consternation, not anger. He’s said too much without even saying a single word. Even in all his ramblings to Lonnie’s prone form about how weird his life has been since Bruce’s sort-of death, he’s never spoken about how Red Robin feels like a punishment. He’s never really admitted it at all. That’s not the only punishment he’s ever levied upon himself, either. He doesn't want to talk about it. Suddenly, it's all too much. The sharp green of Lonnie's eyes is suddenly too aware and too compassionate.
“Well, then.”
Tim hops to his feet, forcing brevity back into the room.
“It’s getting late. I’ve got things to do, and I’m sure you could use the rest.”
Lonnie lolls his head softly to one side to gaze up at Tim. Tim’s traitorous heart supernovas.
“You’ll come back.”
It’s not framed as a question, nor a request, but even in the distant statement Tim can read insecurity. He supposes Lonnie’s parents probably won’t be here any time soon.
“Tomorrow,” he says, glancing away. He copies Lonnie, trying to act like this doesn’t matter all that much and that Lonnie’s worry doesn’t make his insides twist a little. He keeps his voice dull and remote.
"Tomorrow afternoon. We can talk about our agreement."
“Okay. Goodnight, Tim.”
“Night.”
He closes the door.
He’ll be okay.