FIC: Contact (Batman, Tim Drake & Cass Cain, G, 1/1)
Summary: It's been a while.
Warnings: None
Author's notes: No point to this really, but it was fun to write. I like cutting between different points of view.
Word count: 433
Challenge/prompt: dcu_freeforall, table 12, 02. vulnerable
---
Tim shakes his hair out, water from his shower spraying everywhere. He doesn’t mind. The house is already pretty cluttered, a few drops of water over everything won’t do much hurt. Jacqueline, upon seeing that he’s done bathing, leaps for his waist, manages to reach about his knee, and topples him backwards. Tim laughs and falls correctly out of instinct, while his daughter climbs her way up until she can drop herself firmly in his lap. “Daddy! Bedtime story!” Tim smiles, hefts her onto his hip, and acquiesces.
---
From outside the window, Cass watches. There is a hurt in her chest. Tim escaped. He left the mask behind. He has a wife and a child and a house and a job. She has none of these.
---
Tim folds the blankets up around Jacqueline’s chin, straightens, and stretches his arms over his head. He glances at the brightly glowing Barbie clock by Jackie’s bedside. It’s late. Emily should be getting home soon from her shift at the hospital. He pauses in the doorway, smiling at his daughter, before heading down the stairs. His footsteps are automatically silent. He notices, scowls, and stomps down the stairs, making as much noise as he can without waking Jackie.
---
Cass sits in the shadow of the little girl’s closet door, observing. Like Tim taught her to. Tim taught her a lot of things. It took her months to track him down, to weave her way through stacks of paperwork and encrypted files, but she found him. He can’t hide forever. Cass slinks down the stairs, smooth as oil.
---
He sits at the kitchen table, absently sipping a cup of watery tea and flipping through the business section of the New York Times. He glances at the clock every few minutes. Emily is late. It’s not like her. Usually she’s home right at 9:15, come hell or high water. Tim shakes off the feeling that something’s wrong. Even after all these years, he’s still paranoid. But, he thinks wryly, that doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get me.
---
Cass stares at him from behind. She can see a few of his scars, even through his shirt. She knows there are more. Ones she can’t see.
---
Tim has known Cass was following him for two days.
---
Cass has been following Tim for three days. She presses her bare hand against the side of his neck, carefully.
---
Tim reaches up, completely unsurprised by Cass’s sudden presence, and wraps his hand over hers. “Hey.”
---
Cass smiles down at Tim. “Hi.”
Warnings: None
Author's notes: No point to this really, but it was fun to write. I like cutting between different points of view.
Word count: 433
Challenge/prompt: dcu_freeforall, table 12, 02. vulnerable
---
Tim shakes his hair out, water from his shower spraying everywhere. He doesn’t mind. The house is already pretty cluttered, a few drops of water over everything won’t do much hurt. Jacqueline, upon seeing that he’s done bathing, leaps for his waist, manages to reach about his knee, and topples him backwards. Tim laughs and falls correctly out of instinct, while his daughter climbs her way up until she can drop herself firmly in his lap. “Daddy! Bedtime story!” Tim smiles, hefts her onto his hip, and acquiesces.
---
From outside the window, Cass watches. There is a hurt in her chest. Tim escaped. He left the mask behind. He has a wife and a child and a house and a job. She has none of these.
---
Tim folds the blankets up around Jacqueline’s chin, straightens, and stretches his arms over his head. He glances at the brightly glowing Barbie clock by Jackie’s bedside. It’s late. Emily should be getting home soon from her shift at the hospital. He pauses in the doorway, smiling at his daughter, before heading down the stairs. His footsteps are automatically silent. He notices, scowls, and stomps down the stairs, making as much noise as he can without waking Jackie.
---
Cass sits in the shadow of the little girl’s closet door, observing. Like Tim taught her to. Tim taught her a lot of things. It took her months to track him down, to weave her way through stacks of paperwork and encrypted files, but she found him. He can’t hide forever. Cass slinks down the stairs, smooth as oil.
---
He sits at the kitchen table, absently sipping a cup of watery tea and flipping through the business section of the New York Times. He glances at the clock every few minutes. Emily is late. It’s not like her. Usually she’s home right at 9:15, come hell or high water. Tim shakes off the feeling that something’s wrong. Even after all these years, he’s still paranoid. But, he thinks wryly, that doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get me.
---
Cass stares at him from behind. She can see a few of his scars, even through his shirt. She knows there are more. Ones she can’t see.
---
Tim has known Cass was following him for two days.
---
Cass has been following Tim for three days. She presses her bare hand against the side of his neck, carefully.
---
Tim reaches up, completely unsurprised by Cass’s sudden presence, and wraps his hand over hers. “Hey.”
---
Cass smiles down at Tim. “Hi.”