To keep from sleeping in class, I drabble.
The other day I was in the bookstore, and I picked up a book of essays on Batman, one of which was about Robin as "innocent bystander".
It was short, but there was a particular sentence wherein the author spoke of the death of Tim's family and of Steph as beneficial to Bruce, because it allowed him to be (for Tim) the protector he wanted when he lost his family - which I knew, but seeing it so concisely written down was a little surprising to me.
And it made the Tim I write a bit angry with Bruce, you know, for taking advantage of his position and his grief, and for being so aggressive about the adoption - first after his father, and then after Conner.
And then I wrote a little story that has very little to do with that, really, but that I wouldn't have written if I hadn't read it.
Lex could not have known that his greatest enemy and greatest ally would be a teenaged boy in red pajamas. He did not realize, so wrapped up in the big blue farm boy that he’d thought held that position, until it was too late to cut himself off from the curious partnership. He had not, it seemed, learned from history, and was left to anticipate the inevitable betrayal of friendship that would come when the boy (foolishly, as boys are) lied to him.
Timothy knew that Lex expected him to lie or cheat or betray. He knew that Lex could not and would not trust him. He had no problem with the arrangement, as Tim knew that he was (like Lex) untrustworthy. He had turned on Bruce, after all, though he felt no remorse for what he’d done to a man who had blatantly profited (emotionally, at the very least) from the death and destruction of everything that Tim had loved. So Timothy remained in Lex’s favor by behaving as usual, encrypting personal files with codes he knew Lex would eventually crack, and being honest and patient with Lex when paranoia compelled an interrogation.
For years, it went on like that. Lex, always anticipating the day when Timothy would destroy the empire (friendship) they’d built with a lie, and Tim always telling the truth and using his passwords in spite of their inevitable futility. It was not in Lex’s capacity to accept that, perhaps, this boy would not use their slowly-cultivated closeness to attack him. It was not in Timothy’s to admit that perhaps he would live up to Lex’s expectations.
When Lex was ancient and feeble, his weakness hidden by his bulk, and he lay propped upon his pillows in what his doctors called his day-room (because he, like the alien menace, thrived in sunlight), he asked if it was cyanide or arsenic in the tea Timothy brought him. And Timothy smiled his wicked smile, bird-feet lines crinkling around his eyes, and said that he didn’t intend to poison Lex until he was written into the will or attached to the insurance policy.
To this, Lex laughed and drank.
It was short, but there was a particular sentence wherein the author spoke of the death of Tim's family and of Steph as beneficial to Bruce, because it allowed him to be (for Tim) the protector he wanted when he lost his family - which I knew, but seeing it so concisely written down was a little surprising to me.
And it made the Tim I write a bit angry with Bruce, you know, for taking advantage of his position and his grief, and for being so aggressive about the adoption - first after his father, and then after Conner.
And then I wrote a little story that has very little to do with that, really, but that I wouldn't have written if I hadn't read it.
Lex could not have known that his greatest enemy and greatest ally would be a teenaged boy in red pajamas. He did not realize, so wrapped up in the big blue farm boy that he’d thought held that position, until it was too late to cut himself off from the curious partnership. He had not, it seemed, learned from history, and was left to anticipate the inevitable betrayal of friendship that would come when the boy (foolishly, as boys are) lied to him.
Timothy knew that Lex expected him to lie or cheat or betray. He knew that Lex could not and would not trust him. He had no problem with the arrangement, as Tim knew that he was (like Lex) untrustworthy. He had turned on Bruce, after all, though he felt no remorse for what he’d done to a man who had blatantly profited (emotionally, at the very least) from the death and destruction of everything that Tim had loved. So Timothy remained in Lex’s favor by behaving as usual, encrypting personal files with codes he knew Lex would eventually crack, and being honest and patient with Lex when paranoia compelled an interrogation.
For years, it went on like that. Lex, always anticipating the day when Timothy would destroy the empire (friendship) they’d built with a lie, and Tim always telling the truth and using his passwords in spite of their inevitable futility. It was not in Lex’s capacity to accept that, perhaps, this boy would not use their slowly-cultivated closeness to attack him. It was not in Timothy’s to admit that perhaps he would live up to Lex’s expectations.
When Lex was ancient and feeble, his weakness hidden by his bulk, and he lay propped upon his pillows in what his doctors called his day-room (because he, like the alien menace, thrived in sunlight), he asked if it was cyanide or arsenic in the tea Timothy brought him. And Timothy smiled his wicked smile, bird-feet lines crinkling around his eyes, and said that he didn’t intend to poison Lex until he was written into the will or attached to the insurance policy.
To this, Lex laughed and drank.