Fic: Cracked, Fandom: DCU, Characters: Tim, Cassie, Dick, Rating: PG
Title: Cracked
Author: in_excelsis_dea
Fandom: DCU
Characters: Cassie, Tim, Dick
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes you can't ignore the signs.
Prompt:31_days September 3rd, IT GETS UNDER YOUR SKIN, LIFE. and 64damn_prompts 22. crumble.
AN: This is somewhat of a prequel to Good-Bye. I don't know why I'm in such a angst mood when it comes to DCU now, but I'm toying with a sequel where things should get a bit happier. Comments and constructive criticism is always appreciated. Enjoy the fic.
The picture frame is cracked. It takes her several days to notice the damage. It takes her over a week to get the frame fixed.
It is the first sign.
The second sign is the absence of his costume. She doesn't notice at first. He'll take it away to have it laundered by Alfred or repaired or readjusted. She's used to it being gone for short periods of time. But when its space in the back of her closet stays empty, she starts to wonder.
When he's late coming home, she doesn't care. They're both heroes - he more than she. He is the true hero in their relationship, the person who will sacrifice everything to save a complete stranger. She doesn't mind - it's who he is. She finds it endearing. But after months of never coming home on time, and the fact that while yes, this is Gotham, the crime rate hasn't risen in such a rate to warrant such absences from him, she decides to talk to Dick.
This is the third sign.
"He's acting weird." The fourth sign. She has barely closed the door at the office. Dick wasn't meant to be a businessman, and yet somehow he manages to pull it off - well. So well that there is an endless stream of women after his hand in marriage, businessmen after his company and journalists after interviews. The Wayne Heir actually stepped up and became the Wayne Heir in every way imaginable.
"You've noticed." Her voice is quiet, subdued. Dick comes around from the desk and draws her into a hug.
"How could I not?" Dick releases her and takes her hand, leading her over to the settee. She takes her seat, clutching her purse in her hands. It is only then she notices that her knuckles are white. "He is always patrolling by himself. Hardly ever comes around anymore and he's practically stopped giving Damien any trouble."
She forces a laugh. The rivalry and constant fighting between Tim and Damien has existed for years now, and it's settled into more friendly rivalry and ribbing than anything antagonistic. Still - Tim and Damien without fighting is like brownies without sugar: totally weird and unfitting. "But he is patrolling?" She repeats. "He always says he is, but unless there has been a sudden influx in crime that I don't know about, it makes no sense."
"No influx in crime," Dick leans back. "Believe me, I'd know. But he is patrolling more than usual and alone and to be honest, I never see him anymore. He's spending all his time with you."
"No, he isn't." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I feel stupid saying this, but I figured he was out patrolling or spending time with you. At least at the Manor, that is." She opens her eyes. Dick's eyes are blue like Tim's, but they have a completely different dimension to them. They are warm and forgiving and ooze confidence. Tim's ooze confidence as well, but his gaze is calculating, questioning, and, well, absent lately.
Oh Zeus, she hopes he doesn't go on one of his "journeys" again.
"He - he's probably taking time off. He's working hard, you know. He could use some time to himself." Dick is making excuses. He knows it, she knows it. What neither of them know is why the sudden change in Tim. No one has died, disappeared or come back to life recently. There have been no life-changing experiences or horrible villains or anything that isn't above the norm in Gotham or an earth that is populated with superheroes. For all extents and purposes, Tim should be fine.
Why isn't he?
"We shouldn't get ahead of our selves." Dick continues, clutching the arm of the settee tightly, as if it's Tim's neck. "He's done this before, you know."
"That's what I'm afraid of." She stands up quickly, suddenly in a hurry to leave the office and get some fresh air. She can't fly in Gotham, not if she wants to keep any semblance of a secret identity, but sitting on the roof of her apartment building is enough. She and Tim have the penthouse, partly because of the proximity to the roof. "Thanks, Dick. Good bye."
The fifth sign is Tim himself. It's a week later. Tim has been around, but distant. Only half-there, in the way he'd go about the apartment doing what he had to, but didn't respond to her questions, her comments. He's not snubbing her - at least not on purpose. He is just lost in his own world, a world that he will someday explain to her, once he has worked out whatever needs to be worked out.
He slipped out of bed again, while she feigned sleep. She waits until he has left the apartment completely - noticing that he went out the front door instead of the roof - before slipping out of bed herself. The air is cool and goose bumps appear on her skin. The silk robe does little to take the chill out of the air, but she pulls it tight against her anyways. In a move many would call daring, she sits on the ledge and dangles her feet off. Looking down onto the dark street gives her a rush, and the cold keeps her from thinking too much about Tim.
Minutes turn to hours. No one thinks to look up at her obvious figure clothed in a white silk dressing gown, and she likes spying on the people. The crime in their area is scarce. A few people arrive on the streets and a few people hurry into waiting cars. Cars drive past without stopping. There's a crash in the distance and she wonders if Tim is there or not.
At four twenty-three am, Tim sits next to her. She glances at him, takes in his jeans and pale blue oxford shirt, his navy blazer. He's not dressed as a hero. She hasn't seen him dressed as a hero in a long time. "Hey," he says, as if they aren't huddled on a rooftop at four in the morning in late fall and all is well between them.
"Hey," she replies, allowing the charade to continue. He doesn't reach for her hand. He doesn't try to touch her in any way. She realizes that it's been at least a month since they've been intimate with each other.
She realizes that she can't ignore this anymore. "Are you leaving?" She says this bluntly, more a statement than a question. He merely raises his brow at the question, but makes no move to reassure her, to comfort her, to convince her that he loves her and that of course not, how could he leave her?
"You can't keep doing this, Tim." He closes his eyes and nods, looking off into the distance.
"I know," his voice is raw. "I won't. This - it's the last time."
Can she believe him? Should she believe him? She knows that protesting won't help any - at the most, it will make things worse. He needs his distance. He needs space to work things out. He has lost so much - they both have - but he can't let go. Deep down, she knows they can't continue on like this.
She forces herself to pretend.
"All right." She turns and kisses him lightly on the lips, as if they're merely saying good night. She stands up and shakes her robe out. Without looking back at him, she knows he's watching her. Her steps are brisk and she gingerly opens the door to their aparment. "I love you," she whispers, and sees him nod, before she steps in and shuts the door behind her.
The next morning, she wakes up and he is gone. That evening after she returns from work, she realizes that all of his possessions are gone - everything except the things they bought together, or the things she gave him. It feels like a break-up. She makes a pot of coffee and decides to hang out with Alfred in the Batcave tonight. To anyone else, it would be a break-up. But not to her. She knows Tim. She knows he'll be back.
Waiting is always the hardest part.
Author: in_excelsis_dea
Fandom: DCU
Characters: Cassie, Tim, Dick
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes you can't ignore the signs.
Prompt:31_days September 3rd, IT GETS UNDER YOUR SKIN, LIFE. and 64damn_prompts 22. crumble.
AN: This is somewhat of a prequel to Good-Bye. I don't know why I'm in such a angst mood when it comes to DCU now, but I'm toying with a sequel where things should get a bit happier. Comments and constructive criticism is always appreciated. Enjoy the fic.
The picture frame is cracked. It takes her several days to notice the damage. It takes her over a week to get the frame fixed.
It is the first sign.
The second sign is the absence of his costume. She doesn't notice at first. He'll take it away to have it laundered by Alfred or repaired or readjusted. She's used to it being gone for short periods of time. But when its space in the back of her closet stays empty, she starts to wonder.
When he's late coming home, she doesn't care. They're both heroes - he more than she. He is the true hero in their relationship, the person who will sacrifice everything to save a complete stranger. She doesn't mind - it's who he is. She finds it endearing. But after months of never coming home on time, and the fact that while yes, this is Gotham, the crime rate hasn't risen in such a rate to warrant such absences from him, she decides to talk to Dick.
This is the third sign.
"He's acting weird." The fourth sign. She has barely closed the door at the office. Dick wasn't meant to be a businessman, and yet somehow he manages to pull it off - well. So well that there is an endless stream of women after his hand in marriage, businessmen after his company and journalists after interviews. The Wayne Heir actually stepped up and became the Wayne Heir in every way imaginable.
"You've noticed." Her voice is quiet, subdued. Dick comes around from the desk and draws her into a hug.
"How could I not?" Dick releases her and takes her hand, leading her over to the settee. She takes her seat, clutching her purse in her hands. It is only then she notices that her knuckles are white. "He is always patrolling by himself. Hardly ever comes around anymore and he's practically stopped giving Damien any trouble."
She forces a laugh. The rivalry and constant fighting between Tim and Damien has existed for years now, and it's settled into more friendly rivalry and ribbing than anything antagonistic. Still - Tim and Damien without fighting is like brownies without sugar: totally weird and unfitting. "But he is patrolling?" She repeats. "He always says he is, but unless there has been a sudden influx in crime that I don't know about, it makes no sense."
"No influx in crime," Dick leans back. "Believe me, I'd know. But he is patrolling more than usual and alone and to be honest, I never see him anymore. He's spending all his time with you."
"No, he isn't." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I feel stupid saying this, but I figured he was out patrolling or spending time with you. At least at the Manor, that is." She opens her eyes. Dick's eyes are blue like Tim's, but they have a completely different dimension to them. They are warm and forgiving and ooze confidence. Tim's ooze confidence as well, but his gaze is calculating, questioning, and, well, absent lately.
Oh Zeus, she hopes he doesn't go on one of his "journeys" again.
"He - he's probably taking time off. He's working hard, you know. He could use some time to himself." Dick is making excuses. He knows it, she knows it. What neither of them know is why the sudden change in Tim. No one has died, disappeared or come back to life recently. There have been no life-changing experiences or horrible villains or anything that isn't above the norm in Gotham or an earth that is populated with superheroes. For all extents and purposes, Tim should be fine.
Why isn't he?
"We shouldn't get ahead of our selves." Dick continues, clutching the arm of the settee tightly, as if it's Tim's neck. "He's done this before, you know."
"That's what I'm afraid of." She stands up quickly, suddenly in a hurry to leave the office and get some fresh air. She can't fly in Gotham, not if she wants to keep any semblance of a secret identity, but sitting on the roof of her apartment building is enough. She and Tim have the penthouse, partly because of the proximity to the roof. "Thanks, Dick. Good bye."
The fifth sign is Tim himself. It's a week later. Tim has been around, but distant. Only half-there, in the way he'd go about the apartment doing what he had to, but didn't respond to her questions, her comments. He's not snubbing her - at least not on purpose. He is just lost in his own world, a world that he will someday explain to her, once he has worked out whatever needs to be worked out.
He slipped out of bed again, while she feigned sleep. She waits until he has left the apartment completely - noticing that he went out the front door instead of the roof - before slipping out of bed herself. The air is cool and goose bumps appear on her skin. The silk robe does little to take the chill out of the air, but she pulls it tight against her anyways. In a move many would call daring, she sits on the ledge and dangles her feet off. Looking down onto the dark street gives her a rush, and the cold keeps her from thinking too much about Tim.
Minutes turn to hours. No one thinks to look up at her obvious figure clothed in a white silk dressing gown, and she likes spying on the people. The crime in their area is scarce. A few people arrive on the streets and a few people hurry into waiting cars. Cars drive past without stopping. There's a crash in the distance and she wonders if Tim is there or not.
At four twenty-three am, Tim sits next to her. She glances at him, takes in his jeans and pale blue oxford shirt, his navy blazer. He's not dressed as a hero. She hasn't seen him dressed as a hero in a long time. "Hey," he says, as if they aren't huddled on a rooftop at four in the morning in late fall and all is well between them.
"Hey," she replies, allowing the charade to continue. He doesn't reach for her hand. He doesn't try to touch her in any way. She realizes that it's been at least a month since they've been intimate with each other.
She realizes that she can't ignore this anymore. "Are you leaving?" She says this bluntly, more a statement than a question. He merely raises his brow at the question, but makes no move to reassure her, to comfort her, to convince her that he loves her and that of course not, how could he leave her?
"You can't keep doing this, Tim." He closes his eyes and nods, looking off into the distance.
"I know," his voice is raw. "I won't. This - it's the last time."
Can she believe him? Should she believe him? She knows that protesting won't help any - at the most, it will make things worse. He needs his distance. He needs space to work things out. He has lost so much - they both have - but he can't let go. Deep down, she knows they can't continue on like this.
She forces herself to pretend.
"All right." She turns and kisses him lightly on the lips, as if they're merely saying good night. She stands up and shakes her robe out. Without looking back at him, she knows he's watching her. Her steps are brisk and she gingerly opens the door to their aparment. "I love you," she whispers, and sees him nod, before she steps in and shuts the door behind her.
The next morning, she wakes up and he is gone. That evening after she returns from work, she realizes that all of his possessions are gone - everything except the things they bought together, or the things she gave him. It feels like a break-up. She makes a pot of coffee and decides to hang out with Alfred in the Batcave tonight. To anyone else, it would be a break-up. But not to her. She knows Tim. She knows he'll be back.
Waiting is always the hardest part.