[Fic] Just a Scratch (Tim/Cissie)
Title: Just a Scratch
Fandom: DC Comics
Characters: Tim Drake/Cissie King-Jones
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,108
Summary: For zoe_chan's prompt "Tim/Cissie, 'It's just a scratch.'" Tim doesn't like it when Cissie's hurt. Cissie's tired of arguing.
"Ow!" Cissie cried, wincing. She grit her teeth and grumbled a muffled curse, stopping in her tracks. She leaned over, rubbing at her calf with a pained expression.
Tim popped his head out of the bathroom, pulling his toothbrush out of his mouth and asking around a mouthful of toothpaste, "What happened?"
Or she imagined that's what he said. It sounded more like "Mm mmphmm?"
She made a face and put her foot back on the floor. "Nothing. I banged my leg on the hope chest, that's all."
Tim frowned at her, watching her for another few seconds. "Mmph." She waved him off, and he withdrew into the bathroom again. Cissie let out a soft sigh and continued where she had left of, heading to pick out her clothes for the day.
She was reaching for a pair of pants when Tim came out of the bathroom and crossed the room. He set a hand lightly between her shoulder blades and said, "Let me see."
Cissie twisted to look at him, confused. "...See what?"
"Your leg."
She blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "My--what, the leg I just bumped? Tim, I'm fine."
He met her gaze seriously. "It's got sharp corners."
She stared at him, then rolled her eyes and returned to her clothes. "Stop being silly. I just got out of the shower. I'm cold. Go take your shower and let me get dressed, okay?"
Tim made an unreadable noise and slipped his arms around her waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of her throat. "Humor me."
Cissie squirmed a little, pushing his hands away and turning around. She put her hands on her hips. "If I show you that it's nothing, will you please go get ready for work?"
"Cross my heart," he said, doing just that, the corners of his mouth turning up ever-so-slightly.
She shook her head, but turned her leg, lifting it slightly so he could see where she had bumped into the corner of the hope chest. Her leg was fine; it was just a small red scratch. She would throw a band-aid on it to keep it from bleeding on her socks, and it would be fine. "There. See? It's nothing."
Tim looked down at her leg for a moment, quietly inspecting the damage, and then without warning, reached out and scooped Cissie into his arms, sweeping her feet out from under her.
She yelped and caught him around the neck instinctively. "Tim! Knock it off. Put me down."
He kissed her nose and shrugged, carrying her over to the bed. "If you insist," he said, laying her down on the bed. He turned and reached into the nightstand drawer for something.
Cissie propped herself up on her elbows, taking a second to fix her robe before watching him curiously. "What are you doing?"
He turned back around, holding up one of the smaller first aid kits that they kept stashed around the apartment. "You're hurt. I'm taking care of you."
Cissie blinked at him. "What?"
He started to repeat himself, but she reached out and put a hand over his mouth. She felt his mouth curving into a smile under her fingertips, but ignored it. "You're not serious, are you? I'm fine! It's just a scratch."
"You're bleeding," Tim pointed out, kissing her fingertips.
It was very difficult to keep a straight face when he did that. "Barely," she said dryly. "I've been hurt worse at archery practice." When he frowned, she shoved at his shoulder. "Tim! Give me a band-aid, then go take your shower so I can get dressed and we aren't both late to work, please."
Tim heaved a sigh. "Fine." He opened the first aid kit.
Cissie dropped her head back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling while Tim cleaned and applied antiseptic cream to the tiny, insignificant scratch on her leg. "You realize there's such a thing as overkill, right?"
Tim smoothed a bandage over her leg, and rested his hands on either side of her calf. "I don't know what you're talking about."
She eyed him, not bothering to lift her head up. "Watch. I'll start treating every scrape and bump and bruise you come home with like this."
Tim frowned. "...That's different."
Cissie propped herself up on her elbows and just raised an eyebrow at him.
"It is!"
"Mmhm." She shook her head. "Just because you get more of them, and more serious injuries?"
Tim's frown deepened, and his hold on her leg tightened slightly. "That's not the point--"
"Then what is?" Cissie interrupted.
He dropped his gaze to her leg, and didn't answer at first. Just when she thought he wasn't going to at all, he bit out, "I don't like seeing you hurt."
"And you think I like--" She cut herself off, blowing out a frustrated breath. She dropped her head back and shoved her hands into her hair. "I don't feel like having this fight again for the millionth time," she snapped. "We're going to be late. It's just a scratch."
Tim didn't say anything, but his hold on her leg loosened slightly, and he began rubbing his thumbs over her skin in small circles. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the bandage on her leg, and she uncovered her face to watch him. "I know," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I don't like worrying you."
"Tough luck," she muttered, watching him. He pressed another kiss just above the bandage, then slipped his hands up her leg, kissing her knee. "What are you doing?"
He glanced up at her, an intent look in his eyes. "Kissing it better," he said mischievously, smirking. He slid his hands up the sides of her thigh, pushing her bathrobe up with them.
It took Cissie a few seconds to respond. She swallowed thickly and cleared her throat. "Cut it out. We don't have time this morning--we're already running late!"
"So?" Tim leaned up and kissed her, finally moving his hands from her thigh to rest on her waist. "I'm a Wayne, and you're the star athlete. We've got job security." He kissed her again and moved his hands to the ends of her robe's sash, giving it a small tug. "Besides, you've been injured. I have to make sure you're all right."
She laughed and shook her head. "You're hopeless. You know that, right?"
Tim pressed kisses to her neck and untied her robe. "I can live with hopeless."
Cissie shivered and reached up to push her fingers through his hair. "I should hit my leg more often."
Tim laughed against her collarbone. "Cissie, stop talking and let me take care of you."
"...Okay."
[...Forgive typos and the crap ending, it's late.]
Fandom: DC Comics
Characters: Tim Drake/Cissie King-Jones
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,108
Summary: For zoe_chan's prompt "Tim/Cissie, 'It's just a scratch.'" Tim doesn't like it when Cissie's hurt. Cissie's tired of arguing.
"Ow!" Cissie cried, wincing. She grit her teeth and grumbled a muffled curse, stopping in her tracks. She leaned over, rubbing at her calf with a pained expression.
Tim popped his head out of the bathroom, pulling his toothbrush out of his mouth and asking around a mouthful of toothpaste, "What happened?"
Or she imagined that's what he said. It sounded more like "Mm mmphmm?"
She made a face and put her foot back on the floor. "Nothing. I banged my leg on the hope chest, that's all."
Tim frowned at her, watching her for another few seconds. "Mmph." She waved him off, and he withdrew into the bathroom again. Cissie let out a soft sigh and continued where she had left of, heading to pick out her clothes for the day.
She was reaching for a pair of pants when Tim came out of the bathroom and crossed the room. He set a hand lightly between her shoulder blades and said, "Let me see."
Cissie twisted to look at him, confused. "...See what?"
"Your leg."
She blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "My--what, the leg I just bumped? Tim, I'm fine."
He met her gaze seriously. "It's got sharp corners."
She stared at him, then rolled her eyes and returned to her clothes. "Stop being silly. I just got out of the shower. I'm cold. Go take your shower and let me get dressed, okay?"
Tim made an unreadable noise and slipped his arms around her waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of her throat. "Humor me."
Cissie squirmed a little, pushing his hands away and turning around. She put her hands on her hips. "If I show you that it's nothing, will you please go get ready for work?"
"Cross my heart," he said, doing just that, the corners of his mouth turning up ever-so-slightly.
She shook her head, but turned her leg, lifting it slightly so he could see where she had bumped into the corner of the hope chest. Her leg was fine; it was just a small red scratch. She would throw a band-aid on it to keep it from bleeding on her socks, and it would be fine. "There. See? It's nothing."
Tim looked down at her leg for a moment, quietly inspecting the damage, and then without warning, reached out and scooped Cissie into his arms, sweeping her feet out from under her.
She yelped and caught him around the neck instinctively. "Tim! Knock it off. Put me down."
He kissed her nose and shrugged, carrying her over to the bed. "If you insist," he said, laying her down on the bed. He turned and reached into the nightstand drawer for something.
Cissie propped herself up on her elbows, taking a second to fix her robe before watching him curiously. "What are you doing?"
He turned back around, holding up one of the smaller first aid kits that they kept stashed around the apartment. "You're hurt. I'm taking care of you."
Cissie blinked at him. "What?"
He started to repeat himself, but she reached out and put a hand over his mouth. She felt his mouth curving into a smile under her fingertips, but ignored it. "You're not serious, are you? I'm fine! It's just a scratch."
"You're bleeding," Tim pointed out, kissing her fingertips.
It was very difficult to keep a straight face when he did that. "Barely," she said dryly. "I've been hurt worse at archery practice." When he frowned, she shoved at his shoulder. "Tim! Give me a band-aid, then go take your shower so I can get dressed and we aren't both late to work, please."
Tim heaved a sigh. "Fine." He opened the first aid kit.
Cissie dropped her head back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling while Tim cleaned and applied antiseptic cream to the tiny, insignificant scratch on her leg. "You realize there's such a thing as overkill, right?"
Tim smoothed a bandage over her leg, and rested his hands on either side of her calf. "I don't know what you're talking about."
She eyed him, not bothering to lift her head up. "Watch. I'll start treating every scrape and bump and bruise you come home with like this."
Tim frowned. "...That's different."
Cissie propped herself up on her elbows and just raised an eyebrow at him.
"It is!"
"Mmhm." She shook her head. "Just because you get more of them, and more serious injuries?"
Tim's frown deepened, and his hold on her leg tightened slightly. "That's not the point--"
"Then what is?" Cissie interrupted.
He dropped his gaze to her leg, and didn't answer at first. Just when she thought he wasn't going to at all, he bit out, "I don't like seeing you hurt."
"And you think I like--" She cut herself off, blowing out a frustrated breath. She dropped her head back and shoved her hands into her hair. "I don't feel like having this fight again for the millionth time," she snapped. "We're going to be late. It's just a scratch."
Tim didn't say anything, but his hold on her leg loosened slightly, and he began rubbing his thumbs over her skin in small circles. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the bandage on her leg, and she uncovered her face to watch him. "I know," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I don't like worrying you."
"Tough luck," she muttered, watching him. He pressed another kiss just above the bandage, then slipped his hands up her leg, kissing her knee. "What are you doing?"
He glanced up at her, an intent look in his eyes. "Kissing it better," he said mischievously, smirking. He slid his hands up the sides of her thigh, pushing her bathrobe up with them.
It took Cissie a few seconds to respond. She swallowed thickly and cleared her throat. "Cut it out. We don't have time this morning--we're already running late!"
"So?" Tim leaned up and kissed her, finally moving his hands from her thigh to rest on her waist. "I'm a Wayne, and you're the star athlete. We've got job security." He kissed her again and moved his hands to the ends of her robe's sash, giving it a small tug. "Besides, you've been injured. I have to make sure you're all right."
She laughed and shook her head. "You're hopeless. You know that, right?"
Tim pressed kisses to her neck and untied her robe. "I can live with hopeless."
Cissie shivered and reached up to push her fingers through his hair. "I should hit my leg more often."
Tim laughed against her collarbone. "Cissie, stop talking and let me take care of you."
"...Okay."
[...Forgive typos and the crap ending, it's late.]