➹ 72 | Video
[Tim has been doing his damnedest to pretend everything's fine, and his damnedest is pretty good. Right now he's sitting at his desk, twirling something around his finger. It's his warden Item, his old school birdarang - which is just a stylized R shuriken. Don't ask how it works, just accept that it does. He's keeping it moving, though, so it's kind of hard to make out; anyone who was around him during the breach while he was particularly bored might remember that he twirled his gun around similarly.]
When I was in high school, one of my math teachers tried to teach us the quadratic equation to the tune of Pop Goes the Weasel. You know, [and here's that halfhearted tune:] X equals negative B, plus or minus the square root, of B square minus 4AC, all over 2A. [Vaguely apologetic smile.] It's stuck in my head. Who has some music around to share?
[Please be someone other than Steph. :| Also, Tim is talking about inane shit: something must be wrong.]
[Spam for Shego]
They hadn't really talked about the breach, and Tim hadn't tried. He couldn't see telling Shego about sleeping with Stephanie going well, even in the name of being truthful. Besides, she'd been really affectionate afterwards - at least for her - and that had pretty much made the decision for him. He'd rather pretend everything was fine than admit that he couldn't get the breach out of his head. And it wasn't just the thing with Steph. In fact, that wasn't even the biggest problem.
It was the guns.
He wasn't Bruce: Tim didn't have the same hang ups about guns. But he did have hang ups about them. When he was younger, before his dad had lost a lot of their money, before his mom had died, his parents went on safaris, his dad went hunting, they went exploring, they had adventures and left Tim home for the maid to look after. His dad knew how to use a gun. And when Captain Boomerang had come to kill him, Jack Drake used one. He'd become a killer.
Tim dreamed about it from time to time; he dreamed of running through his Gotham City apartment, reliving the moments after his father's death, when Tim knew he was gone but was desperate to get there anyway. And in the dream, he almost always reached for a gun. Almost always, there was no gun to grab.
Tonight, there was. He ran up that flight of stairs, shedding his Robin uniform, his cowboy hat, his spurs an his utility belt - but not the gun. The gun he clutched tight in his hand, and he didn't wake up when he dropped to his knees in his father's blood. Because Boomerang was there, and he was still alive.
The cocking of the gun was deafening. He woke up as he pulled the trigger, launching upright in bed, sheets thrown away as he all but flailed, a strangled "No!" leaving his mouth.
When I was in high school, one of my math teachers tried to teach us the quadratic equation to the tune of Pop Goes the Weasel. You know, [and here's that halfhearted tune:] X equals negative B, plus or minus the square root, of B square minus 4AC, all over 2A. [Vaguely apologetic smile.] It's stuck in my head. Who has some music around to share?
[Please be someone other than Steph. :| Also, Tim is talking about inane shit: something must be wrong.]
[Spam for Shego]
They hadn't really talked about the breach, and Tim hadn't tried. He couldn't see telling Shego about sleeping with Stephanie going well, even in the name of being truthful. Besides, she'd been really affectionate afterwards - at least for her - and that had pretty much made the decision for him. He'd rather pretend everything was fine than admit that he couldn't get the breach out of his head. And it wasn't just the thing with Steph. In fact, that wasn't even the biggest problem.
It was the guns.
He wasn't Bruce: Tim didn't have the same hang ups about guns. But he did have hang ups about them. When he was younger, before his dad had lost a lot of their money, before his mom had died, his parents went on safaris, his dad went hunting, they went exploring, they had adventures and left Tim home for the maid to look after. His dad knew how to use a gun. And when Captain Boomerang had come to kill him, Jack Drake used one. He'd become a killer.
Tim dreamed about it from time to time; he dreamed of running through his Gotham City apartment, reliving the moments after his father's death, when Tim knew he was gone but was desperate to get there anyway. And in the dream, he almost always reached for a gun. Almost always, there was no gun to grab.
Tonight, there was. He ran up that flight of stairs, shedding his Robin uniform, his cowboy hat, his spurs an his utility belt - but not the gun. The gun he clutched tight in his hand, and he didn't wake up when he dropped to his knees in his father's blood. Because Boomerang was there, and he was still alive.
The cocking of the gun was deafening. He woke up as he pulled the trigger, launching upright in bed, sheets thrown away as he all but flailed, a strangled "No!" leaving his mouth.