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Sweet as the night is long [1/7]

[runespoor7.livejournal.com]

It's been a good night; Batman can hear it in the bounce of Robin's steps as they return to the Batmobile.

Can hear it again in the boy's humming, tapping the rhythm of some song on his naked leg, as the car glides back on the road to Wayne Manor. Can see it, out of the corner of his cowl, in the faint, reddish trails Robin's gauntlets leave on his skin.

Can picture it in the spatter of dried blood on Robin's thighs, the scrapes on Robin's knuckles through his gauntlets, the bruises which he knows are forming, even if Robin has forgotten about them – one above his right knee, when a thug has taken a swipe at Robin's legs, and another on his left arm, when he'd protected himself against a thug using a steel bar as a club.

The shout of glee Robin had let out when he'd kicked the weapon out of his attacker's hands still echoes in Batman's ears.

Batman knows he should say something. He knows Robin could still improve, should improve, knows that Robin got hit twice tonight hard enough to leave a mark, knows that Robin's cape took three bullet holes when Robin was leaping between the shots, that there's more blood on the Robin suit than there once used to be, but... It's been a good night.

Next to him Robin is still humming, legs stretched out in front of him, lips curved into an unconscious smirk.

He stretches when the car pulls up and the roof opens. “Man, I'm beat.”

Getting out of the car, for him, involves pushing on his arms and flipping his cape over his shoulder. The yellow slips to the side, showing the red of the tunic, the muscles of his back and legs tensing. The armor in Robin's suit is light enough, thin enough, that if he touched he could feel them clench, it has to be thin and light because Robin likes the flips, and Jason hates feeling impeded by his equipment.

He'd only have to reach out; close the two feet between the wheel and Jason. Robin. Who makes a small, unnecessary grunt as he takes his legs over the side of the car; there's a flash of green underneath the red.

Batman doesn't let go of the wheel, and doesn't allow his fingers to tighten.

He doesn't look up until Jason's landed. “Bruce, you coming? Let's take a shower and hit the sack.”

It's no use pretending it's not Jason now; he may still be wearing every part of the suit, and he hasn't yet removed the domino mask, but as soon as they're off the streets Bruce knows he'd be fighting a lost battle if he tried to hide behind Batman. In the Cave, Bruce can't trick himself into thinking Jason isn't calling him every time Robin says Batman's name.

There isn't-- Bruce doesn't think there's much of a difference at all between the two, to Jason. Wherever they go Jason acts the same. And here...

“I have files to complete,” Bruce says, in as level a voice as he can project from behind the cowl. The sudden heaviness of the mask makes the body armor in his uniform into a restricting barrier. It gets in the way of his breathing, of his moves, censure or warning.

“That can wait tomorrow,” Jason says easily as he undoes the clasp and flings the cape at the pommel horse, grinning with satisfaction as it catches and doesn't fall. “C'mon, Bruce.”

He's taken the solvent from the nearby tray and is now stripping his mask, not waiting for an answer. Not doubting which it will be.

Bruce could do otherwise. He could remind Jason that updating their files is never an option, and doing so tonight, with the memory of their patrol still crystal clear, will save time tomorrow. He could occupy himself until Jason's gone to the shower, and then upstairs; he could send him off if Jason looked like he wanted to wait for him. He could stay alone, in the Cave, go to his business with precisely the care and the time required, with no rush and no other thoughts on his mind, and then he'd go to bed.

And find Jason there.

Jason, who might be naked and awake and cranky that Bruce was so long, or asleep on his side of the bed, facing the door with a hand under his pillow and the wet curls of his hair over it. But he'll be there.

Jason's room hasn't been slept in for five months.