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Title: Just Saying
Author: Tyrror
Verse: Questions!Verse
Pairing: Tim Drake/Bart Allen
Rating: PG
Summary: Yet more mail arrives for Tim. Bart has something to say about all this.


The other boy’s mouth is running at a rate so fast that even Tim’s mind has difficultly keeping pace. He believes they are talking about ice cream…or maybe video games…at least he’s relatively certain. Ultimately, he decides, it really doesn’t matter if he can’t quite keep up because Bart will keep talking until you stop him or distract him with food anywhere in his general vicinity so Tim lets his mind wander to things more important than…did Bart just say something about demon ninja pickles? And that would be the cue to tune out the world completely.

Except…

That would also be the exact moment that the world decided to mock him some more. A noise, something he has to admit is not entirely unexpected but certainly unwanted, breaches the calm sanctuary of his mind just before he sinks into the secret inner world which he created for actually getting work done. The same inner world that allows Kon to make silly faces at him from mere inches while he stares into space…but he may not exactly be aware of that last bit so we won’t dwell on it.

“Mail call!” Cassie calls out as she hovers past the back of the couch on which he and Bart sit, a dozen or more sealed envelopes crashing into his lap before she continues on into the next room with the oversize burlap sack of paper.

Tim stares at the spread of paper slowly sliding from his lap onto the surrounding cushions as if it could cease to exist by the power of his thoughts alone. As if it had threatened to remove certain parts of his anatomy of which he was (secretly) rather fond. As if it had insulted his mother. Tim stares at the envelopes for what feels like an extraordinary period of time and, even though his entire rational mind is telling him that there is absolutely no possibility for this to be the case, he is almost certain that they stare back.

One of them wiggles a non-existent eyebrow suggestively.

He pushes the stack of mail onto the floor next to the couch where he is rather content with them staying for the rest of eternity and it is only then that he remembers he was supposedly having a (very onesided) conversation with Bart. Looking up, the younger boy’s face is twisted in an awkward configuration that Tim can only assume is meant to convey confusion and he does his best to slip a friendly grin onto his own face before speaking.

“Sorry,” he says a little more sheepishly than he intended and readjusts the mental settings on his voice, “What were you saying?”

A thin line of pink scatters its way across the bridge of Bart’s nose before the boy ducks his head down and blocks out large portions of his face with clumps of falling hair. Waiting, a sensation Tim is unaccustomed to when it comes to the team’s resident speedster, he tilts his head and quirks an eyebrow in question before Bart’s eyes trail back up to fix on his face through a veil of his own hair.

“Umm,” the younger boy starts off eloquently, “I know you don’t like the questions and…stuff, but…um…”

He seems to struggle for words for several seconds, which must feel like an eternity in his mind, before he looks back at his own knee where he’s drawn it up onto the couch and stutters out almost too fast to hear, “I wouldn’t care if you wanted to do stuff like that with Kon…or…um…”

He stutters again, his eyes quickly shifting from his own hands where they lay clasped in his lap to Tim’s face to several random points around the room and finally back to his lap. The foot he still has on the floor skitters around in what appeares to be its own accord, a nervous habit Tim thought the other boy had broken since before Impulse became Kid Flash and several more words burst out of the younger boy like bullets from a gun.

“Or, um, you know…” Bright golden eyes flashed back to where Tim could see them properly through Bart’s hair and his subconscious made note of how much farther the color on his cheeks had spread in the bare minute that the speedster had been making little-to-no sense…but then he was gone.

With a gust of wind and the flutter of paper where Tim had thrown his ‘fan-mail’, Bart had, as they say, left the building. Alone in the room, Tim watched with an utterly perplexed look as the last of the letters fell to rest yet again on the floor, slightly more scattered than they had been before. It was one of the rare moments in his life where he lost the ability to rationalize what had just happened and, instead, simply replayed it over and over in his head hoping that he might find some kind of answer in the mental re-runs. His thoughts were filled with bright pink cheeks, brighter gold eyes, and plain white envelopes that still mocked him from the floor.

One of them giggles.

Throwing up his hands in what can only be described as a silent curse, Tim hurtles himself off the couch and towards the nearest exit. He didn’t care which exit so long as it took him as far away from those damnable questions as possible. It was only by chance that he turned away from the two metas standing in on of the other doorways. Kon threw up his hands in mock-imitation of Robin’s frustration, simultaneously making what may have been the stupidest facial expression the other girl had ever seen.

Cassie giggled.

She sounded like the envelopes.

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December 2012

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