Tim did not think Jason would take his advice seriously. After all, spite fuelled Jason as much as it did the rest of the ever-sprawling collective of Gotham vigilantes.
Despite his best efforts, Tim fully expected Jason to turn up with a bundle of wilted chrysanthemums purchased from a Crime Alley corner store, just to be a contrarian (or worse, nothing at all). But apparently there was a first time for everything because lo and behold, ninety minutes after messaging Jason, Tim's security feed clocked him walking down the pontoon with a thunderously hostile expression on his already surly face and a tastefully made but comically large bouquet clutched in one arm. A plastic bag dangled from his wrist; whatever was in there was small-ish but heavy, and bounced jauntily with every step, oblivious to the dark expression its envoy wore.
Who knew? Miracles could happen!
At least when Peter was around…
If this whole fight blew over, Tim resolved to recruit Peter into Dick's new 'Get Jason to Christmas' project. If Jason was willing to debase himself with apology flowers to make up for his transgressions, then Tim was certain that one look from Peter was all they'd need to have Jason fold like wet tissue. Inwardly, he cackled and rubbed his hands together as the makings of a plan manifested itself.
"Jason's here," Tim warned, keeping his glee to himself.
They were upstairs, Tim at the table with the laptop doing 'schoolwork' (he'd grown bored of it thirty minutes ago and was mostly watching Bernard instead [or more specifically, Bernard's hands]); Peter and Bernard on the couch. They'd moved on from COD to Mario Kart, where Peter was summarily destroying every ounce of Bernard's ego. It was both embarrassing, gratifying and vaguely suspicious to watch.
The distraction cost Peter first place, Bernard getting him with a blue shell.
"Shit!" Peter cursed and fell back against the couch. His glare was more exasperated than angry.
"I can send him away, if you'd like," Tim offered, even though he knew exactly what Peter would say.
"It's fine." Yep. As expected. "It's better to talk to him sooner than later, I guess."
Then Peter twisted to look out the window above his head and Tim watched Peter's expression switch through a multitude of emotions. Confusion, awe, then to anger, then strangely to grief. Who was Peter thinking about when he saw those flowers? Tim was dying to know. Peter remained the hottest topic of gossip amongst the Bats, still new enough to be interesting and with a backstory so implausible it circled right back around to believable.
And that wasn't even mentioning the Spider-Man stuff.
Dick swore black and blue that Peter's story had to be bogus — that Jason had all but confirmed it — but Tim was unconvinced. That there was very little to find about Peter's story wasn't even that surprising: some might have forgotten, but Tim knew perfectly well just how cunning Jason could be. This was the man who'd engineered the hostile takeover of Gotham's underworld, after all. He'd played Dick and Bruce like a fiddle while Tim was off with the Titans, too. Sure, Jason let his emotions cloud his judgement, but so did Dick. So did all of them.
Jason was as much a genius as the rest of them. There was no doubt in Tim's mind that Jason simply scrubbed whatever mess he'd 'dealt with' off the face of the planet before he and Peter even left Ohio.
Jason giving Dick the run-around was also perfectly in character. Again, exhibit A: the spite.
"You want me to escort him? Give him the old one-two?"
Peter stared at Tim with a scepticism that was both unmerited and insulting.
"I could take him!" Tim scowled defensively.
"Sure you could," Peter said, and gave Tim a sweetly condescending smile. "It's fine, I'll meet him."
"You guys can talk in the kitchen, if you wanted to stay here."
"Thanks."
Tim studied Jason's bouquet as he drew closer. Coral roses, white peonies and gladioli, purple hyacinths, all futzed around with some kind of frothy fern[1]. It was a pretty parcel, entirely undermined by the shitty plastic bag holding whatever else Jason had thought to pick out for Peter on the way here.
Something itched at the back of his mind, though… the coral roses…
"Hey Pete, just out of curiosity… do you know anything about flower meanings?"
"Why the hell would I know that?"
"Mm. Guess it's a niche topic." Tim's eyes flicked back to Jason, whose dark expression had morphed into one that was distinctly more nervous the closer he got. "But I'd recommend you check them out. You know, if you accept it at all."
Peter regarded Tim with more suspicion than Tim thought was deserved. This was what he got for trying to help his loser brother out. Typical. See if I help you again, Jason. Can't even get the roses right.
But… when Peter glanced out the window again, looking down at the rapidly approaching bouquet, Tim caught the softening of his expression and was vindicated. He might just save this relationship yet! Maybe this might get him ahead of Dick in the race to be 'best man' for the entirely fictional and fancifully imagined wedding they'd planned over several vodka sodas on Thanksgiving.
(Probably a good thing Peter and Jason weren't there. Third time might really have been the charm for Peter and the running when Dick got all mushy and sentimental like that.)
Peter rolled off the couch with a grace that easily rivalled Dick's. Tim shared a look with Bernard behind him.
"I'm, uh, I'm gonna go talk to him."
"Go ahead, Pete. Don't be kind."
"Hm."
Peter left through the sliding door rather than using the inner ladder. Tim and Bernard watched his tousled hair slip out of view as he thumped down the steps to meet Jason. Immediately, they were wrestling for the best view, a narrow slip of window to the left that was unobscured by the railings but concealed from average view by the voile curtains. Tim allowed Bernard to win in the end, but only because Bernard's 'victory' came in the form of Tim wrapped up in his very nice arms, his too-heavy head resting on top of Tim's. It was the best of both worlds. Tim got a cuddle and he got to poke his nose into other people's business.
Jason paused on the pontoon, looking up at an unfriendly Peter. There wasn't much of Peter, but it turned out he could be intimidating when the moment called. Even with his back turned, Jason's reaction was enough to tell a story. He was worried.
By itsis4
"Can we talk?" Jason asked and Tim whispered for Bernard's benefit. They were too far to be able to overhear, but Tim was an excellent lip-reader.
Not excellent enough to read the lips of someone whose back was turned, but hey, we couldn't all be perfect. Not that it mattered much: Jason's reaction made Peter's response clear enough.
"Yeah." Jason held out the flowers as a devotee might give offering to their idol. After a long hesitation, Peter stooped to take it and both Tim and Bernard quietly cheered.
By minusero
The relief on Jason's face was painful to see. And when Peter stepped back to allow him on board — nose buried in the bouquet and concealing his emotions from everyone — Jason watched Peter move with a familiar intensity. Bruce wore the same expression after hard nights. He was looking for injuries. Any sign of discomfort or unhappiness.
Keep looking. I take care of my guests.
Jason followed Peter inside like a guard dog on high alert. The boat rocked slightly as they tramped down the stairs into the kitchen and Tim wriggled out of Bernard's arms, headed for the air vent under the table.
by jiloop
One of the interesting things about Tim's houseboat was the strange way sound travelled through it. He'd learnt — practically by accident — that if he crouched in just the right spot by this air vent, he could almost perfectly hear what was going on in the kitchen — provided, of course, the air vent wasn't shut. And blessings be upon him, neither Jason nor Peter knew to do so.
Bernard immediately clued in when Tim settled into a crouch under the table.
"You shouldn't be listening!" Bernard hissed, expertly navigating every spot on the floor that would have telegraphed his movements to the occupants below. Thankfully, he spoke low enough that the sound wouldn't travel downwards.
"This is a prime intelligence gathering operation," Tim whispered back.
"Who cares?" Bernard poked his chest hard, trying to tip Tim over, but Tim's balance was impeccable, thank-you Dick Grayson. "Peter's angry because of an invasion of privacy and here you are, invading their privacy!"
"If they didn't want us to hear, they'd have left."
"That's one hell of an assumption!"
"Hush, they're talking."
"This is absurd. I want no part of it." With that, Bernard went back to the couch and started his own cold war, headphones slapped on and everything. Guilt clawed up, laden with accusation and shame, but Tim forced himself to look away. He bent low to catch the last of Jason's apology.
"— It was inexcusable to have left it so long. I'm so sorry, Pete. I want to do better. Please, let me do better."
The quiet that fell after Jason's apology, Tim liked to imagine, was a thoughtful one. But when Peter finally spoke, it wasn't to acknowledge the apology but to ask, "What's in the bag?"
Tim thought it a good sign.
"I — it was — fuck… See for yourself — here."
The rustle of plastic. More quiet.
"A… camera?" Peter said carefully.
"It's not — it's nothing new. But I remembered you telling me about your old camera — the one that got lost after you all... well."
"….You remembered that."
"I remember a lotta things, Pete. About you."
"You do…" Peter agreed, so quiet Tim almost missed it. He didn't miss the follow-up though, hardened with anger and resentment. "My forgiveness can't be bought."
"I know!" Jason's voice rose a pitch in panic. "That's not — that's not what I'm trying to do. It's just that it was next door, when I was buying the flowers and I couldn't help myself — though I admit the timing is shitty. Fuck. Sorry. Should've just left it for your birthday, or Christmas, but — I meant it, Peter. You mean — so much. More than a camera can ever be worth."
For a while, all Tim could hear was the rustle of plastic. Then the sound of something solid set down on the table.
"This is a Minolta," Peter said quietly.
Tim's brows rose entirely of their own volition.
"I know it's not the same — not even the same model. There's nothing that can replace what you've lost. You know I know that, better than anyone. But I thought, at least, you'd be able to think happily of him when — if — you use it… Although, now that I think about it, I don't even know if there's a place in Gotham that develops film photography anymore. Fuck, thats… there's a darkroom back at the manor — or there used to be? Or maybe the—"
"Jason."
"Uh. Yeah?"
"Shut up."
Silence again. It was strange, listening to someone you'd signed off as 'too quick to anger' nervously word vomit all over Tim's kitchen. Genius or not, Tim hadn't thought Jason capable of emoting with such nuance. He was ashamed now, to realise just how close-minded he'd been. This was a Jason steeped in sincerity. One Tim had never, ever had the chance to meet. Probably never would…
Crap. He wanted to see what was going on downstairs. The silence was killing him! Tim was tempted to turn on the camera feed for the kitchen, but Bernard would for sure make him sleep on the couch if he did. Then again, judging by the thunderous look on his face as he smashed the Wii controller, Tim might be relegated to the doghouse already…
Well. In for a penny…
"I didn't even think you were paying attention when I was rambling about it," Peter said. Tim could picture him turning the camera over carefully, inspecting the make and heft of it. The way it fit in his hands. The resistance of the buttons and mechanical roll of the dials under his fingers. "Did you buy film?"
"They only had a few rolls. Here—"
Peter hummed neutrally. "… Thank-you."
"You like it?"
"You know I do. The flowers too… they're nice." Soft laughter. "The last time I got flowers was when—"
Peter's voice suddenly broke and Jason words when he spoke were achingly tender.
"May? Or Ben?"
Who are you, Jason Todd, and why have I never been able to see you?
"Ben," Peter breathed the name on the exhale. "Ned gave them to me, though he lied and said they were from his lola. When May… well… how was anyone to know?"
Tim wished he had a notebook. May and Ben, he knew of. But this was Peter's first mention of a… friend? Ned… he was probably still in New York… there were bound to be thousands of Neds to trawl through, but lola was a clue. Tim would have to check, but he was pretty sure it was an honorific for grandma in — Thailand? No. The Philippines. There wouldn't be many guys with the name Ned who could claim Filipino descent. Probably.
Then there was the way Peter spoke about his aunt's death. Like there'd been a cover-up of some kind…
Maybe Tim really did need to start digging more into Peter's past. There was something dark and ugly at the heart of Peter's story. Tim could taste the grit of it on his tongue. His skin itched with the desire to hunt. No wonder Peter was so messed up.
But he… probably shouldn't do that. If this whole argument was about what Tim thought it was about, digging into Peter's past and the possible cult origins of his meta-abilities would only serve to alienate him further. And then Jason might decide that he wanted a return to his 2012-2013 era and test his comeback on Tim. Again.
No thank-you.
But he so badly wanted to know!
"Tell me why you did it."
Refocus, Drake.
"It was just like you said. You were new—"
"No. Not that," Peter cut in. "I told you, I know why you did that. I can even forgive it — to an extent. It seems like it's just par for the course with you lot… Probably would have done it myself, if our positions were flipped."
"Pete—"
"What I need to know," Peter spoke forcefully over Jason. Tim held his breath, waiting for Jason to blow up, but there was no reaction. "Is why you didn't say anything. After the air was clear. You couldn't say anything last night. Can you manage now you've slept on it?"
Wow. There was a hell of a lot of acid in Peter's voice. Serious waspish tendencies. Those two might truly be made for each other after all.
"I just… didn't know what to say."
"'Hey, Peter, I stole your DNA and had it sequenced for good measure! Sorry about that!' would've been a good start!"
Tim bit his lip. Sure, he couldn't hold a candle to Damian and his Crime Alley accent needed work, but Peter's mimicry of Jason was actually pretty good.
"I know. In hindsight, it's stupid as shit but — fuck. These last few weeks… they've been so good, Pete." Jason lowered his voice, so much so Tim's head was practically on the floor to hear him. "You make me want. A — a life. I didn't want to lose that. Or maybe I did. I— I don't get good, Pete. Good things, I mean. They don't… they don't tend to stick. And I think, last night… I think I realised that maybe this was me trying to sabotage, before I got too attached."
Quiet. The digestive kind. Tim's fingers itched to open the kitchen camera up.
"So instead, I got hurt?" Peter eventually said. But despite the cold turn of his words, his voice wavered.
"That was never my intention! Never!"
"I thought I could trust you, Jace." The words were desolate. Tim's chest twinged for the young man below decks.
"I know, Petey. I know. And I'm sorry — I'm so sorryI betrayed you like this. But me not telling you, it was never about trust. Never."
Peter's voice, when he eventually spoke again, warbled. "I can't go through that again, Jason. Not after Beck—"
Crap. Peter really did sound like he was about to cry. Maybe Tim should—
"I know. I'm— Ah!" Jason yelped.
Tim paused in his reluctant withdrawal. It was even odds on Peter having hit Jason or hugged him. But as the silence expanded without a string of violent thuds and crashes, Tim would place his money on the latter.
Thinking the argument finally over, Tim began to withdraw once more, only to catch Peter's sharp: "Pull shit like that again and I'll string you up in front of Wayne Tower."
The answering nervous laughter immediately had the warning bells going off in Tim's head.
Oh no.
"Funny you say that, Pete…"
Peter latched onto Jason's tone immediately. "What is now?" he scoffed, derisive. "Another secret invasion of my privacy and bodily autonomy I should have known about?"
The moment Jason's silence extended beyond two seconds, Tim knew Peter had stepped on yet another land-mine. Tim bowed his head to the floor and sent thoughts and prayers Jason's way.
"You've got to be kidding me. What? Have you been tracing my phone?" Fear crept into Peter's voice. "That — that shouldn't be possible, how did you—"
"It wasn't your phone."
More silence, heavy and damning.
"Where." A single word but wow was it so full of darkened threat even Tim, safe upstairs (except from his own boyfriend's wrath) felt a chill.
Be strong, brother.
"… Left shoe. Your coat — the collar. And, these—" There was the rustle of fabric and Tim was tempted once more to peek on the kitchen camera, even though he was pretty sure—
"You've got to be fucking kidding me!"
"That's all of them, I promise. I took them all out this morning and—"
"There's a dozen here! You've seriously been tracking me? This whole time?"
"Actively? No. Just — just in case. I just wanted you safe—"
"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! I'm so fucking angry! How dare you? Why would you — you made me think we might have been equals, when you had something like this hanging over my head too?"
"I know. I'm sorry, Peter!. But that's it. I promise, it was only ever for your—"
"That's not what partners do!" Peter roared, and Tim's eyes widened with shock. Even Bernard, headphones still stubbornly on, was startled.
Tim had never thought cheeky but mild-mannered Peter capable of such anger. Wow. That profile needed a re-evaluation, pronto. They knew Peter was strong: just two weeks ago Spider-Man turned over a flipped car to free the joyriding kids inside with a single hand. Jason refused to confirm if he was comparable to a Kryptonian, but Tim doubted it, based on the DNA scans that were the root of this entire conflict. Quick-to-anger and super-strength did not make good bedfellows. But despite snapping several of Valentin's ribs back in October, Tim thought there wasn't much of a risk when it came to Peter using his strength against, you know, normalpeople.
He was seriously questioning that assumption now, and was almost ready to throw himself to his brother's rescue if he needed it—
"This isn't normal, Jason!" Peter was snarling. "God, it's like Mr Stark all over again, only worse because at least then, I knew he thought I was just a dumb kid! Equals! We're meant to be equals! How else is this meant to work? I'm not sticking around to be your fucking sidekick!"
Stowing the name away for later — the third of the morning — Tim pondered Peter's choice of words. Equals. Sidekicks… something about them rubbed Tim the wrong way. And then there were the roses…
How else is this meant to work?
The question could just be about their relationship. But it felt… transactional. Like it was—
Oh my God. They're not actually dating.
The revelation cut through Tim like a hot knife through butter. Holy hell. His mouth fell open. Eyes wild, he glanced at Bernard, but Bernard was firmly ignoring him again. There was no one for Tim to share his conclusion with.
Jason and Peter weren't dating. They were running a grift together! Partners in crime, not of passion. Holy mother of Wonder Woman, this changed fucking everything!
…
… Or did it?
Jason's acting skills were a given. But while Peter's ability to deceive must be far better than any of them ever accounted for, Tim liked to think himself perceptive. He knew how to read people. Not to the extent that Cass could (and holy shit, Cass definitely knew, God dammit he was coming for her!), but confidently better than 99.9% of the world population. There was chemistry there. Jason and Peter practically dripped with it.
Not even to mention Jason wasn't going to spout crap like 'You make me want a life' to some guy he was hustling with, drama queen or not.
Of course none of them suspected the relationship to be a lie! Not when the affection and protectiveness was to clear between them.
And beyond all that… if it was nothing more than a lie… what kept Peter here, talking things out with Jason, when he was clearly so hurt?
Holy shit. Tim might have to revoke his earlier assertions as to his brother's intelligence. These two were dumb as hell.
He clapped a hand over his mouth to hold back laughter. The angst of it all was gone — for Tim, at least. Peter however was still colourfully cussing Jason out, though his voice was significantly muffled, like all that vitriol was getting spilled into a hand. Or a shoulder. And laid over Peter's cursing, Jason's constant stream of steady 'sorries' crafted an unambiguous picture for Tim.
by Bichory
Eventually, Peter calmed. Enough for Jason to say something other than 'I'm sorry'.
"If you want to leave, I won't stop you," said a man who clearly wanted to do anything but. Seriously? Dumb. As. Hell.
"Fuck you," Peter spat back, corroborating Tim's verdict. "Take responsibility, you dick!"
"That would be my broth—Ah!"
A fleshy smack. Jason's answering laughter was strained as further smacks swiftly followed
"Okay, okay!" The smacking stopped. "Sorry — couldn't resist. I just — I want to make things right. And if that meant—"
"Retirement, Jason. I'm sticking around for the arthritis and the type two diabetes."
Warmer laughter from Jason. "Can't forget the cancer, Petey."
What the hell were these two on about.
"Yeah. The cancer too." That at least, sounded appropriately morose from Peter. Tim wondered if he was going to have to trick Jason into a medical screening. Was he unwell? Shit, did he actually have cancer?
No. That was… unlikely. It seemed more like an inside joke. Oh God, Tim hoped it was just an inside joke—
"What can I do to fix this?" Jason suddenly asked into the sobered quiet. That foreign tenderness had crept back in.
The romantic in Tim imagined him combing a hand through Peter's hair, but if they weren't actually dating then that was unlikely. He glanced surreptitiously at Bernard, but despite appearing to be watching what was on the screen, he would definitely notice if Tim took out his phone to pull up the camera feed.
"I want it gone, Jason. All of it." Peter paused, then spoke again, resolute. Challenging. "Actually, no. I want the same. It's only fair I can track you, too."
There's no way he'd agree.
Peter was of a like mind, because he soldiered on defensively. "I've been working on a prototype. Something only I can trace. I was going to just test it on a bus or something—"
"Done."
"—but as you're oh so kindly volunteering as tribu— oh."
Wow. That easy? Jason was aware of what he'd agreed to, right?
"Partners, right?" Jason said calmly, as if he'd not just agreed to letting Peter monitor him like an absolute lunatic. "It goes both ways, right? It's only fair."
Ohh. Oh, you sly dog.
Tim bit his knuckle in an effort to stifle his laughter. It surely wasn't a planned outcome, but like hell if Jason wasn't an opportunist. It had to be the street rat in him, surely. As if they weren't all exactly the same.
"… You haven't watched me enough?" Peter challenged bitterly.
"I could count on one hand the number of times I actually looked at those trackers," Jason said, and Tim knew he was being honest. "I only ever used them at all because you were a flight risk. And you were interesting and hurting and I was fucking worried. I didn't want you getting hurt. Gotham's—"
"A shithole, I get it." Peter groaned. "Stop making it so hard to stay angry at you."
"That's not something I ever thought I'd hear someone say about me."
"Shut up."
"That's more like it."
"You're so weird."
"Takes two to tango, baby."
"Ugh." Tim agreed with the sentiment in Peter's utterance. "I need to know where it is. And only the one."
"Shoes are always a safe bet."
"Fine. You show me where it goes, so I can take it out at any time."
Quiet once more. Then, tentatively: "Does this mean you'll forgive me?"
More quiet. It felt contemplative. Jason, to his credit, gave Peter the space to think.
"… Let me use you as a model. For the camera. ThenI'll think about it."
"Uh." Jason coughed uncomfortably. "O—okay?"
"And we're going to that diner for lunch. The one on Porter Street with the waitress that hates you."
Tim relaxed a little. Peter was belligerent in his demands, clearly choosing things to spite Jason, but shockingly, Jason barely reacted. A comment Peter had made, weeks and weeks ago, came to mind:
"Me and Jason? We're a clean slate. There's no pressure to be anything more or less than we really are."
This was what Peter had meant, wasn't it? This. This was Jason. Jason without the pressure of the family's expectations to be a loose cannon. No one walking on eggshells around him because they feared he might go rogue. Or worse, picking and picking and picking because they figured it'd get them a controlled burn rather than a surprise inferno.
Just Jason Todd. Whoever Jason Todd really was…
Tim felt a little ill.
Guilt gave him leaden limbs, but Tim managed to silently crawl away from the vent. He ended up on his knees on the floor beside Bernard, who knocked his headphones off as Tim approached.
Shame had turned his insides to lumpy, cold custard. Tim buried his face in Bernard's thigh to try and escape it.
"'M sorry."
"It's not me you should be apologising to," Bernard pointed out, but rested his hand on Tim's head all the same. His blunt fingernails scraped through Tim's hair soothingly.
"If I say anything to them, I think they'll both murder me."
"Eh. I'll find myself a necromancer."
"I'll apologise later… I think I'd ruin whatever truce they've just made."
"So long as you do," Bernard hummed.
"Oh!" Happy he was forgiven, Tim suddenly perked up. He threw his hands onto Bernard's knees to haul himself a little higher. "You'll never believe this!"
"What?" Bernard, despite his disapproval of Tim's eavesdropping, was a lover of gossip. He caught on immediately to Tim's excitement, though he put on a good show of attempting to conceal it.
"I don't think they're actually dating!"
Bernard's mouth dropped open with surprise. But he was appropriately dubious. "You don't buy a guy apology flowers if you're only fake dating them."
The laughter that piped out of him bordered on hysteria. "Right?"
"Aw, jeez." Bernard's head fell back, hands on his face as he understood what Tim was getting at. "That's like something straight out of a fanfic! There'sno way that's actually what's going on! It'd be too stupid."
"Right?" Tim's amusement was euphoric. "I've got to—"
He scrambled for his phone, only to pause, thumb hovering over the lock screen.
"Babe?"
Tim stared up at the man he adored and pointedly put his phone away. He'd message Cass later, but hit by divine inspiration, decided that was as far as his ground-breaking deduction would go. Let the others work it out for themselves — or not. This was going to be so fucking funny.
And besides, spilling the beans to Dick might actually break the man's heart. He'd been so damn happy for Jason during Thanksgiving Tim had almost been offended. Where was the celebration when he'd got himself a boyfriend?
(A lie, of course. Dick had thrown a very well-meaning but immensely embarrassing party when word got out, complete with cocktails coloured blue, purple and pink.)
Then again, Tim was a little disappointed their purely hypothetical competition over best man would remain purely hypothetical…
Unless…
The timing of his decision was perfect. No sooner had he put away his cell that he heard the ladder creak faintly and Peter's head emerged. He gave Tim a strange look, but otherwise didn't comment on Tim and Bernard's positions.
"We're gonna go," Peter said evenly, any sign of his earlier anger successfully repressed. There was no concealing the red around his eyes though. When had he started crying? "Thanks for letting me stay the night."
"You've kissed and made up?" Tim asked. It was only his extensive skills at compartmentalisation that kept his expression straight when Peter cringed.
"Uh — yeah. Something like that. We've come to a compromise."
"That's great. It would have been tragic to see you break up."
A strained smile. "Yep! Yes. It would be — that."
God, how had Peter even managed to fool them in the first place? Tim was suddenly ashamed of his family. They should have realised Peter was bullshitting them right from the start. He was terrible at lying.
"Make sure you get those flowers in some water."
"Sure, sure. We're — uh — we're going. Jace didn't have breakfast, so…"
Tim waved him off and Peter disappeared down the ladder again. Tim didn't allow himself to move, let alone laugh, until he was certain Peter and Jason were off the boat and out of earshot.
Then he laughed so hard he cried.
— + —
When Tim and Bernard finally got downstairs, Tim found a strange metallic dust sprinkled across the table. Only when he had the particles so close to his eye he was in danger of going cross-eyed did he realise it was a fine mill of powdered trackers.
A strange chill passed over him. Either Jason had done so as a peace offering — not out of the realm of possibility — or Peter was even stronger than Tim had had accounted for.
He contemplated slipping into Oracle's information network now and saving a copy of Peter's genetic records for himself, but self-preservation stayed his hand. He wanted to sleep in his actual bed when he got back from patrol tonight, after all.
— + —
Out on the pontoon, a thought occurred to Peter.
"Jason…?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you even own a vase?"
"I — oh. Shit."
Peter laughed helplessly. Exhausted, he hung his head over the bouquet and the sweet fragrance of the hyacinths washed away the marina's briny stink.
"You're an idiot."
"Yeah… I'm starting to think I'm a whole lot dumber than I thought."
[1] Flower meanings are one of the biggest pains in my ass to research, but here are the interpretations for what I decided would make both a nice bouquet, and helped convey Jason's feelings (and yes he absolutely knew the symbolism, A because he's a fucking nerd, and B because Bruce thought it was a useful way of conveyed coded messages):
Coral roses: friendship (lol), modesty and sympathy
White peonies: shame and/or bashfulness, for a wrong committed
Purple hyacinth: sorrow and guilt (about as explicit of a 'please forgive me' as you can get)
White gladioli: sincerity
Ferns: more sincerity