#concerning!

The thing is, though, that Jason would maybe like to give Tim whatever it is he seems to want. He knows part of it is just how Tim is; the guy would probably have neglected to mention he runs a fortune-500 company if it hadn’t made national news. But he also knows that if you don’t ask for something, nobody can deny you it. He and Tim tend to run their mental gymnastics on a similar course. Probably part of why they get along so well. 

It’s the very same reason why, instead of asking for clear communication, what comes out of his mouth instead is, “You can pout all you like, princess, but that don’t make me any more of a mind reader. The sooner you tell me what you’re after, the sooner I can tell you to fuck off.”

Red Robin pouts even harder and straightens up, and Jason panics for a second that he actually is about to fuck off. A baseless worry though, when there’s still shit for Tim to poke his nose in. His frown only turns into a satisfied smirk as he points out the false wall in the office he’s decided they’re now investigating together.

~~~

Jason’s pretty sure he solves the mystery of what Tim’s after about two weeks later. 

Tim has turned Jason’s couch into a battle station; laptops, photos and files strewn around him. The coffee table is marginally less cluttered thanks to Jason only just having cleared the empty mugs and energy drink cans away. They’d returned from an extremely fruitful bust on a trafficking den that was the product of days worth of prep, and Tim is already picking up where they left off, pulling on the threads that will lead them to the next step up in the operation, not even fully out of his body armor and buzzing off the adrenaline of their success. Jason had barely gotten Tim’s jammed fingers in a splint before a laptop was being booted up and documents updated, dots connected. 

Normally Jason is more than happy to let Tim’s ridiculous brain run ten steps ahead and in five different directions at once; had once watched him solve a different case from the one he was actually working on accidentally. But Tim’s been burning the candle from both ends even more dramatically this week, prepping with him for this bust in the evenings, and dealing with bullshit meetings at his day job (Jason resents being aware of corporate finance calendars). Jason hears the beginning of frustrated grunts and pronounced keyboard clacking as Tim’s fingers start to stumble over one another and he has to delete more words than actually make it into the report he’s writing. 

“Alright, I’m calling it. If you crash here for the night you can get right back to it when you wake up,” Jason offers, like there’s actually any room for debate, sweeping up papers from the couch. And Tim must be even more exhausted than he realized, because he only gets half-hearted grumbling in response.

“You better save whatever you’re working on by the time I come back with blankets or I’m closing that laptop right on your fingers.”

And miracle of miracles, the laptop is already closed and atop the slightly precarious pile on the coffee table when he returns to the living room, Tim horizontal and watching him with pale eyes as piercing as ever, even behind heavy eyelids he can barely keep open.

Jason can’t do anything but drape the sheets over him, make sure he’s fully covered. Can’t help the words out of his mouth, not nearly as teasing as he meant them to be, 

“Sweet dreams, princess.”