Archive of Our Own

Tim is barely even hurt, he doesn’t see why Bruce cares this much.

Ok, well, he’s going to be honest, going on patrol with broken ribs hurts like hell, but he’s done it before, and he’ll probably do it again. And, sure, his wrist is a bit fractured, and he has that gunshot wound from the other day on his leg and-

Ok, maybe it’s reasonable for him to take the week off. Even so, he scowls and grumbles as Bruce shoves him towards the Zeta tubes. “This really isn’t necessary. I can look after myself, B”

“I’m sure you can,” Bruce says placatingly, which only pisses Tim off more. “But no one is at home at the moment to keep an eye on you, and stop you from overworking yourself, so the Kents have graciously agreed to look after you until your week is up.” He says ‘graciously’ in a tone that Tim takes to mean ‘be polite or else’, so he just sighs and ducks his head. “Whatever,” He mumbles under his breath, just loud enough for Bruce to hear, but not loud enough for him to call Tim out on. That’ll show him.

“Keep in touch, pal.” Bruce says as he steps out of the Zeta tube, leaving Tim standing alone. “Sure, whatever.” Tim tries to put on the unaffected teenager act, but Bruce just smirks at him. “Love you too, son.”

Tim sticks his tongue out for good measure.

As the Zeta tube zips him over to the Kent’s house in Smallville, Tim thinks over the situation. Sure, he isn’t exactly thrilled about being benched; especially given he was a hair’s breadth away from solving a case involving the Scarecrow, which will now have to be passed onto someone else. Tim hates creating extra work for other people; but if he has to be benched at least he gets to stay at the Kent’s. Pa Kent is a really kind man, who always has an awful pun and some wise words to give Tim, and Ma Kent is the best cook of a generation, and her hugs are unparalleled. He’s excited to spend the week with them. The problem comes in the form of one Konner Kent. Not that Kon is a problem. In fact the problem is how little of a problem he is.

Because Tim has a massive fucking crush on his best friend. And, just to make it all worse, the Kent’s farmhouse only has a three bedrooms. One belongs to Ma and Pa, the other to Clark, and the third to Kon. Now, normally Tim would either sleep on the sofa or in Clark’s room (not that he’s ever liked that much, it feel’s weird to sleep in Superman’s room), but given he’ll be there for a whole week instead of just a night, Kon has insisted they share which is just… just great.

Tim is totally not dreading this.

The Zeta tube spits him out about 200 metres down the dusty gravel road that leads to the Kent’s farmhouse. He hobbles his way up the road, cursing his gunshot wound and the dust flying into his eyes. The sun beats down on his back and Tim takes a moment to revel in the lack of rain. If there’s one thing that Kansas does better, it’s the weather. Tim has a habit of eternally being cold, but he figures it can be chalked up to the fact that he is always soaked to the bone with rain. It never stops raining in Gotham, so whenever Tim comes to the Kent’s he is always pleasantly surprised to discover that the sun does, in fact, exist (“No I am not a vampire, Kon”) and can help warm him up, despite the fact that it is currently rapidly setting. After about 50 metres of walking, Tim’s leg buckles under him and he sits gracefully on the side of the road. He is very grateful for how secluded the Kent’s farm is, because if anyone saw his very graceful impromptu seating arrangement he might find himself embarrassed. Not that there would be anything to be embarrassed about because he made a very conscious and well-thought-out decision to take a quick rest break in the middle of the road. Ignore his scraped knee.

For no real reason whatsoever, Tim decides to take a minute to sit and soak in the sun, clutching his sides and breathing heavily. He’s pretty sure he didn’t puncture his lung when he broke his ribs, but he sure as hell bruised it and fuck it hurts. Thankfully for Tim, they have state-of-the-art healing tech in the Batcave, so his bones are currently in the process of speed-knitting themselves back together. He’ll be right as rain soon.

His vision swims a little as he looks out into the expanse of yellow in front of him- swaying fields of corn and wheat that hypnotise him with their gentle movement. The sun is so nice, and the view is so calming that Tim almost finds his eyes fluttering shut, sleep calling out to him like she always does; the bitch.

Pretty much entirely out of spite, Tim snaps his eyes open and makes to stand. It wouldn’t look great if he got run over after falling asleep on the Kent’s driveway. Unfortunately, when he tries to stand, his leg buckles again and twinges quite a lot, so Tim resigns himself to other- less dignified- modes of transportation. Namely; crawling. He got shot through the calf, so crawling is basically the perfect way to take the weight off his leg. Unfortunately, his wrist is still fucked up from last week, so he resorts to crawling one-handed; which is harder than it looks. Thankfully, his lungs do not protest to this movement, as it barely affects them. Take that, Bruce. See! He’s fine. Barely injured. He could probably take half the rogues of Gotham right now, He’s so fine. He might as well become Batman, he’s so healthy. What does Bruce know. Tim is so healthy he could-

“Tim, I mean this in the most affectionate way possible, but what the ever-loving fuck are you doing.”

Oops.

Tim looks up from the dusty road and sends the most withering glare he can muster up at Kon, who is looking so confused it’s almost cute. Almost. Mainly annoying. Because Tim is a Bat, and all he feels is rage.

“I’ll have you know, this is actually the new most optimal form of movement. I was just testing it out. It’ll be all the rage in a few months. Everyone will be doing it.”

Kon is not impressed. “Whatever you say, Robbie.”

His loss, Tim thinks. I’ll patent it as the Drake-Wayne efficiency movement, or the DWEM for short. Then everyone will be doing it, and Kon will have to eat his words. That’ll show him.

Kon reaches over and- despite Tim’s squawked protests- picks Tim up, using his TTK to carefully hold him without jostling any of his injuries. Clearly, he has been debriefed on the situation. Instead of holding him the way he would Cassie or Bart, slung over his shoulder in a fire-man’s lift, Kon chooses to carry Tim bridal-style. Prick. Tim wonders some days if Kon knows about his crush, and does stupidly cute stuff sometimes just to torture him. That doesn’t seem like the sort of thing Kon would do, but you can never be too sure. As Kon carries him, he monologues about how he found Tim, as though it’s some kind of impressive feat.

Tim, while Kon’s distracted, tries to surreptitiously tuck himself further into Kon’s broad chest, hoping Kon won’t notice his blatant attempts to become one in flesh. That would be embarrassing. “So then I heard you come through the Zeta tube, and I thought I would wait for you to come to the door and welcome you in and everything, but you were taking so long, and so I just thought I would come out and meet you, but you were just crawling on the floor like it was completely normal. Seriously Rob, why?”

Tim just sighs. Genius is never appreciated in it’s time.

When they get into the house- Kon carrying Tim across the threshold like he’s some kind of blushing bride- they greet Ma and Pa Kent; who just smile into their cups of tea as they see the puppy-like grin on Kon’s face and the decidedly unimpressed look on Tim’s. They say their Hello’s, and Ma hands Tim a cup of coffee where he lays in Kon’s arms, because that isn’t weird (?) and Kon takes him upstairs. Now, you see, Tim isn’t upset at being carried by Kon; in fact, he’s thrilled, but it’s the principal of the matter. Kon doesn’t appear to think that Tim could have made it here on his own- which he totally could have. “I would have made it here myself just fine.” He announces, just to be contrarian, and Kon just hums in vague agreement- setting Tim down on the bed- which Tim has absolutely no thoughts about no way no sir.

Kon turns away to look out the window at the setting sun, but lets his TTK wrap gently around Tim, pulling the bed covers up and over his shoulders. Tim sighs quietly with contentment. Kon’s bed is unfairly comfortable. “- but it’s getting late so we won’t.”

Oh shit, Kon was speaking just now. What was he saying? Tim panics. Was it a question? Statement? How does he respond?

Kon looks over, obviously registering the change of pace of Tim’s heartbeat, and repeats his question, used to Tim’s ability to zone out by now. “I said, I was thinking about taking you out to see the lake, but it’s getting dark now, and you’re tired, so we’ll just do it another day.”

“I am not tired” Tim denies, but his very factual point is unfortunately undermined by a large yawn he lets out. Fuck.

To his relief, Kon doesn’t call him out on it, just laughs and heads over to his closet, sticking his head inside. Before Tim knows what’s happening, a large piece of black fabric is flying towards him. Tim blesses his years of vigilante training, because otherwise he would have been hit in the face by… a t-shirt? He unfolds it and sees a plain black t-shirt with the red Superboy logo embossed on the front. It’s clearly Kon’s, because it is about 3 sizes too big for Tim, who just stares at lamely.

“What am I meant to do with this?”

“Wear it, dumbass.”

Tim gestures down to his clothes, which he is currently wearing with a raised eye brow.

“As pyjamas duh.”

Right. Of course. Because it’s not like Tim has his own pyjamas. In fact, he brought a very nice luxury silk set with him, thank you very much. But he pulls the t-shirt on anyway, because it’s Kon’s and when else will he get to sleep in Kon’s shirt? Probably never. He should savour the moment while it lasts. He wriggles under the covers, pulling on his black and white checkered pyjama bottoms while making sure not to touch his leg wound. It’s difficult, and he finds himself hissing a couple of times from the pain like a feral tomcat. Finally, he emerges- victorious- only to be confronted with a very topless Kon. Hello, Abs!

Instantly feeling a blush rush to his cheeks, Tim ducks his head, staring very resolutely at his hands in his lap. He hears the noises of Kon getting dressed a few metres away, but he just stares at his hands and starts reciting the quadratic formula- a surefire way to keep himself sane.

After five minutes of highly entertaining maths problems, Tim feels the bed sink down next to him with the weight of another person. He lets his eyes flick over and takes a moment to admire the boy lying next to him; eyelashes dancing in the soft light, a small smattering of freckles adorning his nose and cheeks. Tim kind of wants to count them. But that’s not exactly very no-homo-bro of him, so he schools his thought and pokes Kon in the side. “Oi. Shove over.”

Kon has let himself fall spread-eagled onto the bed (as he likely does when it’s just his bed) in doing so pulling all of the duvet off of Tim. He’s cold now. This simply won’t do. Kon groans and flops closer to Tim, nearly pushing him off the bed. His upper half is now pressing into Tim’s good-leg, successfully warming it up. Hmm, Tim wonders if he can convince Kon to lay on top of him in a totally platonic please-just-warm-me-up-bro-I’m-cold kind of way. That would be great.

As it is, Kon decides to grab Tim’s waist from his spot over Tim’s knee, and pull him down to a laying position too. Tim yelps in indignation, but does nothing to stop it because he is having many thoughts right now and he is honestly afraid to do anything just in case he does something stupid. He quickly runs a restart program on his brain and focuses back on Kon. “C’mon, lay down.” He is admonishing, manually repositioning Tim to his liking. Tim lets him without protest, and is pleased to discover that Kon is very careful with his injured areas. What a good bro.

When Kon’s done shuffling, Tim has ended up laid on his side, facing away from the wall. Behind him, Kon is pressed close, despite the vastness of the bed, arms wrapped tight around Tim’s waist. He ducks his head into Tim’s hair and lays still before murmuring “This ok?”

Tim doesn’t really trust himself to speak, so he just nods fervently and lays still. He knows Kon knows he isn’t asleep, due to the rate of his heartbeat, which is going pretty damn fast. This being said, Tim is going to feign sleep because no one can stop him and he is rather overwhelmed right now.

In the end, much to Tim’s annoyance, he falls asleep rather quickly- the warm body pressed up against him filling him with a warmth that he doesn’t think he has ever felt before, though he tries to convince himself it’s just Kon’s comfortable bed. Maybe if he slept like this every night he wouldn’t be an insomniac anymore.

…

In the morning, Kon wakes him up, jostling his shoulders excitedly.

“C’mon Rob! Ma says we can help her bake one of her signature pies! This is a rare opportunity!”

Tim just groans and rolls over to get away from him. Unfortunately, this isn’t Tim’s bed, so he’s on a different side to normal. Therefore, instead of rolling onto more pillowed bed, he just rolls onto hard wood floor. Ow.

Kon, predictably, is at his side in seconds. “Rob! Rob, are you ok?”

Tim is, decidedly, not ok. He had forgotten, in the bliss of a good night’s sleep just how much his ribs hurt. And, most pressingly, the fact that they are broken, and will not appreciate being slammed rapidly into hardwood. Fuck.

He sits up, pretending like he is breathing just fine, with no agony whatsoever, and flashes Kon with what he hopes is a dazzling grin.  “I am just dandy, thank you.” Kon does not look amused. “You know, you’re here so we can keep you safe, and stop you injuring yourself more. Not to chuck you off of beds.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Tim retorts, despite knowing full well it’s his own.

Now that his breathing is pretty much back to normal, and the agony has resided back to it’s natural underlying state, Tim grabs Kon’s hand and stands up. When they’re up again, he doesn’t let go, though, letting Kon thread their fingers together. This is something they’ve been doing for the past year or so, ever since Kon came back from the dead. Both of them like having a tether to one another, and try their best to be touching each other at every given moment, just to prove the other is still there. In a totally platonic just-bros way of course.

Tim doesn’t see the point in getting dressed, especially given he’s probably gonna get himself covered in flower and other baking materials. Kon’s shirt hangs around his knees with how large it is, but Tim kind of likes the way it makes him look like he’s drowning in fabric. He also quite likes having Kon’s insignia scrawled on his chest, but that is something he doesn’t have time to think about right now, because they’re pottering into the kitchen. Tim hisses a bit as his bare feet hit the cold stone floor, and he hops from side to side a little bit until his skin acclimatizes. Ma chuckles and hands him a cup of coffee, not even bothering to speak to him until he has been caffeinated. Wise woman. Kon could stand to learn a thing or two from her. Once he has gulped down the still-scalding liquid, he puts the cup down and smiles. “Morning Ma. I hear we’re baking today?”

“You bet’ya! Kon has been begging me to let him in on my Apple Pie recipe for years, but I’ve said he isn’t allowed until he has someone around to help him remember the ingredients.”

“Ma completely refuses to write it down,” Kon explains, leading Tim over to the kitchen island. “She’s convinced if she does that Margeret from bingo will find a way to break in and steal it.”

“She will!” Ma defends. “She’s already tried three times! It’s only due to my quick wit that I managed to keep it from her. I had to burn all the remaining copies to stop her! Last year at the Jones’s pot-luck I saw her put a slice in a pot to take home and- would you believe it- Annie told me she was trying to test it to find the ingredients! ‘Not on your nelly’ I told her! I had to steal it back before she could find out.”

Kon just sighs like he has heard all of this before, but Tim is fascinated by the old lady beef. Who knew Margeret from bingo would stoop so low.

Ma bustles about the kitchen, pulling on a flowery apron and bossing about Kon, who takes his job as sous-chef very professionally. When Kon pulls on his own apron, Tim is simultaneously delighted and horrified to see the words “Kiss the clone” staring back at him in swirly pink font. “Hey Rob, can you tie up the back for me?” Tim nods and complies, hoping that Ma doesn’t notice his hands shaking a little bit.

Ma sets Kon to work making the dough, kneading and mixing the ingredients to her exact specifications. To his mild annoyance, Tim’s only job is to sit and memorize the ingredients, which he does with due diligence. Neither Ma or Kon will let him help, citing his injuries as the reasoning. Cowards. Just because he is banned from every kitchen in the manor doesn’t mean he can’t cook. There is a silver lining, though, and that is that Kon has rolled up the sleeves of his red checkered shirt- helpfully emphasising his muscles as they contract to knead the dough.

Tim is dangerously close to swooning. Despite himself, he places his hand on his cheek and leans into it, watching. It’s only when a wrinkled hand taps him on the shoulder that he snaps out of his reverie.

“Admiring, huh?” Ma has a knowing smile that Tim does not appreciate whatsoever. He also doesn’t appreciate the implications of her statement, despite the fact she just caught him ogling Kon like a piece of meat.

“No I.. no. What. Why would you- No.”

“No?” Ma giggles.

Tim huffs. “No. I was simply watching the process. It’s important to note the process of pie-making, not just the ingredients, you know.”

“Of course. And ogling your boyfriend is just an optional extra I suppose?”

Tim chokes, flicking his gaze over to Kon, desperate to see if he heard that. Thankfully for Tim, Kon is facing away towards the pie and humming some country song under his breath- blissfully unaware. Tim breathes a sigh of relief and turns to Ma- who has a shit-eating grin on her face. “He is not- we are not together.”

Ma looks genuinely caught off guard by this. “Oh. I could have sworn-”

“You could have swore wrong.” Tim spits out, embarrassment and fear turning his tone hostile. He sighs and gives Ma an apologetic look. She smiles carefully, clearly aware of what he is trying to say. “Don’t worry, dearie. I won’t tell him.”

Tim wants to protest more (‘Wait tell him what?’) but Ma gets up to go and assist Kon with the pie. Tim contents himself to watching the proceedings and trying to keep his heart-rate close to normal. He fails miserably on the second score, but Kon is nice enough not to mention it. Ma whacks Kon on the head with a wooden spoon multiple times when he gets the recipe wrong. Tim finds this hilarious. Kon, decidedly, does not.

When the pie is ready for the oven, Kon takes Tim out to the porch and they sit and watch the sunset with cool apple cider. Tim and Kon are still only 17, so technically they shouldn’t touch a drop of alcohol for another few years, but they also shouldn’t be crime-fighting vigilantes, so Tim thinks it evens out. The Kansas sunset is so different to the one he has back in Gotham. In Gotham, the sunset has to reach through the smog and acidic smoke that surrounds the city. By the time it reaches them it’s a blood red. Not exactly relaxing.

Here in Kansas, however, the sun paints the sky a hundred different shades of pink and orange. It’s like a painting. Tim takes some photos with his camera, but none of them come out quite right. They never seem to be able to properly capture the beauty of the moment. Oh well. He takes a few of Kon when he isn’t looking, and they come out pretty damn good, so Tim takes it as a win.

The Kent’s farm stretches out for a couple of miles ahead of them- all dusty roads and corn fields. There is a white picket fence that circles the main property, and a withered old oak tree that stands sentry by the front entrance. The frayed rope swing hanging from it’s highest boughs tells the story of a happy childhood. Tim catches Kon looking at it a couple of times, presumably wishing he could have had the same childhood as his dad. Or just a childhood to begin with. When that happens, Tim squeezes Kon’s hand even tighter, mentally sending out a pulse of ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m sorry’.

When the pie comes out the oven, it smells heavenly, and tastes even better, but Tim thinks he might be a bit biased. Not that he really minds.

…

On Wednesday, Tim’s bones start to feel decidedly less squishy, but he is still on bed rest, much to his chagrin. He follows Kon out to the barn and watches as he throws hay bales from one corner to the other. He’s not entirely sure what the use of this practice is, but he gets to watch Kon being all strong and macho again, so he isn’t complaining.

After an hour or so, Kon takes a break, sinking into a camp-chair next to him. “Farm work is not for the weak.”

“You literally have superstrength.”

“Your point?”

“They’re haybales. You could just throw them with your TTK. It would be so easy.”

Kon stares at him like he’s the Mona Lisa; eyes wide and awe-filled. “I never thought of that before!”

“I figured.” Tim deadpans, leaning into Kon’s space with a smirk. “Besides, what’s the point of moving the bales from one side of the barn to the other?”

“We have to do it at least once a week.” Kon announces very seriously. “That way the hay doesn’t go stale.”

Tim looks at him. Kon looks back. “Konner. What the fuck.”

“What!?”

“Hay can’t go stale… it’s hay.”

“Yeah, well, I guess a city-slicker like you would think that, wouldn’t you.” Kon defends, puffing up his chest like a pissed off rooster. It’s ridiculously cute, and Tim would be swooning over it if it wasn’t for the fact that he needs to prove himself right. “Look, I need you to google this. I am quite literally begging you.”

“There’s no point! I’ve been doing this for years. I know it’s real.”

“please.”

Kon sighs and takes out his phone. It’s at least 5 years old, covered in the scratches and broken glass that come from their profession, and Kon’s general ungainliness. Tim has tried to give him a new one a hundred times, but Kon insists it’s fine. It hurts Tim’s soul. Kon types for a moment, before going still, slack-jawed.

“oh my fucking god.”

Tim can’t help it, he starts giggling uncontrollably. “Oh, Kon.”

“For all this time?!”

Pa Kent strolls into the barn, and Kon turns on him. “Have you been making me move hay for years for no reason?”

“Ah. You finally figured it out.”

Kon screeches in indignation. Tim’s ribs hurt from how hard he’s laughing. “Actually,” He interjects “I figured it out.”

Pa shakes his head. “You Gotham types and your knowledge. You know, Bruce was the one who told Clark. I had him convinced for nearly 30 years. It was devastating.”

“Why?” Kon pleads, voice cracking. Pa just sighs and shakes his head. “You Kryptonian boys have far too much energy. This was a great way of giving you something to do without you, like, accidentally creating property damage.”

Tim nods. “Makes perfect sense.”

“Betrayal!” Kon bemoans, falling to the ground at Tim’s feet and getting straw in his hair. “How could you do this to me!”

Tim cradles his face in both hands, ignoring the way Kon’s skin warms his fingers. “I am sorry. It had to be done.” He sighs dramatically and shakes his head, while Kon slaps his hand to his heart as though he’s been stabbed.

“That’s enough fooling around, boys.” Pa decides. “I need help with my tractor. She’s got something loose, and she’s rattlin’ like a skeleton in a stampede.”

Kon sits up, sighing. “I wish I could help you, Pa, but you know I have no clue about tractors.”

“That’s okay!” Tim interjects. “I reckon I could fix her up.”

“No.” Kon says, at the same time as Pa says “Why thank you.”

“No, Tim, you can’t! You’re meant to be healing up nice and proper, not fixin’ up tractors.”

“It’s fine! I fixed Redwing while I had Pneumonia. This’ll be easy in comparison. At least I’ll know which of the four floating bolts is the real one.”

Tim gets on a rolling plank and slides underneath the tractor (that is apparently named Betty, and at least 20 years old.) He fiddles around for at least 10 minutes, before finding a loose bolt near the exhaust, which likely would have been creating the rattling. He sticks his hand out, and Kon hands him a wrench, which he uses to twist the bolt back into place. He then slides back out and smiles at Pa. “All good!” He announces. “She just needed a quick tighten. She should be good to go, but if the rattling keeps going, get me to have a look at her again.”

“Thanks, son.”

Tim turns to look at Kon, planning to ask him what he wants to do before dinner, but Kon isn’t looking at him. In fact, Kon is looking quite intensely at the spot where his t-shirt has ridden up during his work to reveal the lower half of his stomach. Tim flushes, because he’s aware how many ugly scars he has on his body, especially his impromptu splenectomy scar, which cuts a jagged line along his navel. It can’t be pretty to look at, and Kon is probably distracted with just how gross it looks. Tim pulls down his shirt, pulling a slightly red Kon out of his trance.

“You good?”

Kon gulps, and Tim’s eyes catch on the bob of his Adam’s apple. “Um, yeah. I’m fine.”

…

On Thursday, Kon decides that they should go flying.

Now, this is a pretty normal thing for Kon to do, because he can literally fly. So it’s the equivalent to going for a run. Tim, however, decidedly does not fly. Well, that’s not exactly true. He does fly, but only in a plane, or in Kon’s arms when he needs to be saved form a particularly vertical building. It’s not something he does for fun.

Or, well, it wasn’t before this. Now, when Kon is bundling him up tightly in all of his warmest sweaters and carrying him princess-style close to his chest, Tim considers maybe doing this more often. Kon takes off, rocketing them into the air, and Tim takes a moment to survey his surroundings. The bright yellow fields of Kansas fall away as they slip into the air, growing smaller and smaller until they are just a patchwork of different coloured yellow squares. Tim reckons it would make a nice blanket. When he wrenches his eyes back up, however, he finds himself face-to-face with the harsh line of Kon’s jaw, silhouetted against the light blue of the sky. He gulps, and goes back to looking at the ground.

Kon ferries them around for a while, taking Tim up into the clouds and letting him run his hands through the mist. It doesn’t feel like Tim thinks it should, much wetter and thicker than the marshmallow-fluff he had envisioned. Kon keeps a small TTK shield around them, to stop the wind blinding Tim, and to keep a reasonable amount of oxygen as they head further into the atmosphere. When they reach the point where they’re so high up that Tim can see the curvature of the earth, Kon stops. He keeps hold of Tim with one hand, tucking him into his side like a damsel in distress, and uses his other hand to spread out a picnic blanket in the sky. Tim presumes he’s holding it up with his TTK, because it lies just as flat as it would on the ground. Kon gently flies over and settles Tim down on the carpet, flat on his back. He hovers over him for a second, and Tim’s pupils involuntarily blow wide at the position, and his breath stutters a bit. Kon glides back and pulls a bunch of Tim’s favourite snacks from his bag, dumping them far less ceremoniously on the blanket.

Kon settles down next to him, and instantly pops a strawberry into his mouth, grinning like a madman. “How’s this for a picnic spot?”

Tim has to admit, it’s perfect. And impossible. But Tim has long since given up on caring about that. “We aren’t going to hit any satellites, are we?”

Kon hums around his strawberry, chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t… think so?”

“Wow. Reassuring.”

“I wouldn’t let you get hit!” Kon insists. “We might have to make an emergency evacuation, but that’s all.” God, why did Tim have to fall for this idiot. He sighs, and helps himself to a chocolate cookie, and a really sugary energy drink called ZipZop that the government tried to get banned a few months ago. It’s bright green and tastes like Nuclear waste, but Tim loves it for some reason. He blushes a little at the fact that Kon must have noticed this, then instantly stops when he realises he’s blushing over a drink called ZipZop.

Get it together Tim.

They chat for a while, doing their best to get through the multitude of snacks that Kon brought up. After a while, Kon startles, as though remembering something. “Wait here!” He announces, and dives off the blanket suddenly, dropping like a stone back into the atmosphere. “Wait! Kon! What the fuck!” But he’s alone. On a blanket. In the sky. Fuck.

He peers over the edge, gripping hold of the blanket as though that will help him at all in the event that it falls. Shit shit shit shit shi-

A bright blue, red and black speck speeds towards him, and Tim breathes out a sigh of relief. This sigh abruptly stops when the speck disappears. Tim keeps peering over the edge; waiting for Kon to appear from behind a cloud or something but he doesn’t.

That is, until a pair of strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him into a warm embrace. Tim squeaks in a frankly embarrassing way and melts into the touch. Look, he’s touch starved, ok?

Kon just smiles and begins to ramble about forgetting some kind of candy that he wants Tim to try, while he manhandles Tim into his lap. “For warmth.” He whispers into Tim’s ear, causing him to shiver, which he takes as proof that Tim actually is cold. Not that Tim would ever tell him otherwise. He isn’t above using situations to his own gain.

“Okay, so. There’s this new Superboy themed candy that they’re trialling, and they sent me a set to try, and I wanted to see what you think.”

Tim burrows into Kon’s warmth, and nods. “Okay, sure. Why does it matter what I think, though?”

“Uh, because you’re my Tim. Duh.”

Tim blushes a frankly embarrassing shade of red. “Your Tim, eh?”

Now it’s Kon’s turn to blush. “Oh, um… I didn’t… I didn’t mean, I mean, obviously you’re your own person and I didn’t mean anything like that I just-”

Tim cuts off his embarrassed floundering before he can give himself a nosebleed trying to explain himself.

“How about I just try the candy?”

“Right. Yes. Good idea. Close your eyes.”

Tim isn’t sure this is strictly necessary to the candy-trying process, but he isn’t about to question it. After all, he is not a candymaker. For all he knows, blindfolds are a huge part of the process. Not that Kon uses a blindfold; he just covers Tim’s already shut eyes with his large, warm hands. He pokes at Tim’s lips gently with a finger, and Tim opens them obligingly. Kon slips a small, round candy into his mouth, and a burst of sugar and flavour coats his senses. It tastes like orange and coconut, and some kind of flower. It tastes like how Kon smells.

Kon removes his hand, and Tim opens his eyes. “How does it taste?” Kon asks, excited grin firmly in place. “Incredible!” Tim admits, though he’s not sure how biased he is on that score. Definitely a little bit biased.

They talk for a while about the logistics of creating the candy (It has the ‘S’ symbol on each individual candy) and eventually they shift until Kon is laying with his head on Tim’s lap. He’s saying something about the huge machines they use to make the candy, but Tim isn’t listening. He can’t. Because Kon’s hair is an inch from his fingers. And he wants to touch it. So. Fucking. Bad.

It's soft. It has to be, because the few times Tim has used his hair products, Tim has left with silky smooth hair. And Kon uses that stuff all the time. And its so curly, and smooth and he just wants to-

Before he can talk himself out of it, Tim reaches out and starts playing with the signature curl on Kon’s forehead. Kon huffs a slightly breathy laugh, which Tim takes as permission to continue his very single-minded mission. He delves his fingers into the thick curls of Kon’s hair, and it feel just like he imagined, if not even softer. It would be a wonderful moment, if it wasn’t for the fact that the second he scratches lightly against Kon’s scalp, their little bubble pops, and they both go plummeting towards the ground.

…

Tim is only airborne for a couple of seconds, before Kon’s strong arms are wrapping around his waist and clutching him to his chest, which allows Tim to watch as the blanket and picnic basket fall down into the earth.

When Tim turns to question Kon, he’s beet red.

Ah.

“A little distracted, were we?” Tim asks, poking Kon a little in the ribs. He can’t feel it, obviously, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Shut the fuck up.” Kon says, strained, and he buries his face in Tim’s hair, which Tim has… absolutely no feelings about. Nope none whatsoever. In fact, he practically has a lack of feelings. He is just that apathetic. He would win the Apathy contest. He would-

Kon is breathing in his hair. Fuck.

Okay, Tim lied, he has so many thoughts right now. But, to say even one of them would be to ruin his relationship with his best friend forever. So he stays quiet. He does, however, ask one more question. “Can we go down to the ground now?”

“Right. Yes. Of course.”

…

On Friday, Kon finally deems Tim fit enough to go to the lake.

They bundle into Kon’s old red truck, swimshort covered thighs burning from the hot leather seats. The truck sputters and coughs, but eventually starts, and then they’re off. A little mid-flight Superboy figurine hangs from the rearview mirror, swinging with every jolt of the truck on the pebbled road.

They’re silent most of the drive, just enjoying the feeling of the sun on their bare arms. This is something that Tim can only really have with Kon. At home, there’s no such thing as silence. Even when on a silent stake-out, there’s still incessant chattering in his comms, and when everyone is in a room together? Tim is surprised his eardrums haven’t shattered yet. So being comfortable in the silence is something that is pure and unique to his friendship with Kon. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Eventually, they make it to the water hole. It’s deep, crystalline blue water surrounded by pine trees and ferns. “No one else comes here.” Kon explains. “I don’t think they even know it exists. I only saw it one day when I was flying over, and got confused as to why there was a hole in the forest. Then bam, lake.” Kon slaps his hands together for emphasis, making Tim jump. “I haven’t… well, I haven’t actually brought anyone else here. It’s kinda my safe place.” Kon is scratching the back of his neck, and he’s clearly trying to be nonchalant, but failing miserably. Tim takes the hand that it currently buried in his curls, and pulls it into his own. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Kon beams.

They park, and run out of the truck, racing to the lake. Technically, Kon could use his superspeed, but there is the unspoken agreement that that’s cheating, so Tim ends up winning; cannonballing into the lake with a splash. The cold water is a shock to his system, causing his muscles to seize up and making it hard to swim. But before he even has time to panic, he’s being pulled against a warm body, cradled in burning arms. Kon pushes his wet hair out of his eyes, and gazes at him in a way that makes Tim’s whole body hot. Tim is so flustered that it takes him a moment to realise that Kon has taken his shirt off. This does not help with the flustering.

Kon frowns. “Are you okay? Your heartbeat is going like really fast.”

“Hmm, ah! Yeah, um. It’s just… I ran really fast… so…”

Wow, Timothy. Incredible deflection. 4 years of being trained by the best detective on earth and you can’t even come with a vague lie. Brilliant.

“Ah, of course.” Kon nods, as though this makes perfect sense. Then again, it might, because Kon knows frighteningly little about human biology.

Tim trails his fingers up wet skin, soft and slippery, before his hands fall to rest on Kon’s shoulders. He smirks up at Kon’s slightly wide eyes, and then pushes back against Kon’s chest with all his might, sending himself deeper into the lake, and splashing Kon in the process. Kon splutters “Hey! No fair!” Before he’s swimming right after him. Everything is right in the world.

They swim for about an hour before deciding they’re tired out, and choosing to instead just lay around on the rocks and bask in the heat of the afternoon. Tim sits up after a while, fully aware that unlike the literal half-god next to him, he is very capable of getting sunburn. In fact, Tim is so prone to it with his unhelpfully pasty skin that the summer tends to consist of him being boiled like a live lobster.

Now in the shade, Tim has the perfect view point to stare at Kon. Not creepily… Or, well, no, probably creepily. Tim forgets sometimes that his side-gig as a stalker is viewed as ‘weird’ and ‘invasive’ rather than loving and romantic. They just don’t get him. He’s so not like other girls.

Anyway, Kon-watching. It’s a frankly wonderful pastime. Especially sans-shirt. Tim does a lot of Kon-watching during mission debriefs, because his Domino mask helpfully conceals the direction of his eyes. Here, he almost feels naked without that layer of protection. His emotions are so much clearer like this.

Thankfully, Kon has his eyes shut against the blinding light of the sun, so Tim doesn’t have to worry about Kon watching Tim watching Kon. Small mercies. Instead, Tim gets to watch the gentle flutter of Kon’s eyelashes against his smooth, tan skin. The sun illuminates his freckles, and Tim can’t help his desire to catalogue them; to count and re-count. So that’s just what he does. Kon has one thousand, two hundred and fifty-six freckles on his face, four hundred and thirty-three on his chest and shoulders, Seventy two on his knees, and an unknown amount on his back and upper thighs. Tim’s personal favourite is one on his jaw which is shaped just like a heart. Tim really wants to bite it.

But he has to remember what he’s contending with here. A quick glance at Kon, then back down at Tim’s own wiry frame tells Tim more than he needs to know. He hasn’t got a chance. Kon is light, and bright and good. Tim is all brooding and darkness. He lives in the most toxic city in the world, where quite literally everyone and everything wants to kill you. And he loves it there. If that isn’t enough proof that he doesn’t deserve someone as inherently good as Kon, then nothing is.

Besides, why would Kon want him anyways?

…

Tim wakes up to his alarm on Saturday morning, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He has honestly never slept better. Somehow, the lingering scent of Kon on the covers made it infinitely easier to find the comfort of oblivion. As with every morning when his alarm goes off, he whacks it with the back of his hand, then curls straight back into the bed, rolling back into the warmth of his covers.

On this particular morning, however, he crashes into something warm instead of the usual blank space. If he was more alert, he would probably panic, reach for a weapon, but he doesn’t. There is something distinctly homely about this warmth, and Tim snuggles into it, earning himself a small chuckle and the scent of…Oranges?

Fuck.

When Tim’s mind finally throws of the throes of sleep, he rockets away from Kon, face burning.

 “Shit! Sorry, I was still asleep.” The excuse is weak, even to his own ears. Kon just keeps chuckling. “It’s fine,” he laughs. “I’m very much on your side, anyway.” 

“It’s your bed! You shouldn’t have to apologise…” 

“Tim, it’s as much your bed as it is mine this week. Chill.”

 Tim hadn’t realised that he was fiddling restlessly with his hem of Kon’s shirt until he told him to calm down, which somehow makes everything even worse. God why is he so embarrassing in the morning?

“And besides, it was… nice.” Kon says shyly. Tim’s brain stutters to a complete stop.

“Nice?”

“Yeah. You’re… warm.”

Well that’s just completely wrong. Tim is well-known for being practically cold-blooded. “Fucking lies. You’re the warm one.” 

“Wanna bet?” Kon quirks an eyebrow, and opens his arms again. And oh, Tim is never one to back down from a bet. He always wins. And so, perhaps slightly more violently and indignantly than necessary, he tucks himself back into Kon’s embrace. If he thinks about it for more than a second, it occurs to him this isn’t a very guys-being-bro’s thing to do. Then again, it’s not like they’re snuggling together for fun. This is all to prove a point. Totally. 

After a few minutes, Kon breaks the silence.

“Y’know, I think you’re right. I am the warmer one.”

This makes Tim giggle. An actual helpless giggle, which is a sound he didn’t think he could ever make, yet here he is. He would be mortified, if it didn’t make Kon’s lips twitch up at the corners.

“I told you so.”

“Somehow, you’re always right.”

“Somehow? I’m just better at everything, and you know it.”

“Everything? Even oh, I don’t know, flying?”

“Well, I’ve never tried it, but how hard can it be?” Tim says, instead of the far more reasonable ‘I can’t do it because I’m a human you stupidly hot fool.’

“You’d be surprised.”

“Oh, would I?”

Tim leans closer to Kon, the moment drawing him closer until their noses are almost touching. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and this feels dangerously close to flirting, but Kon doesn’t seem to mind, so he stays there, gazing into Kon’s unnaturally blue eyes, a small grin pulling at his lips.

“You know,” Kon mutters, his voice so quiet it sounds more like a whisper. “People think we’re dating.” 

Tim is vaguely aware of his face going bright red. “Now, why would they think that?”

 “I can think of many reasons, in fairness.” Kon says with a small grin.

“Pity it isn’t true.” Tim says, because his brain is unfortunately absent from this conversation, and therefore he is left to fend for himself, and ends up doing shit like this.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

Tim chokes a little. “Oh?”

“Well, we hold hands like, all the time. I’m the only person you let touch you when you’re hurt, even though I know less than the average person about human biology, and we share a bed in Mount Justice most of the time when you’re staying there.” 

“All fair points, but not enough to prove a hypothesis. There are completely no-homo-bro explanations for all of those things.” Tim can’t think of any, but that’s unimportant.

“Also, I find you, like ridiculously hot.”

Tim’s brain screeches to a complete halt. “You… I… You… what?” He manages to stammer out, wishing his brain would decide to re-enter the conversation.

Any moment now would be great.

“I said I find you ridiculously hot.” Kon says with a small smile.

Tim just stares at him, not a single thought going through his head. He vaguely feels like a computer on shut down. Completely useless, busted. Error no.404, logic not found.

Tim.exe has officially stopped working.

Presumably, because Tim has been staring at him for the last half a minute without speaking, Kon’s eyes widen.

“Wait, oh shit, I’m sorry. Did I misunderstand this? Shit, sorry, forget I said anything…”

He tries to pull away, but Tim grabs him before he can. Despite his super strength, Kon stills in his gentle grip as though Tim stopped him with an iron fist clad in kryptonite or something.

“Wait! Sorry I just… my brain fried a bit, I’m sorry.”

Understatement of the century.

Kon visibly relaxes.

“That’s fine, love, take your time.”

Tim’s heartbeat rockets at the term of endearment, and because his brain has clearly decided that these proceedings are beneath it, he acts on impulse.

He leans forward, and presses his lips against Kon’s, just like he has dreamed of doing for literal years. It is a short kiss, simple and sweet, but monumental nonetheless. He leans back, and takes in Kon’s face. He has a grin splitting from ear to ear, and his eyes are alight with happiness. “So I take it you like me back?” He quips. Tim rolls his eyes, fighting a smile, but doesn’t deny it. “Yes. I don’t know for how long, but yes.” For a second, Kon seems almost taken aback, like he was expecting a snarky comment, which is… yeah, that’s fair.

“Well, I know how long I’ve liked you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Do you remember our mission in Geneva?”

Tim’s mind spins. “Kon… that was the first mission we went on together!”

“What can I say, I believe in love at first sight.” He smiles. Love…?

“Is that why you bothered me so much during training!”

Kon just winks at him. “What can I say? I discovered you would get really hot and bossy when you were angry at me, so I figured if I just kept you perpetually angry at me, you would always be in bossy mode.” He hums, “That is, of course, before I learned just how cute friendly Tim is. Then I changed my tune.”

Tim, who tactfully decides to ignore the majority of that explanation for the safety of his heart, decides that irritation is deserved here. “Bitch.”

 “You love me, really.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” 

They grin at each other for a moment, before Tim’s mind decides to (Finally) re-enter the discussion, and he frowns down at Kon. “Wait. How did you know I liked you?” Tim is literally a detective. He should not be that obvious.

Now, though, it’s Kon’s turn to blush. “Um, well. You know yesterday? You kept looking at me, and your pulse would, like, skyrocket, and I figured that either you hated me, or… well, maybe liked me a little bit more than the average friend. I knew it couldn’t be exertion, because we’d been sat on the rock for ages so… yeah. And then, this morning, when you rolled into me and- I shit you not- sniffed me, I figured it probably wasn’t hate, and decided to just… I don’t know, go for it.”

To hide his increasingly red face, Tim tucks himself into the nook of Kon’s neck, but that’s somehow even more of an issue, because now he’s face-to-face with the freckle that he’s low-key obsessed with. And now he knows Kon won’t mind, so he just… kisses it. And Kon makes the most delightful noise: part exhale, part giggle, and so Tim just keeps going. He kisses every freckle in his top-20 list (yes, he kept a list. Don’t judge) before capturing Kon’s lips back in his own. This kiss is more intense, and Kon grabs his hips, pulling Tim on top of him. Before Tim can deepen the kiss, however, Kon breaks it, pulling back to rest their foreheads together for a moment. Tim takes the second to breathe, and admire just how good Kon looks after being well-and-truly kissed.

“Just, um, before we, ah, continue, I just wanna make sure we’re on the same page here.” He starts, and his voice is raspy.

“Of course, yeah, sure.”

“So, um. I would, like, love to be your boyfriend if that’s what you. Um. Would like.”

Tim grins at him, then gestures to their less-than-friendly position. “I thought this was just bros being guys.” He quips, earning a groan from Kon that is quickly stifled against his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure it’s no-homo, so long as we’re wearing socks.”

“We aren’t wearing socks.” Kon points out, still slightly muffled by Tim’s shoulder. Tim fake-gasps. “Well then I guess it’s full homo then!”

Kon looks up at him, eyes wide. “Really?”

Tim just grins, and slots their lips back together. “Yes, Kon, I want to be your full-homo boyfriend.”

Tim leans forward, and presses another small kiss to Kon’s lips, before his alarm goes off again, signalling for him to get out of bed. He sighs, and rolls off the bed to get breakfast.

“Why on god’s green earth do you have two alarms?”

“I never get up properly with the first.” Tim says, grinning, before looking back at Kon, who is propped up on one elbow, smiling at him. He holds out his hand and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Breakfast?”

Kon takes his hand, and smiles.

“You’re ridiculous.”

…

Their Sunday as officially appointed boyfriends goes pretty similarly to how it would have gone just as friends, but with the added benefit of Tim being able to kiss Kon whenever he wants. Ma catches them kissing on the porch and just smiles knowingly. She even winks at Tim. Fucking winks!

“If you boys are about done, I need someone to accompany me to bingo.”

“Can’t Pa go with you?” Kon groans, not letting go of his grip on Tim’s hips, despite Tim’s embarrassment at the situation.

“No. He’s at the market.”

“Well, you’re a strong independent woman. You can go on your own?” Kon tries. Ma just gives him a look. “I need someone to protect me from Margeret, and you know it. We’re leaving in 10 minutes.”

Kon sighs and drops his forehead onto Tim’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to the revealed skin there.

10 minutes later, they are dressed and ready to go; Kon starting up his truck. Ma slips into the back with Tim, who has to do a double take at the double-barrel shotgun clutched next to her pink purse. “In case Margeret gets too frisky” She whispers with a wink. Fuck, how crazy do these old ladies get?

The Smalltown Sunday bingo takes place in the village hall, about a mile from the Kent farm. Tim finds it hilarious to watch how Kon carefully styles and re-styles his hair in the truck mirror. “Do I need to be jealous of a bunch of octogenarians?”

Kon groans. “No, just scared. So scared.” He turns to Tim suddenly, and grabs him by the shoulders. “You can’t show weakness.”

“Um, right? I won’t?”

“They can smell fear.”

They enter the bingo hall, and Tim is instantly swarmed by hordes of old ladies coming to pinch his cheeks. Kon winces in sympathy, and mouths ‘fresh blood’.

“Now Conner, Darling,” An old lady with the name-tag ‘Meryl’ starts, “Who is this strapping young man? And why have you not brought him to meet us before?”

“Oh, um… this is my- This is my boyfriend. Timothy Drake-Wayne.”

The grandmothers coo appreciatively, but turn to Tim with barely concealed hatred in their eyes. “And how do we know that he’s good enough for our sweet boy Kon?” Gladys asks.

“What do you do for work, boy?” asks Winnifred.

“I am the CEO of Wayne Enterprises.” Tim says, wincing at how fancy that title sounds.

“Of course,” A voice from the back of the crowd rings out. “And I’m the empress of China.” The woman who was speaking walks forward, her nametag sends shivers down his spine. Now he gets why the shotgun was necessary. Margeret is a foul old woman, with a sneer permanently etched into her face- like she’s constantly smelling something awful.

“Wait, Margie! I think he’s bein’ truthful! I recognise him from one of them ‘teen magazines’ that my granddaughter always gets. She has quite the crush on him!” Meryl pokes Kon in the side, grinning. “You chose a good one, son.”

“Don’t I know it!” Ma chooses as her moment to interrupt. “This boy is so good at memorizing. I even taught him my Apple pie recipe.”

Gasps ripple around the room, and Tim can feel Margeret’s eyes like pinpricks in his skull. Tim has faced literal mass murders, but somehow Margeret is scarier. The rest of the old ladies pat him on the cheek and talk about having him round for tea as they bustle over to the bingo tables, but Margeret remains watching him, waiting.

Kon sidles over, and wraps his arm around Tim’s waist. “You did great.” He whispers lowly into Tim’s ear, making him shudder. “And Ma gave her seal of approval. None of them should hurt you.”

“Should? And what about Margeret?” Tim hisses, earning himself a wince from Kon. “Well, except Margeret. But no one is ever safe from Margeret.”

But (thankfully) before Margeret can reach them on her Zimmer frame, Bingo begins. It’s frankly terrifying to watch how competent these ladies are and how seriously they take it. Lots of them have multiple sheets, and colour-coded blotter pens. Tim thinks that if the whole league took saving the earth as seriously as these small-town ladies took bingo, they would have world peace in less than 24 hours.

Tim and Kon are relegated to kitchen duty, as they aren’t actually playing the game. Tim is the designated sweet-tea maker, while Kon is in charge of serving cakes and cookies. They work quickly and efficiently, with Tim working out that he can have one batch brewing while the other one is steeping, and still have time to dart out and fill up the ladies’ cups before her needs to be back in working again. According to Kon, he is ‘Terrifying’ and ‘taking this far too seriously’, but Tim is pretty sure he’s Gladys’s favourite now, so Kon is probably just jealous.

After an hour, the ladies take a break, chatting amongst themselves and making threats at whoever has the most numbers crossed off on their table. Tim is very proud to see that Ma Kent is doing very well. She’s beating Meredith from the next town over, at least, so she seems very proud of herself.

While Tim is working on pressing out some of the tea leaves, Kon sidles up behind him, and wraps his arms around Tim’s waist. He presses a kiss to the base of Tim’s neck, nipping at the tender skin there, and Tim does his best to suppress a shiver. “You can take a break, sweetheart.” Kon says in a low tone into the hollow of Tim’s ear. “They can survive a few minutes without sweet-tea.”

“Wait.” Tim says, twisting around to face Kon. “You’re just trying to distract me, so you’re still the ladies favourite!”

“No I’m…not?”

“You are!”  Tim accuses, finger pointed in Kon’s face.

“Is it working?” Kon asks, a hopeful grin on his face as he shifts one hand to cup Tim’s jaw, leaving the other on his waist.

Tim hums for a moment, leaning into the touch. “No.”

He pulls away, heading back to his now-steeped tea. It’s a good thing he did, instead of giving in like he wanted to and kissing Kon senseless, because Margeret chooses that moment to bang open the door to the kitchen.

“Hello boys.” She says, and Kon honest-to-God squeals. Tim rolls his eyes, but even he is on edge.

“I wanted to talk to Timothy here,” She announces, gesturing to him with withered hands. “I hear that you are the new recipient of Martha Kent’s apple pie recipe?”

Oh shit. Ok, Tim, you have been trained in a million different interrogation techniques, and you know how to withstand torture. You’ve got this.
“I am, yes.”

“Wonderful! You see, at last Thanksgiving, Martha promised me she would give me the recipe, but I think she forgot? Either way, it would be wonderful if you could give it to me now.” She pulls out a paper pad and pen, shoving it towards Tim.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He says, in the least sorry tone possible. “I’m not sure I remember it off of the top of my head.”

“Oh dear.” She responds, with equal amounts of vitriol.” That is a shame. You know, your memory of the recipe is one of the only reasons the other ladies here agreed to accept you. It would certainly be a shame for them to find out that you can’t remember it?”

Oh, she plays dirty.

“Oh, well. Now that you mention it, I think I do remember it. I’m just not sure if it can be spread to just anyone, you know.”

Two can play at this game, Margeret.

“Ah, no, of course!” Margeret smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She takes a step forward, right into Tim’s space, and eyes him up and down. “But I am, of course, the rightful owner of the recipe. After all, Martha and I were the dearest of friends back in our school years. And it was from my own mother that she learned the recipe. I simply want it back in the family.”

Tim glances at Kon. Is that true? Did Martha really steal the recipe from Margeret originally?

Kon enters the conversation, shoulders squared. “Ma may have taken it from your Ma, but her Ma stole it first. It was a Kent family recipe from the beginning.”

“But don’t you remember, it was old grandma Kent who stole it from my grandmother.”

“Who stole it from my grandmother.”

“Who stole it from my grandmother.”

“Who stole it from-”

“Alright!” Tim interrupts. “That’s quite enough! Clearly, both families have had it for a long time. Even so, I will not tell you, Margeret.” Margeret gasps, and clutches her chest. She begins to fall down, but Kon jut pulls her back up. “Nope, not this time Maggie. You already faked a heart attack at last year’s pot-luck, remember?”

“fuck.” Margeret spits, fuming.

“If you want the recipe, you’ll have to do a lot more than ask.” Tim decides.

“And what would you want me to do?”

Tim thinks for a moment. “I think that’s for you to figure out.” He grins, and grabs Kon’s hand,  heading out back into the main room. He sends Margeret a little salute. “Until next time, Maggie.”