Sparring

It still seemed odd for Dick to just sit there. It was just unnatural for him to sit still. But since the shooting, Dick's mobility was reduced to almost nothing. Most of the time, the most motion he made was limping and leaning heavily on a cane as he walked. And when he did, Tim could, through years of familiarity, see the pain written in every line in his body. He doubted many others could see it, but Dick was in agony whenever he walked. But he knew Dick hated being treated like a cripple, so he ignored it.

But Dick was still Dick, and so he fidgeted, played with the pictures on Tim's desk until Tim would almost be driven mad except that this was Dick, and the fidgeting was a sign that he was getting back to normal. And besides, he'd gotten used to Dick's constant motion and complete disregard for personal space. Mostly.

"What are you doing in Gotham?" he asked. Not that he minded seeing Dick, or saw him infrequently, but it was unusual for him to come during the week.

"Ah, there's a serial killer hitting Bludhaven and Gotham. Nothing major, but, you know, we have to share information. Probably going to be here about a week. On loan, you know."

"You here alone?"

"Nah, I'm paired up with a guy who's been on the force a couple of years. He asked to come along on this trip." Dick shrugged. "I guess he knows somebody who lives in Gotham."

"Not much of a surprise," Tim replied, idly correcting a paper. "Half of Gotham went to Bludhaven during No Man's Land."

"I suppose," Tim replied. "Hey, why don't you stay at my house? God knows we've got the room. Your partner can come too, if he doesn't have anywhere else to stay."

"Let me see if he does," Dick replied, and pulled out a cell phone. "Shouldn't you call Bernard?"

"I called him as soon as I knew you were in town," Tim smirked.

Dick dialed, and the phone on the other end rang. A ringing which was echoed in the hall. Dick pulled the phone back from his ear and looked at it oddly. Then he grabbed his cane and got up as awkwardly as he always did these days.

"Hello?" Dick heard on the phone and in person as he wrenched the door to Tim's office open to reveal his partner. They stared at each other for a second, and then hung up. "You know Professor Drake?" Dick's partner asked.

"You do?" Dick asked.

"Frank Nelson?" Tim said, slightly incredulous. "You're partnered with Dick? Talk about a small world."

"Yeah, we got partnered right before we left to come here. Wait. Did you say Dick?"

"Wow, you guys really haven't been partnered for long," Tim said, eyes dancing. "Did you take separate cars or what?"

"I took my bike," Dick said. "Since I knew I'd be stopping by to visit you and Steph."

"You and that bike…that sure brings back memories. Scary, scary memories of riding behind you." Tim grinned. "It's amazing that they still let you drive." Dick swatted at him, and he ducked with the ease of great experience and continued to Frank. "Dick's going to stay at my house. You should come too, if you don't already have someplace else to go."

"I was going to get a hotel," Frank started.

"Then it's settled, you guys are both staying at my place," Tim said decisively. "Frank, you'd better follow me in your car, since I know Dick's going to beat us home."

***

Tim pulled into the driveway, Frank's car close behind him. Dick's bike, of course, was already parked and riderless.

"Nice neighborhood," Frank commented, looking around at the display of wealthy-suburbia-in-the-city that was the neighborhood. "I didn't know the university paid this well though."

"They don't," Tim replied, bemused. "But the books have been selling well, and my investments have paid off, oh, a number of things."

"Do you have any kids, Professor Drake?" Frank asked.

"Tim, please. You aren't in my class any more."

"Tim." Frank corrected himself.

"No, I don't have any children. Though I certainly see Steph's kids enough. Bernard!" He said happily, seeing the blond man as he opened the door and going over to kiss him shortly. "This is Frank Nelson, Dick's partner. He was one of my students a few years back. Frank, Bernard Dowd, my husband." If Frank was surprised to find that Tim was gay, he didn't show it. "Is Dick in the kitchen?"

"Wolfing down food," Bernard confirmed. "He must be cooking for himself again."

"Yeah, he broke up with his girlfriend last week because he thought she was treating him like a cripple."

"Was she?"

"It's Dick," Time replied as if that explained everything, and perhaps it did to Bernard. Frank made a mental note to avoid anything that could even remotely be construed as treating Dick differently because of his leg.

***

"So are you guys brothers or something?" Frank asked, trying to figure it out. "I mean, you act like you are."

"In a sense," Tim replied. "Nothing official or anything, but I sure feel like he's my older brother." He quickly changed the subject before he'd have to elaborate. "Hey Dick, want to see what we've done with the gym?"

"You did something with the gym since the last time I was here?" Dick asked, interested.

"You haven't been here in a while, remember?" Tim reminded him. "There was Steph's last week, and the funeral the week before that, and the restaurant before that."

"Oh yeah," Dick said, sadness passing over his face as he remembered Alfred's funeral. "So what'd you do to the gym?"

"See for yourself," Tim said, opening the door to the largest room in the house. "The ceiling wasn't high enough for a trapeze, and that's always been more your thing, and obviously I don't have as good of equipment as he does, but it's pretty decent if I may say so myself."

"Wow." Dick was impressed. "Are you going to use all of this, though? You aren't in that business anymore."

"I can still keep in shape though," Tim replied. "And even if I didn't, Steph's kids will."

"With supervision, I hope." Dick cast a longing look over the uneven bars but knew he couldn't land without screaming anymore, and that kind of took the fun out of it.

"Are you kidding? They'll be watched like hawks. Do you know how pissed Steph would be if I got one of her kids hurt?"

"That would be a sight to see," Dick said. "Hey, wanna spar? I think the kid needs to be shown how it's done."

"Needs to be shown you getting knocked on your out-of-shape ass, you mean." Tim's eyes gleamed. "You know where your equipment is. I have to get changed." He disappeared into another room. Dick went into what looked like a locker room. A locker room in a house? Frank was learning more about his partner and his former professor than he'd ever imagined.

"Armed or unarmed?" Dick shouted.

"How about unarmed to start with, and then we can switch to armed when we really want to give Frank a show?" Tim shouted back, reentering the gym in a sleeveless shirt and shorts. Bernard tugged Frank over to sit where they could see the mat well as Dick came back into the room, attired similarly to Tim but with a knee brace.

"Fine with me," Dick replied, stretching in a way that made the observers wince. Tim's stretches were only a smidge shallower. Finally they finished, having stretched thoroughly, and Dick actually put his cane down. Frank was surprised; Dick didn't seem like the type to use a cane if he didn't absolutely need one. On the mat, the combatants dropped into what Frank recognized as ready positions. Beside him, Bernard grinned.

"I love it when they do this," he explained. "There's nothing else like it."

Tim and Dick wore identical blank expressions, all traces of their former teasing wiped clean. They circled for a second, and then closed in a flurry of blows too fast to follow which ended with Tim in an upright pin until he threw Dick onto the mat. Dick flipped upright without any delay and they closed again, this time separating by flipping in opposite directions, Dick landing on only his good leg. It seemed to be the only concession he was making to the pain he must be in every time he used his leg. Without speaking a word, they each headed to the edge of the mat and grabbed a weapon, Tim something which lengthened to become a staff and Dick his cane which split into two escrima sticks at a practiced twist from his hands. And then they were at it again, as evenly matched with weapons as they were unarmed. They kept sparring, sweat flying off of them, until Dick forgot and made a landing on his bad leg. Before the cry of agony he couldn't prevent from coming out of his mouth had stopped, Tim had dropped the staff and was catching him as he fell.

"Shit," Dick cursed, involuntary tears in his eyes. "I hate this."

"It isn't your fault," Tim said.

"It's not that," Dick replied. "I could stand it if it had happened in the line of duty, or if it had been personal, or if the bastards had been caught, but it was just a random drive-by shooting and the perps got off scot-free. And I can't do anything, anymore."

"It was the only way they could have ever put you out of commission," Tim teased. "Besides, it just brings you down to the level of the rest of us."

"If that's the level of the rest of us, you must have amazingly high standards," Frank interjected, still stunned by their fight. He wished he could have seen Dick fight before he'd gotten kneecapped.

Dick offered a weak smile. "I don't go that far very often anymore. It takes too long to recover from to be worth it. But I teach some of the officers, so if you want to learn you can join the classes."

"Definitely," Frank said enthusiastically.