A Brief Interlude of Domesticity
Tim blinked at the case file, unsuccessfully trying to keep the words from blurring. He blinked again and took a swig of gross, lukewarm coffee, trying to feel and comprehend anything. He glanced at his phone. 5:42 AM. Great. Tim groaned and let his head fall to the desk with a thunk. He jerked upright at the feeling of a blanket being draped over his shoulders. Tim blearily looked over his shoulder at Peter, who was draping his arms over Tim’s shoulders and clasping his hands in an awkward hug.
“Late night?” Tim’s voice was scratchy and rough.
Peter chuckled softly. “I thought that was my line. I was the one who got sleep, after all. After patrol I think you let me in and I kind of collapsed on your bed, only for me to wake up hours later and find that the spot next to me was still empty. And then I remembered stories from Duke and Steph about a Boy Wonder that refuses to sleep.”
“I don’t refuse to sleep,” Tim grumbled. “I just… forget to.”
“Well, here’s your reminder. Come on, Detective. Your case will still be there tomorrow.”
“Alright,” Tim conceded.
Peter was already slowly moving Tim’s office roller chair away from his desk, which Tim let happen. He was bloody tired. Peter easily scooped him up and carried Tim to the bedroom, where Tim found that Peter had already moved the sheets to the side. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Tim asked. “Absolutely spectacular.”
Peter grinned, gently setting Tim down on the bed before getting into the other side. “I could always stand to hear it again,” he teased.
“Good, ‘cause you are.”
Tim was out as soon as he finished his sentence.
Tim woke to the smell of tacos. Beautiful, wonderful tacos. He scrubbed at his crusty ass eyes and stumbled out of the room, the shock of the cold tile floor shaking him a little more awake. Not a ton, but enough that he was able to see a little more clearly. And what he saw was wonderful: Peter was at the stove, carefully shaking in a bit more cumin powder while stirring the mixture with a silicone spatula. Peter grinned at Tim and gestured to the food. “Lunch is almost ready, babe.”
“Lunch?”
“Yeah it’s 2 in the afternoon.”
“Fuck.”
“You got a full eight hours of rest; I'm proud of you.”
“Thanks,” Tim said dryly.
Peter gave him a shit-eating grin and turned off the stove, pulling a bag of tortillas out of the fridge. He got two out, put them on a plate and popped it in the microwave for a couple of seconds before taking them back out. Peter gestured for Tim to sit down at the bar area where he had already put down a small bowl of diced tomatoes, chopped lettuce, and sliced avocado. “You even got free sha vacadoo,” Tim gushed, pulling a chair out and sitting down.
Peter giggled and sat beside him, loading up his taco. Tim followed suit and took a bite, groaning appreciatively. He turned to Peter and rested his forehead on Peter’s shoulder, humming. “That good, huh?” Peter teased.
“Thank you for being in my life.”
“I love you too.”
“You wouldn’t have happened to have also solved the case while you were at it, did you?”
“Well…”
Tim’s mouth fell open. “No fucking way.”
Peter giggled, taking another bite. “I didn’t solve anything —I’m not a detective quite yet— but I was able to track down where those fibers found on the cadavers were from. I looked all over the city and was able to get samples from all of the carpet stores I could find. I was able to narrow it down to this one specific rug sample. Turns out there were only twenty or so of these rugs ever made, and the company kept meticulous records of all the people who had ever bought them. Of course, they refused a random guy in spandex —kevlar, now— to see said records, but I might have hacked their system and got a list anyways. Who knows if those people still have the rugs, but hopefully it should at least narrow it down somewhat, right?”
Tim pulled Peter in for a long, wonderful kiss. “You bet your sweet ass it does! Oh my god Peter you are fucking amazing.”
“So you’ve said,” Peter teased. “Finish your taco and we can get to work tracking down the names I was able to get.”
Tim scarfed the rest of it down, quickly rinsing his plate and putting it in the empty (?) dishwasher. “Did you run the dishwasher?”
“Yeah.”
Tim paused in the doorway, his mouth slightly agape. “You wonderful man. Oh my god! Holy fucking hell I love you.”
Tim pushed Peter against the pantry door and kissed him soundly, sucking on Peter’s bottom lip a little for good measure. Peter hummed appreciatively, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, detective.”
“The case will be there when we finish.”
“How many finishes are we talking here?”
“As many as we feel like.”
Peter’s grin was almost blinding as Tim dragged him back to bed.
They didn’t end their romping until 5, when they warmed up the leftovers and had dinner before heading out for patrol. The Upper East Side was Tim’s turf (since that’s where his apartment was), and as such, it was Peter’s turf as well. Though, one could argue the whole city was Peter’s turf, as he was beloved no matter where he went. Tim still wasn’t sure if that was somehow one of Peter’s abilities that he had failed to mention.
The two made their way through the city, web-slinging and grappling respectively. It was yet another quiet night, which was beginning to worry Tim considerably.
“It’s Gotham, since when is it ever quiet here?” Tim complained once again.
Tim could almost feel Peter’s eye roll. “You call ten muggings, an almost gang shootout, and a robbery for good measure quiet?”
“Yes! Something’s being planned, I can feel it!”
Peter went quiet, presumably to listen to whatever his spidey sense was telling him. After a moment, Tim asked, “Anything?”
“There’s a low buzz that’s slightly stronger than normal, and it seems to be getting stronger when I look towards the Diamond District.”
Tim blinked. “The Diamond District, really?”
“Yep.”
“So it’s a bunch of rich people plotting something. Think it might be the Court of Owls?”
“I have no fucking clue what that means.”
Tim blushed. It was somehow stupidly easy to forget that Peter hadn’t been here forever. “They’re this group that thinks they run Gotham. They’re made of old money and they have these assassins called Talons. Even just one is tough enough to hold their own against Batman for a solid fifteen minutes, and that’s saying something. A group of them could take down any one of us, no problem.”
“Good thing there’s two of us, huh?” Peter leaned into Tim, turning to give Tim what he assumed was a smile. Tim couldn’t really tell with the full face mask, but it was a good guess, so he went with it.
Tim smirked back. “They won’t know what hit them.”