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Bruce receives the invitation in the mail on April 4th. The envelope is generic, and the handwriting of the address isn't one he recognizes so he opens it with the same casualness he does every other piece of fan mail that manages to make it to the manor-that is to say, he tears the end off and pulls the actual contents out without much care.
It isn't that he doesn't appreciate the fan mail. Even Batman has bad days, and it helps, sometimes, to have these little reminders that he does good both in and outside the cowl. But. He has a reputation to maintain, and Brucie is careless. If it warrants a response or is less than savory, if it needs to enter the public eye for one reason or another, then he needs to be consistent.
Alfred, when he notices Bruce's rough handling of the envelope, nails him with a piercing, disappointed look but Bruce doesn't even notice. He's too busy trying to remember how to breathe to notice Alfred's reproach.
Because lying on the table is an invitation to Tim Drake and Danny Nightengale's Semi-public Reception to celebrate their recent marriage.
The date is a month out still, but the picture on the elegant card shows the two young men in complimentary tuxes, arm in arm, standing under a chuppah. They look lost in each other as they seem to be stepping away from the chuppah, the broken glass at their feet and the ring on the young man Bruce doesn't recognize catch the light perfectly and Bruce knows, with all his heart, that the actual ceremony is already over.
And he wasn't invited.
He knew Tim was dating, knew it was serious, knew it started sometime before he was retrieved from his jaunt through time, but he had assumed that Tim would tell him about it when he was ready. That he would get to meet the young man that seemed to make Tim so happy-and that thought burns as Bruce studies his son's face in the picture. Because Tim is happy in it. Tim is happy in a way Bruce has never seen before. He practically glows with it as he looks at the other man-Danny-as though he is the center of Tim's world.
Danny looks back at him the exact same way.
Bruce tears his eyes from the picture to search for any sign his son was involved in sending the invitation. He flips it over, finding nothing on the front, and the blank white back of the card seems to mock him.
He still isn't breathing.
#
Bruce used to think that he would never fail another child as badly as he did Jason.
When he brought Cassandra into his home, he made a vow to himself that he wouldn't repeat the same mistakes that drove Jason into the arms of that damn clown. No more, he had whispered to himself as he looked in the bathroom mirror, no more dead children.
It didn't occur to him at the time that Tim wasn't included in that.
Tim wasn't his son. Jack was awake and involved-so involved, in fact, that he had threatened Bruce with a gun to get his son out of the line of fire. Tim had someone looking out for him, loving him. He didn't need (or even seem to want) Bruce as his father. Bruce was his boss, had been his boss since the kid was eleven years old. It didn't occur to him, at the time, how incredibly wrong that was.
Even now, sitting in the cave and staring at the impersonal invitation to the same event his son has invited choice donors for the MWF and investors for WE to, he shies away from the whole truth of it.
Tim was eleven and had been following Batman nearly nightly for years. When he first showed up on Wayne Manor's doorstep, Bruce had been drunk and, honestly, suicidal. He still doesn't remember a lot from those first few months. He remembers Tim though. He remembers an optimistic, stubborn kid who was too smart for his own good and far, far too willing to sacrifice himself for other people.
It isn't that he never saw the warning signs, Bruce is able to admit at least this to himself. He knew the kid was too small, too lean. He saw the way Tim shied away from physical touch but melted into it when anyone (Dick) forced the issue. Knew Jack and Janet were seldom home and saw the way Tim always returned withdrawn, spoke quieter than normal, walked gingerly, held himself stiffly after the pair left again. He saw the way Tim was an expert at hiding winces, how he slid into the mask like it wasn't the only one he wore, how he deflected any questions about his home.
Bruce knew the signs, saw them all in Tim, and ignored them anyway.
He still hears the echoes of his own flimsy justifications. Tim has parents, he told himself. He is just autistic. He isn't asking for help. He refuses when we ask him to stay.
He chooses to go back to them.
That one in particular makes Bruce want to retch. Makes him want to reach back in time and take himself by the throat and throttle younger Bruce. No child chooses to be abused. No one chooses to be abused.
And make no mistake, as Bruce goes over every moment the two of them shared, he knows with certainty that the boy's parents were abusing him.
He doesn't understand why he never-never did anything about it.
Except.
He does know.
He knows intimately why he never did anything. It's the same reason he didn't discipline Damian after the grenade in the cave. The same reason he ignored the verbal jabs and the booby traps. The same reason he never corrected the bigotry Damian learned from Ra's, at least when it was only Tim it was hurting.
Bruce Wayne, even after all these years, is a coward.
Bruce finally pulls his eyes from the invitation and looks up at the batcomputer. He doesn't want to look into this, is the thing. He already knows what he is going to find. Knows, with absolute certainty, what truth the evidence is going to show when he sorts through all of it.
Dick would tell him not to martyr himself. Jason would call it self-harm (his second son has been going to therapy for years now and Bruce still doesn't have the strength to join him).
Bruce. Well. Bruce knows what this is, really, but he calls it an investigation anyway.
#
The truth of it, when he peels back all the layers of justifications and lies and smoke and denials, the truth is, Bruce is a fundamentally broken person.
He knows this.
Has known this since the day he decided to part ways with the League of Assassins.
He is broken. He is selfish. He thought, maybe, he had shaken the cruel parts of himself off when he denied Ra's al Ghul's training. He chose to be kind, to believe in the goodness of the people around him. He kept choosing it, despite his paranoia and anger and fear. Despite everything, he chose to be kind.
And then his son died.
His son died in his arms and though he didn't acknowledge it-still hasn't, really-something in Bruce died with him.
Bruce's hands shake as he watches himself throw an untrained eleven-year-old to the ground and handle him rough enough that the sick crack of the boy's arm can be heard through the cameras. Tim doesn't scream. He just. Tim just lays there for a second while Bruce, around twenty years his senior, stands easily and ignores the obvious injury.
"That's enough for today," past Bruce says gruffly, and then sweeps away, leaving Tim to sit up on his own and grit his teeth as he inspects his wrist.
Present-Bruce wants to throw up. He wants to reach through the screen and take past-Bruce by the front of the suit and shake him. He wants to scream at himself. Go help him!
He knows he won't. He knows it's futile to get worked up about things that have already long since passed. He is doing it anyway.
He watches as years of this go speeding by on his computer. He compiles it automatically, though he isn't quite sure why he is doing it. Harsh words and bruises and dismissals and and and. He watches all of it fly by. A year or two in things get easier to watch, there are more moments of ease, more grunts of approval, more care, more attention paid to the boy that saved his life in more ways than he can count.
Past-Bruce still doesn't see him, though. He pays attention, sure, he scolds and worries and pushes and he even reaches out, on occasion. Yet still, he sends the boy home to an empty house and distant parents every time.
And this is just footage from the cave. Bruce hasn't been brave enough to dig into the cowl footage from the months after Jason died. He prefers the comfort of the spotty memory. He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't. Has known for years that it is long past time to dig into those months-into that year-to find out what he did during those long blanks. He hasn't yet.
He doesn't want to.
So he keeps watching Tim in the Batcave through the years. Watches him pull Bruce kicking and screaming from the depths of his depression and darkness. Bruce knows that he will never see himself apologize or thank the boy, but he still wishes he could hope for it. He tries desperately to convince himself he is waiting for it.
It says something about him, Bruce thinks, that he wants to believe the best of himself even as he knows the worst is true.
It says something else that he can't do it.
#
Bruce isn't sure how long he spends in the cave, watching as a boy he loves-and is just now realizing he never knew-grow up.
The Tim Drake that features in so many of his memories only appears when Bruce is in the cave with him. The boy practically transforms when Bruce walks in or out. His spine straightens, his eyes sharpen, his whole body tenses when Batman strides in and Bruce can feel the obvious conclusion crawling up his throat like bile. He clenches his jaw against it, refuses to let it spill. Swallows it, swallows it, swallows it, until it starts filling his lungs too.
The sound of voices reaches Bruce's ears before it can pop and he clenches his jaw harder, willing himself to be silent until whoever has come to find him has left.
He hasn't even confronted his actions alone; he certainly doesn't want to share them yet.
Dick and Damian round the corner of the steps and Bruce clicks out of the old security footage and onto an old cold case that Tim solved almost a year ago. He never actually looked at it, at the time. He isn't really looking at it now either.
"Oh, hey B!" Dick greets. "Alfie said you came down here really early this morning, I kind of figured you would be out already."
Bruce looks at the time and is startled but unsurprised when it reads ten thirty. He is in the records from Tim's fifth year as Robin already.
"Are you alright, Father?" Damian has grown so much since he first appeared in Bruce's life. At seventeen, he has grown into Bruce's height even as he has kept his mother's more slender build. The overall effect makes him look remarkably like his grandfather.
Bruce grunts in lieu of trying to force words other than the ones trapped behind his teeth out.
"Oh, is that the Stratford case?" Dick asks as he approaches the desk. "It's been a while since we looked at that one, did you get new information?"
He puts his elbow on Bruce's shoulder casually as you please, but there is a tension in his voice that means he has picked up on the same thing Damian has and is worried about Bruce.
Instead of answering, he pulls up Tim's final write up for the case that explains how he figured it out and what he did with the information, if he could do anything. Bruce isn't actually seeing the words of the report, having caught sight of the date.
Tim didn't solve this a year ago, he solved it six years ago.
"Oh," Dick's voice goes high pitched. "That's really impressive, I didn't realize Tim had solved it."
Damian doesn't say anything at the mention of Tim. He never really made up with Bruce's second youngest (though Bruce is starting to think he might not have the right to call Tim that anymore, if he ever did in the first place). They just. Stopped talking to each other one day. Bruce hadn't even really noticed until Red Hood responded to a question Damian posed to Red Robin. Or. That Batman had assumed was posed to Red Robin, since Damian had only addressed 'Red'.
Over the next few weeks, he watched to see how his two youngest avoided each other. Not a hard feat considering Tim had been moved out for a long time (was he ever truly moved in? Bruce doesn't know anymore) and Damian had finally admitted he didn't actually want to take over at WE.
Yet still, when they were in the same room at any point, they were careful not to acknowledge each other unless it was required. Tim, especially, seemed to just skip over the fact that his younger brother was present. At the time, Bruce had been too glad to not hear the constant fighting to really say anything or investigate further. Now, he isn't so sure he should have let it go that easily.
Bruce grunts far too late after Dick's comment for it to be appropriate, but Dick doesn't call him on it. Instead, he straightens up and asks, "Why are you looking at it?"
Bruce. Doesn't know how to answer that. He doesn't have an excuse ready. He should. He always has an excuse ready. He is Batman, he doesn't flounder like this.
He hums, clicks over to some active cases trying to find Tim's most recent reports.
Before he can, Dick gasps and swoops down to grab something off the desk from in front of the keyboard. Too late, Bruce remembers the invitation to Tim’s wedding reception.
"What's this?!" Dick sounds like he is caught just as much off guard about it as Bruce was and something in him withers.
"What?" Damian finally joins them at the desk, half of his Robin suit on.
"Timmy got married?" Dick's voice breaks at the end of the question and Bruce knows that if he turns to look, there will be tears in his eldest’s eyes.
He doesn't turn to look.
He doesn't answer either.
"Bruce," Dick says as he hands the impersonal invitation to Damian for him to look at. "Bruce-"
Bruce shakes his head.
"Ah," Damian says, then tuts. "I don't know why you are both surprised. I'm honestly more surprised Drake is bothering with a Reception at all."
The older two turn slowly to look at Damian, who meets their gazes with a raised eyebrow. "Did you really expect to be invited?"
"What?" Bruce is glad Dick asks, because he isn't sure he could get his mouth to move if tried.
Damian tuts again and says, "Drake has not deigned to speak with us directly for two years now. He told us about it before he left, do you honestly not remember?"
Bruce is frightened to realize he doesn't. Based on the way Damian's brow furrows, he reads the same answer on both of their faces.
"What do you mean, Dami?"
"When I announced that I would be pursuing higher education in order to gain Veterinary credentials," Damian says, shifting slightly under their combined stares. Bruce squashes the wave of pride he still gets every time Damian shows physical signs of his emotions. "He said congratulations along with the rest of you, then announced that, since he now knew for sure he would be able to keep his position, he would no longer be reaching out to the three of us."
Dick makes a choking noise that Bruce knows goes right alongside his tears.
Bruce, well, Bruce is simply numb.
#
"I'm keeping Wayne Enterprises," the Tim on the cave security footage says. He stands more confidently than in any of the footage Bruce has just spent hours watching. His shoulders are back, his posture loose, his chin up and eyes bright. He looks healthier, too. He looks brighter. Happier. More grown up.
He looks like a stranger.
"Maybe it isn't technically my place, since I'm not family in anything but legality-" Bruce doesn't let the wounded noise out of his mouth, but it wouldn't have mattered if he did. Dick's whimper is loud enough for both of them. "-but you gave it to me. You trusted me to run it, and then you didn't take it back. So. I'm keeping it. But I can't keep reaching out to you without you reaching back."
Bruce holds his breath, waits for either of them to respond to Tim in any way. Watches his son's face as the only thing that greets him is silence.
"Cool," his face doesn't change, like he was expecting this reaction. It's the resignation of it that kills Bruce, that forces the huff of breath from his chest. "Well, can't say I didn't try."
He turns, still in the business casual he must have worn straight from the office. He pauses just as he reaches the stairs to the manor, turning to look directly at the camera Bruce is watching. "When you get a clue, Bruce, if you get a clue... If I'm happy? Don't call. I'm getting therapy, you know? And. It's really been helpful. You should try it."
He smiles sadly at the camera. "You were.... You were my dad, Bruce. But." The smile falls. "I wasn't your son. I was a punching bag, at worst, and an employee at best. Goodbye, Bruce."
Tim doesn't look back again as he climbs the stairs.
#
For the first time in, well, a while, Tim isn't uncomfortable in a Gala setting.
His husband- and Jesus is he still not used to calling Danny that; he hopes he never gets used to it-is by his side. The only thing that can come between them tonight is their daughter, who is having far too much fun unionizing the other children present to worry about her "shmoopy old men". She turned seven this year, shortly before he and Danny got married. She is wearing her flower girl dress, the flouncy black and green one they had let her pick out specially for her birthday, and on her head is the flower crown she and Cass made special to match it.
This is the third party they have had for their wedding so far, and hopefully the last before they go on their honeymoon. Though, Tim wouldn't be surprised if Danny's old rogues pull something when they go to drop Maia off with her grandpa in the Far Frozen.
The first was, of course, the actual wedding. It was small-four people each (not counting Maia)-but it was, by far, his favorite. Val, Sam, and Tucker came for Danny, and Jazz walked him down the aisle. Tim had Kon, Bart, and Cassie there, and Cass to give him away. It was, well, it was everything he had wanted. It was perfect. The pictures (courtesy of a surprisingly spry Bubbe Ida, who also helped plan the whole thing) were incredible. The one they put on the invitations to the High Society Reception wasn't even his favorite.
No, his favorite was the one they took shortly after the actual ceremony was done. Danny was already free of the jacket of his bespoke suit, with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up and an inexplicable pink spot on it that matched the color of the frosting on the cake exactly. It had only been ten minutes. They hadn't even cut the cake yet. Tim stood next to him, hunched over in laughter, joy bright and bubbling even in the still image. He was still fully dressed, unlike Danny. And of course, perched on Danny's shoulders, head high and chin upturned as though she belonged there with everyone else below her, was Maia.
Kon had made the fatal mistake of calling her a princess only a few moments before-a mistake he makes at least twice a day. Her answering "your balls will only survive the day because papa asked me not to kick you during the wedding" had everyone near falling over with laughter. It isn't the memory that makes it Tim's favorite, though, it's the softness in Danny's face as he watches Tim laugh.
Even now, four years into therapy, he still has days when he can hardly believe anyone would choose him, let alone the incredible, handsome, kind man that has. He hoards every time he gets to see that specific combination of softness, awe, and love on Danny's face, though he hadn't managed to capture it on film before. Bubbe Ida had timed her shot perfectly.
The second party was bigger. Neither of them wanted to have that many people at their real ceremony, but they didn't want to offend anyone either, so a second party was planned. Still smaller, especially compared to this third one, but a lot bigger than the ceremony.
It was the friends and family event, with Alfred and Duke and Steph and Jason, some of Danny's old classmates, and a good number of heroes, ex-villains, and antiheroes. That was the real reception, meant for having fun and goofing around with the people they cared about. Tim is honestly a little surprised no one brought Dick or Bruce as plus ones, though he probably shouldn't be.
It doesn't hurt to see them anymore. Not really. The grief will always be there, the hurt and the sadness and the love all mixed up in his chest with the memory of the last time he tried to speak to them. On bad days, it's almost all he can do to breathe around it. Those days are rarer now than they once were.
It's been almost two years since he spoke to them, less since he spoke to Batman and Nightwing, but not by much. More since he spoke to Damian, though that doesn't really feel like loss the way Dick and Bruce do.
Most of the people in their lives know why Tim doesn't talk to them anymore, and those that don't know the why still respect the decision. It makes sense that they wouldn't disregard that at something so important.
This third party, Tim had actually invited them to. He kind of didn't expect them to come, truthfully. And it's. Easier. Then he thought it would be. To not look for them in the crowd. To not think about them at all, really. Danny squeezes his hand every so often and for as much as Maia likes to flit here and there and everywhere as she terrorizes and charms in equal measures, she stays close enough to always be in easy sight of her dads. There isn’t any room for ghosts of the people he once loved between the half-ghosts he still does.
Tim is making idle small talk with one of the less repulsive WE investors when Maia slides into the conversation, literally, with a strange look on her face. There isn't fear or anger in her aura as there usually is when she interrupts Tim or Danny's conversations like this, but Tim scoops her up easily anyway. She is getting too tall for him to hold comfortably for very long, but he holds her now, taps her wrinkled nose with his finger, and says, "what's got you moving so fast, sweetheart?"
She looks around them, bites her lip, then leans in close to his ear to say, "Mr. Weirdo is here!"
Mr. Weirdo is what she calls Bruce, having decided he didn't deserve a real name if he wasn't going to be nice to her papa at age four. Tim's smile doesn't dim even a little as he presses an over-dramatic kiss to the girl's forehead. "Do you feel unsafe?"
He isn't like his parents. If she says someone is unsafe, then they are unsafe and they or his family need to be removed from the premises post haste.
Maia hums as she thinks on it.
Tim trusts her judgement. She is only seven, yes, but she is the best judge of character he has ever known. If she decides she doesn't want Bruce near her, then Tim will discreetly ask the man to leave. That's that.
"No," she finally says slowly, like she is tasting the word on its way out of her mouth. "He seems. Sad. Not unsafe."
Tim nods, unsurprised. If he had to guess, the man only realized how thoroughly Tim has cut him out of his life when the invitation for this reception went out. He has a little more faith in Dick, at least for the younger to have noticed the change, though whether he had realized it wasn't temporary is an entirely different discussion.
"He is probably going to want to talk to me, do you want to take Daddy and run around for a few while I talk to him?" Danny's hand squeezes Tim's arm gently, just enough for Tim to know that his husband isn't happy with the suggestion. When Tim turns to raise an eyebrow at him, though, he has a rueful, bitter grin on his face.
"I want to be there for you, if you need me, but if you want to and feel like you can do it alone then I won't argue."
Tim doesn't quite sag with relief, but he knows his aura has to be giving the same effect. "Or you can go to your Uncle Tucker and keep him company for a few. It's up to you," he tells their daughter.
Maia studies the pair of them for a moment before wiggling a little to be let down. Tim obliges her easily. She smooths her dress down once she has both feet on the floor. "I am going to go find Bubbe Ida,” she pronounces regally.
Tim leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, then waits until Danny has done the same to let her shoulder go. "Don't cause too much trouble, Starlight," Danny says.
Maia smiles winsomely at them before flouncing off. Tim turns back to the investor and says, "My apologies, it seems there is someone she wants us to go talk to. It was good to catch up with you!"
It wasn't, but it isn't like Tim can actually say that.
"Thank you for coming," Danny contributes. "We appreciate the well wishes and your consideration."
The Investor waves them off and Danny pulls Tim towards an unoccupied stretch of wall. It only takes a few steps to get there, and when they do Danny turns to look at Tim. "Are you sure you want to talk to him?"
His worry is a balm, but Tim finds he doesn't really need it. He nods, brings Danny's hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to it while he figures out how to word his response. "Yeah," he says eventually, "It's... Maia said he was here, and it barely phased me. I'm still. I'm happy, you know? With or without him. He won't change that."
Danny searches his face for a long moment before his own softens and he pulls Tim into a quick, chaste kiss. "Then let's find Mr. Weirdo, yeah?"
Tim snorts quietly and links their elbows together as he turns to survey the room.
He actually sees Dick first. The older man is chatting with Barbara amicably. Were it not for the tension in his shoulders and the tinge of sadness in his aura, Tim wouldn't be able to tell anything was off. Tim debates going to them first, but he doesn't get the chance to decide before he spots Bruce headed directly towards them.
Years ago, every time he saw Bruce hit like a punch to the gut. The grief and anger so raw and powerful that it was hard to breathe through.
Today, he sees the man he once called his dad and feels... practically nothing. He doesn't hate the man, can't, even after everything Bruce put him through. He doesn't love him anymore either, though. There will always be longing in his chest for what could have (probably even should have) been, but the man he mourns is not and never was the man he longs for. The version of Bruce he mourns isn't one he ever had the chance to meet.
The man who approaches them is not a Bruce he feels anything towards anymore.
"Tim," Bruce says once he is close enough. "I-" he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he seems to deflate a little. "You look happy," he finally says.
"I am," Tim says easily. He can tell Bruce is hoping for more, but he doesn't feel the need to fill this silence between them. There are only a few feet separating them, but the distance feels like miles.
"Good," Bruce says eventually. "I... I'm glad. I-"
Tim raises an eyebrow as Bruce's voice stalls. The man looks. Well. He looks just as put together as Brucie Wayne ever has been, but beneath the glamorous mask, Tim can see how upset he is.
A year ago, he probably would have been glad to see it.
"Congratulations," he finally says. His hands twitch like he wants to reach out to Tim, but he doesn't. He doesn't, and Tim sighs.
"Thank you," he says evenly. "Was that all?"
He doesn't know if he wants that to be all or not.
Bruce takes a deep breath. "I am. I'm glad," he says quietly. "That you are happy."
"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," Danny says.
Tim didn't think he had hopes that could be disappointed anymore. When it came to Bruce, at least. He is only mildly upset to find that wasn't true.
Tim isn't sure what is showing on his face, but whatever it is makes Bruce's eyes widen. He doesn't stop from reaching out this time, taking Tim's hand in his and drawing it just a little closer to himself. "I'm sorry," he says.
Tim wonders how much it hurt him to say that.
"I. I'm sorry," he doesn't meet Tim's eyes, instead inspecting the way his hand dwarfs Tim's smaller one.
"Just, do me one last favor, Bruce," Tim says.
"Anything."
"Treat your sons better," he says. "Go to therapy and learn to be better for them."
Bruce seems to wilt, just a little. "I suppose you won't want me to reach out even if I do, would you?"
A year ago, that probably would have had Tim crumbling. Now, Tim just squeezes his hand a little sadly and leans more firmly into his quiet husband. "I'm happy, B." He turns his head just enough to kiss Danny's cheek and doesn't say another word.
It was mostly a bluff, when he said it on his way out of the cave for the last time. If I'm happy, don’t call he had said. It was mostly anger that made him say it. Bitterness. It had been an attempt to make it feel like the long silence was his choice from then on.
It hadn't helped like he wanted it to at the time.
Bruce doesn't know all that though. And he never will, because this time Tim means it.
Bruce nods finally, heavy grief hidden almost perfectly except where it shows through his eyes. Tim doesn't have to explain what he means, Bruce already knew how this would end when he walked through the door.
He doesn't ask to pull Tim into a hug, nonverbally or otherwise, he just squeezes Tim's hand one last time before looking at Danny. "Take care of him," Bruce says.
Danny softens almost imperceptibly. "Better than you ever did," he says quietly.
Bruce nods and Tim resists the urge to roll his eyes as the man that could have been his father turns and leaves.
Danny wraps his arms around Tim, who only gives in to the urge to pinch the man's sides once Bruce is out of earshot. "Did you have to respond with that?"
Danny grins at him. "Would you have preferred something else? I have quite the mountain of things I have wanted to say to that ass pretty much since I met you, Polaris. You know that was actually really restrained considering."
Tim pinches him again before wrapping his own arms around his husband. "You could have just nodded."
"And miss the opportunity to rub salt in his wounds?"
"It would have been nice of you."
Danny presses a kiss to his forehead, "Sweetheart, you are the light of my life, and you may forgive him for what he put you through but I won't."
Tim smiles softly at Danny. He fell in love with the other man for his conviction and sense of fairness, and it still astounds him that they both apply to things about Tim. "I don't forgive him," Tim says. "I'm just done being angry with him. I'm happy, Danny. He doesn't get to be part of that."
It's selfish, maybe, to not let him back in. Tim knows that even a year ago he would have been tempted to do the opposite. Tim leans into his husband and presses another kiss to his lips.
He can afford to be a little selfish.