goodfellow | for Thomas

for Thomas

When Robin woke, his fingers immediately went to his neck. Not only was the blood gone, but there was no wound. He wondered for a moment if he was dead... but no, he felt too shitty to be dead, he decided. Even if it was mostly non-physical.

He registered vaguely that he was in Thomas' bed and didn't care, just rolled over onto his stomach, put the pillow over his head, and groaned.

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Thomas was in the living room, trying to drink away the memories of what had happened. It wasn't working, but he kept trying anyway.

He heard Robin stir, heard the groan, and slowly rose to his feet. He walked to the bedroom door and just looked in at the mound of blanket and pillow that concealed the puck. "You're awake," he commented neutrally. "Good."

Robin very nearly ignored him, but in the end he couldn't resist sliding the pillow aside to peek at Thomas.

"Why am I alive?" were the first words out of his mouth.

Thomas looked at him for a minute. "Because I didn't let you die," he answered finally, gripping the doorframe.

Robin rolled over onto his back.

"That's awfully non-specific," he said. "Did you take me to a healer?"

"I don't know any." And he hadn't had time to check the yellow pages.

"You can stay as long as you want," he added, and turned to go back to his whiskey.

Robin had a feeling that he wasn't getting any answers on this subject, at least not easily.

"I don't want to stay," he muttered, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I want to go home and drink myself into oblivion. After all, no one trying to kill me anymore, is there?"

He didn't look at Thomas.

"Is Harry okay?"

"He was last time I saw him. Though he may try to kill you," Thomas answered wryly. Once Harry found out what Thomas had done to save Robin, it was a possibility.

He hesitated, then turned back to look at Robin. "I'll call you a cab," he said quietly.

Robin was relieved that Thomas didn't argue. He was afraid he might ask him about Babylon. It was bad enough, that he was there for the confrontation with Seraglio - he didn't want to tell him the rest.

"How long was I out?" he asked. "Not days, I hope... fuck, I have a meeting with an investor tomorrow morning. I mean, assuming it's still Monday."

Thomas blinked. "...It's Thursday. You've been gone for four days," he replied, swallowing. Robin thought only a day had passed? He stood a little straighter, because maybe Robin hadn't meant to desert him with no word, after all.

Robin shot to his feet. "Four days? What the..."

But Thomas had said 'gone', not 'out.'

Willy.

Robin let out a stream of curses in various languages and slammed the pillow down onto the bed.

Thomas ignored the cursing, slumping against the doorframe a little. "I tried to find you. Harry finally figured out that you were in the Nevernever. We were about to cross over and look for you, when...well, timing is everything, I guess." He took a shaky breath and folded his arms over his chest.

"I fucking hate fairies," Robin spat. Then he looked at Thomas. "You were trying to find me.... you were worried." He didn't apologize though, because it wasn't his fault. "Yeah, I guess timing is everything." He frowned. "Though, Zeus's balls, Thomas, you and Harry and your goddamn hero complexes. You could have gotten killed."

Thomas snorted. Worried was an understatement. "You went out for air and disappeared without a word. I couldn't get ahold of you and someone was trying to kill you, of course I was worried."

He shrugged and took a few steps closer, doing his best not to limp. "You nearly were killed. Would have been, if we hadn't been there." He swallowed hard.

Robin slumped back down onto the bed.

"Yeah, well, I've lived a long life."

Seraglio. Fuck. He'd liked her. And she was... what, possibly a descendent of the woman he'd...

His shoulders slumped.

If Thomas trusted himself enough to go near Robin in his current state, he'd smack him right about now. "What the fuck?" he asked in a low, angry voice. "I thought your sense of self-preservation was stronger than that." Though he couldn't help but think about how Robin had tried to trade his own life for his and Harry's. "Were you really going to let her kill you?" Because throwing your sword on the ground was pretty definitive.

"Let probably isn't the best word," said Robin. He had planned to fight. He'd just been kind of reserved about his chances.

He rose then, and walked right past Thomas, to the now-familiar bar. He decided he wanted to be drunk now and not after he could take a cab back to his place.

Thomas inhaled sharply as Robin walked past him, as the smell of him hit Thomas, as his eyes flashed a hungry silver. He stayed where he was for a minute, until he could get himself under control again, and then followed Robin out, keeping a safe distance between them. "Thank you. For trying to keep Harry and I out of it. Don't fucking ever do it again," he commented, wandering over to pick up the bottle and glass that he'd been nursing from the coffee table.

Robin ignored him, and picked up a bottle of scotch and a glass (not a shot glass, a glass), filled it generously, and took a generous drink from it.

"It wasn't your fight."

"Bullshit." Thomas drained his glass and refilled it, setting the bottle down. "I made it my fight when you moved in."

Robin drank.

"That reminds me, tell Harry I'm going to pay him."

"I'll tell him." It would be the first thing Thomas told him, so he'd be sure to get the message before he tried to commit fratricide.

He hesitated, then asked in a quiet voice, "Still want me to call a cab?"

"Not yet," said Robin. "I haven't been home in a while, I'm not sure about the state of my liquor cabinet."

He drank.

Thomas relaxed a little at that. "All right." He sank onto the couch and sipped his drink. "You really didn't know how long you'd been gone?"

"No." Robin scowled. "Willy must have been fucking with time. I wonder how she got her hooks into him... tricked him into promising a favor I'll bet. Or hell, maybe I fucked his girlfriend." That was usually a safe bet, too.

He drank.

The drinking didn't concern Thomas. he knew how much the puck could put away, and hell, he wouldn't mind being drunk right now himself. Too bad the whiskey didn't seem to agree with the sentiment. It may as well have been water, for all the good it was doing. Still, he kept drinking, ever-hopeful.

Monday. robin had thought it was Monday. So he'd been gone a day by his own reckoning. he considered not asking, not sure he wanted to hear the answer, but in the end he had to know. "Did you plan to come back?"

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