alwaysroomforhope | Suite 138.

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Suite 138.

Suite 138 is large, airy and light. The far wall is entirely windows, opening out onto a balcony that overlooks the lake; the others are mostly white, punctuated with pictures and postcards. There's a series of photos blu-tacked up of a three-year-old girl with red hair and Steph's blue eyes, just below a large, slightly dog-eared poster of Superboy. (Tim might recognise that; in his time it's still hanging above Stephanie's bed.)

The couch is obviously where most of the living is done; it's rumpled and surrounded by pillows and throws, and the coffee table in front of it stacked high with books and movies and the odd dirty coffee cup. Steph's jacket is tossed halfheartedly over one of the armchairs. The kitchenette in the corner is nice and clean, although the shelf holds more half-empty liquor bottles than a sixteen-year-old can really be expected to own. (Steph blames Goldy.)

Although there are two bedrooms leading off the hall, only one of them appears to be in regular use. (That's the one with the door standing open, obviously Steph's -- unless her roommate wears Robin boots too, or leaves batarangs lying around.) And the only belongings scattered around the apartment clearly belong to Steph, although several of the ornaments and some of the books (Alchemical Principles?) don't really look like her style. The only underwear on the bathroom floor is hers, and the second toothbrush in the jug has gathered rather a lot of dust.

There's a cracked photo frame facedown on the floor, slightly under the bookshelf; apart from that and the scattered pillows and books, the place is relatively tidy. Steph wasn't expecting visitors.

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"I think Alvin's a bad influence on you, Tim." She grins at him. "So -- what now?"

That's the question. She can't keep Tim locked in her room -- whether she'd like to or not -- and she can't really spend time with Tim Drake, because everyone knows Stephanie Brown is Robin and questions would be asked that might endanger Tim.

Steph hasn't had to worry about secret identities for years. It's ... making her smile, a little, because it reminds her of home.

"For now? I hang out here. I can probably stay a day, maybe two, without anybody knowing, unless you have a roommate. If Oracle doesn't show up in that time, I suppose I can go about pretending to be Alvin until a solution presents itself; I can get my own room if I'm going to be here for very long."

It sounds like a decent plan to me, but maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to be around Steph for so long.

She leans on the back of the couch, thinking. "I do have a roommate, but he hasn't been around for almost a year. Goldy tends to barge in without knocking pretty often, and Ange and Mel and 'Kita, though.

"There's no need for you to get your own room, though. They won't say. Well -- I guess Goldy might, but she'd probably just be glad I wasn't --" She swallows whatever it was she was about to say. "Well, she'd insinuate things, but I'm sure we could handle that." She gives him a quick grin.

"Oracle will show. She's around a fair bit. I'll leave a note at Bar if you like."

"That'd be good, yeah. I appreciate it Steph."

I stretch and relax a little, trying to get comfortable. If I'm going to be staying here for a bit (well, maybe) I better get used to the place.

"So I take it your roommate isn't your boyfriend?" I pause, trying to be casual. "And the guy in that photograph over there is?"

Just a lucky guess?

Steph darts a sharp look at him. "Should've known you'd... Yes. That's Zuko."

Her tone is so flat it reveals nothing. Which in itself reveals plenty.

She picks the cracked picture frame up and tucks it into the bookshelf between a couple of Shakespeares, without looking at it.

"We lived together for a bit, but I moved back here."

My eyebrows shoot way up at that one, but...well, I do make an effort to lower them again, even if it's not working very well.

"Huh." Don't do it Tim. Don't be an ass. Remain blissfully silent on the subject. "So, this place cost you much?"

Topic changes are my specialty.

"I don't think I actually pay for it at all," Steph admits, coming over to sit crosslegged on the end of the couch. "I mean, I earn plenty on Security, but I think Mel not-secretly picks up my tab anyway."

She wrinkles her nose for a moment, and sighs in resignation. She owes Tim a straight answer, at least.

"Zuko dumped me a while ago. We're not -- together. But it's -- I'm dead, you know? He's not. You're not. So that's just -- how it has to be."

There's a lot I could say to that, but somehow, I doubt Steph wants to hear it. Whoever this asshole was, he hurt her pretty badly. So I sit silently for a few moments, and I wonder if maybe she wants to believe this, just to make it easier on herself.

Then again, I'm also wondering how I suddenly got tossed into this conversation like that, so there's a lot on my mind.

"If he left because he could only be with you here, then it's his loss. I'm just sorry he hurt you."

I'll try not to say any more on the subject. For her sake.

"So -- I guess that's the story." She's glad he's not making a big deal out of it; her glance is grateful. "Just so you know. I mean -- it's not -- Not even talking about Zuko, though, you -- you know what I'm saying, right? You have a me, at home. You don't need any -- complications like this."

She trusts Tim to understand, to pick up the implications; Tim's always been brilliant. And he's always understood.

"So ... want a drink?"

"It's really not my choice, is it?"

To be honest, I haven't been thinking about that. Because I know it would be weird and complicated and all sort of things, but at the same time...I just don't know what would happen. So I concentrate on changing the way things will happen, making the world this Steph knows...well, not exist. It's a lot to think about, so I don't need to spend time thinking about this. Us. Me and her.

But I'm not going to tell her something just to make it easier on her. Not if I don't honestly know.

"Sure, I'll take a drink. Whatever you've got."

She flashes a smile at him. "We've got everything. From Zesti to 51%. Age limits don't apply when you're dead ... I'd be nearly nineteen now, anyway, so. I'm guessing you don't want the alcohol. Zesti for all?"

"Sure," I reply, still a little weirded out to think of Steph as eighteen or nineteen. It doesn't show on the outside, since she's dead, but inside, I guess she really is a lot more mature now than the Steph I know.

She gives him an awkward smile, bringing glasses over. "Help yourself, obviously, to anything in the fridge or anything. I'll bring a couple extra blankets out -- you don't mind sleeping on the couch, right? I mean, I guess Ed wouldn't mind if I opened up his room for you, if you'd prefer?"

"No, no thanks," I reply, "I'll just sleep on the couch. I wouldn't feel right sleeping in another guy's room." Deciding to voice some of my questions, I turn around to face the kitchen area. "I guess you only really got into drinking when you came here, right?"

Not that I blame her or anything. People have gone down that path for less.

"Huh? -- oh." She looks at the lineup, and grimaces. "It's not -- I don't, well -- I mean, I'm not, like, an alcoholic or anything. I mean, I guess I sort of went that way for a while, but -- well, I started feeling too much like my mom. That was more than a year ago."

I nod, trying to make it clear that I'm not judging her for anything. "I can understand. After what happened to you...well, people have done worse because of less. I'm glad you stopped yourself before it went too far."

I take my eyes off the line-up of bottles, scanning around the place casually.

"If I'm staying a night or two, are there any friends or visitors I should know about? People who like to barge in, people I can trust or not trust? I guess your ex doesn't visit often, does he?"

I'm torn between wanting to never see him and wanting to break his arms and then beat him to death with them.

Steph shakes her head tightly at the last suggestion.

"Goldy's probably the only one who'll barge in. You'd probably like her, she's pretty awesome. I ... mmm. Everyone here knows I was Robin."

She frowns.

"People might put things together if you introduce yourself as Tim and hang around me a lot." She sits back, tucking her legs up under her, nervously. "Maybe you should -- just be Robin. I mean, if people -- connect Tim Drake and Steph-who-was-Robin. It could be. This place is usually safe, but -- we've all got enemies."

Fair enough, she has a good point. Once I get my hands on a costume, I can just be Robin. Until then, I guess it's Alvin Draper for me, sadly.

"Alright, but until then, I do have to play my part as Alvin. So I mean, if a lot of hitting on, come ons and flirting happens in the near future between me and you, I have a perfectly viable excuse."

Not that I would want one, because it's not like I WANT to flirt shamelessly with Steph and/or feel closer to her. No way.

"So you're Alvin. My good old buddy who took me to Lamaze classes and sleazes his way around through my life." Steph is laughing at him, ducking her head. "I think I can handle that..."

She hesitates.

"...if you think it's a good idea."

There's only a little bit of doubt in her voice, though. Whatever else or whenever else Tim is, he's still the Boy Wonder, and his suggestions are usually taken as gospel truth.

"Sounds like a good idea to me."

I'll admit it, I like the way she still pauses and asks me for my opinion. She's grown a lot from the Steph I know, but little things like that that remain always warm my heart to see, because it lets me see that she's still Steph, you know? She's the same girl I know and love.

"Well ... I'm sure not gonna argue." She grins at him.

"... I'm really glad you're here, Tim. Even if it's ... kind of weird. I really missed you."

I smile, a real smile, a kind smile. The kind of smile I'm used to giving Steph. Not this one, but...well, maybe someday.

"I'm glad I'm here too, Steph. You know me well enough to know I always want to be there when you need me. And I'm a bit late to the party, but I'm here now at least."

Steph's hard pressed not to bounce over and hug him. She just smiles, instead, and gets up awkwardly. "I'll go find you a towel and some blankets or something, in case it gets cold. Alvin, I can see the sleazy comment lining up in your head already, stop it."

"You know me, baby, you know me well." Which I then follow up with my very best (Or, Alvin's, anyways) wink, stretching out again and relaxing against the couch with an easy, almost devilish smile.

Maybe being Alvin won't be so bad.

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Suite 138.

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