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COLD for Mackenzie by GenX
He was wearing an old suit. He had originally planned attending in the darkest clothes he could find. A leather jacket, sans logo, and a long sleeved T-shirt. Black pants that weren't jeans, and it should have been enough. Ma wouldn't stand for that. She had made Jonathan dig through the attic and all the boxes. Conner had listened to all the stories as he helped. It was an abundance of cardboard boxes each marked with black permanent marker that told of the contents and year. He heard football stories. Clark had been a wonder on the field, and everything else for that matter. Conner had seen yearbooks, and ribbons, and trophies, until Jonathan had moved enough boxes to get at a wooden wardrobe. "You might be a bit smaller than Clark was," he commented, holding up a faded plastic bag. He moved it once in the air, and squinted at Conner. "I think it'll do." * He was wearing an old suit. The familiar red and green, the weight of it, seemed all too oppressive. 'Muscle memory,' he thought. Perched on the rooftop, he frowned and closed his eyes. He sat in the shadows, letting them drift across him, and hide him in their darkness. He did nothing to fight it, just let the sensation wash over him. Perhaps that was the part that hurt the most. The gloves barely granted any warmth. He should have been upon another rooftop, but his father should have also been sound asleep beneath this one. Tim kept his head bowed, staring at the shingles for lack of anything else to do. The quiet sounds washed over him. Traffic was far too light by his house, nothing at all like the loud city sounds. He could still hear it, the shot over the phone, echoing in his ears. Tim jerked at the sound. He could see it now. In his memory, someone else was screaming. It sounded like someone else was dying. He stared at the stars without seeing them. He remembered the hallway. His breathing started to quicken as the scene replayed. His hands fisted. He sucked in a deep breath, one then another. In and out. Slowly. Tim closed his eyes. He did nothing else, just closed his eyes and concentrated on the moment. "Hey." Tim started, nearly loosing his balance on the rooftop. He recognized the voice and crossed his arms to bury his face in avoidance. * He was wearing an old suit. It still smelled faintly of mothballs. The sleeves were a bit short. Conner tugged at them during the ceremony. The stale sickly odor was still there. Conner wrinkled his nose, hoping no one else could tell in the open air. He looked about the crowd with trepidation. *He* was bound to be here somewhere. It didn't matter. Batman wasn't going to scare him away. The priest's words carried over the small area. He spoke of loss and family. He spoke of heaven and hell. He spoke of too short a time. He spoke of God's grace and God's mercy. He spoke all the words of every funeral, and it never seemed enough. The script never seemed to change, only the players. Everyone was dressed in black. Emotion displayed upon their face, and they looked exactly the same. * He was wearing an old suit. Since he was little he had always owned a suit. An elementary school graduation had been the first time he wore one. The bright shining faces of his parents are captured in his memory. They exist now in photographs, little bits of life, preserved forever but unable to continue on. He remembered his father knotting his tie. He remembered his mother, licking her thumb, and smoothing down his hair. There are albums of pictures and he stared at them constantly. There are pictures of the circus and they seem to mock him silently from their pages. Now, his hair was slicked back, with gel to hold it in place. To keep it orderly and in control as his life spiraled beyond recognition. He didn't listen to the words; his attention focused on the dark casket. Everyone was around to show their support. They come in droves and Tim expected them all. He recognized their faces, but couldn't see their expressions through the tears. * He wasn't wearing a suit. If he had known Gotham was going to be this cold, he would have brought a jacket. He touched down on the roof then waited, staring at his friend who now seemed engrossed in nothing at all. "Do you... um..." Conner paused, tilted his head once as if to fill in all the missing words. He didn't quite know where to go from here. "Yeah." Conner nodded to himself. Maybe this hadn't been his best idea. "You didn't call and they said you weren't picking up your phone and I thought... I didn't know what I thought." Tim lifted his head, studying his friend silently. Blue eyes looked him up and down, then deliberately turned back to study a point in the distance. Conner exhaled and made himself comfortable. It was going to be a long night. He tried to think of what words to say. Tim wasn't the first person to lose someone close. Yet, Conner doubted a story of commiseration would help matters. He didn't have parents to loose. So he sat, waiting and watching as goose bumps rose on his skin. "I'm cold." The sound was strangled and quiet and Conner turned. He paused, hesitating for a moment. "Do you want to go inside?" Conner offered softly. * He wasn't wearing a suit but he could feel the warmth all around him. He could feel the wall behind him, even with the comforter, and Conner pressed against him. His fingers clutched at the thin T-shirt as if to get more. He wasn't sure who started it. Didn't care at this moment. Distantly, he remembered walking to the kitchen, and the hesitation. Tim had turned away a bit too quickly, and Conner had been following a mite too close. They'd paused in the doorway unwilling to venture forward but Tim had taken a step in a different direction. He brought Conner with him and the line of friendship blurred, even if Tim had only wanted a momentary reprieve. It was too late to turn back, especially when the heat of Conner's skin was the only thing he wanted. At the moment, it was the only thing that mattered. The heat had been off in the house. The bone chilling cold had been a reflection of mood and theme, but Tim didn't care now. Now his skin was flush beneath Conner's touch and his body was warm. Conner's mouth was at his ear, whispering a word of caution. They shouldn't be doing this. They both agreed with the sentiment, but neither of them moved to stop. Clothes silently fell away as they made their way into another room. The dark didn't seem all that oppressive and the comforter trailed along behind them, but the clothes lay strewn about in their wake, only a memory and an afterthought. * He wasn't wearing a suit, not anything really, and opened his eyes at the first trace of light. He took a moment to acclimate himself, realizing he had slept half the night straight through. The comforter had fallen to the floor, but the warmth was still with him. Tim drew a shaky breath, looking over his still sleeping friend. He hadn't meant for it to go that far. He turned his head, finding the clock silently keeping time. Conner would probably kill him if he woke him up now. He knew he should get dressed, but instead Tim settled back against the pillow. He tugged the comforter over both of them, and tried to let his eyes close. His mind was already racing like it had been before. 'It's too cold to get up,' he rationalized to himself. Much too cold, but maybe in a little while, it wouldn't seem as bad. *fin*
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