Cuckoo

by TwinEnigma

Disclaimer: I do this for fun and skills building, not profit. Also I'm apparently incapable of resisting a good crossover prompt.

Warnings: Spoilers for Doctor Who, YJ: Invasion, etc. Originally done as a fill on YJAM, crossposting because I'd already admitted it was me and why the hell not?

Central City

December 24, 8:00 PM

The house he stands in front of is a quaint two-level affair with a front yard that looks both played in frequently and well-tended. The front door is a bright, cheery fire-engine red and has one of those old-fashioned polished brass knockers; it's shined to a high finish and looks almost gold in the lamplight. The windows are decorated and, through them, he can make out a decorated tree and blinking lights.

Robin isn't sure if he should be here.

Wally is his best friend, an honor that he has never bestowed lightly, and yet, it still feels awkward to be here. In some ways, it's because a part of him still blames Wally for what happened all those years ago. Even though he knows it's unfair of him and feels guilty for even thinking it, there's still this ugly little part of him which he still calls little, normal human Dick Grayson that believes if Wally had never asked, then all this would have never happened and he could have been happy as a human. He could have lived the rest of a natural human life, never knowing the true scope of the tragedy he'd endured, and that would have been so much easier than this existence he now endures.

But Robin knows the truth: there is no way Wally could have known that asking such a simple, stupid question would change everything forever. There is no way he could have possibly anticipated that his best friend was really not human when even Dick himself hadn't known until it was too late. The complex disguise technology Robin's people used was designed to be functionally flawless even to its own users. How could he possibly blame Wally for failing to see through it?

Though he'd like to pretend that it's just the guilt gnawing at him that keeps him at a distance, the other reason for his distance is far more selfish.

His eyes, a glacial blue, track the figure of a white-haired old man in a mustard-yellow sweater on the other side of the window.

Robin freezes in place, his hand halted only a hair's breadth from the door, and looks away. Had it really been so long already?

He drops his hand, taking a step back. He shouldn't have come. It isn't fair to Wally for him to show up like this, much less to himself. At least if he'd never come here, he would still be able to pretend.

But it's too late: the door opens with a soft click, revealing the old man in the sweater. At first, it seems like he has no idea who Robin is, a fact for which he is secretly, guiltily grateful, but then the old man smiles warmly and says, "Hello, Rob."

And though seeing him this old aches, he finds himself answering: "Hello, Wally."

They sit now in Wally's study, opposite each other. A tray of cookies and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate sit on the coffee table separating them. Silence stretches between them like a chasm, bearing down with all the weight of guilt and years long gone.

Robin tries not to squirm in his seat under the pressure.

Wally, on the other hand, looks perfectly at peace, even comfortable.

"It's been a long time," Wally says, at last.

Robin reaches forward and picks up one of the mugs of cocoa and then nods, slowly. "It certainly has."

Forty-seven years, nine days, fifteen hours, twenty-two minutes and forty-three seconds, but who's counting?

"What are you going by these days? Last I recall, it was," Wally pauses, recalling, "Damian – Damian Wayne, wasn't it?"

Robin gives a light confirming hum as he sips his cocoa. He hasn't used the identity since he buried it in that empty box next to his other discarded lives. It had been one of the longer lasting ones, too, and he'd had a special affection for that particular face. Lowering the mug, he licks his lips and gives the answer his old friend has been waiting for: "It's McGinnis now."

Wally nods absently, mulling it over a bit. "McGinnis, huh? It suits you."

There's no way that Wally hasn't heard the name. As fringe of polite society as the Wayne family had become, they'd tracked the scandal of succession through the net for weeks. Still, Robin appreciates this little charade of ignorance on the part of his friend. It's just such a perfectly Wally thing to do and, for a moment, it is like no time has passed at all.

"So, how are you, Rob? How've you been?" Wally asks.

"I'm fine, really. I keep busy."

It's not a lie, not really, but it's not quite the truth either. If anything, Robin's not fine and just being here is only another solid reminder of how not fine he is. He sips the cocoa hurriedly and clears his throat. "So how's Arte-?"

"Linda," Wally interrupts mildly.

Robin shrugs. She can hide behind a new identity and dye her hair all she likes: to him, she will always be Artemis. And he's the last person in the universe who would judge her for it, too, with the way he sheds faces.

"She's fine - can still drop a man at ten yards with a teacup," Wally adds, "Not that we do much of that sort of thing anymore."

The not since we retired remains unsaid – he hasn't been Kid Flash, much less The Flash, for a long, long time.

"And Bruce, how is he?" Wally's gaze doesn't seem to shift, even when he asks, and there's something so eerie and knowing about it.

Robin shrugs, stirring the cocoa, and rolls his eyes as he says: "Well, you know him... Too stubborn to die."

Wally shakes his head in amusement, trying to hide a smile, even though it was an old joke when their Young Justice team was first created.

"Look at you, Rob," Wally says suddenly, "I wish you'd have come by sooner. We've all missed you. I've missed you. And even M'gann and Conner stop by every once in a blue moon."

The guilt gnaws hungrily at Robin and he winces, shrinking back into the cushions. He can't tell him the main reason he'd stopped visiting. How could he? How does one tell their best friend that they can't bear to see them grow old and die, while they carry on through a life that will span millennia? How can he possibly explain that burden?

He doesn't want to hurt Wally.

So, instead, he avoids the subject entirely and says, "You know how Gotham is. Can't leave it alone for a minute without some nut in a costume causing trouble."

"Rob," Wally says with one of those weary sighs only a parent can manage. "Stop it. You know what I meant."

Robin shakes his head as he starts to stand and quickly and shakily puts down the mug. Cocoa sloshes onto the table. "I have to go. I'm sorry."

"I know you're scared of losing us," Wally states bluntly, freezing Robin in his tracks. The former speedster levels him a very serious glare and continues, "I know it's not easy for you to watch as we get old."

"It's the burden of a Time Lord," Robin says mechanically, trying to dry swallow the lump of emotions and tangled words caught in his throat. "You wouldn't understand."

"Robin, my twins had to be raised in a time bubble or they'd have died of old age before their eleventh birthday," Wally says flatly. "Remember?"

The color drains from Robin's face. He doesn't even feel his legs wobble and collapse under him until he's sinking into the chair's cushions.

Wally gets up, circles round the table and kneels down, but Robin doesn't look up at him until he feels the warm hand on his shoulder and sees his best friend smiling at him. "If I learned one thing from that mess, it's that we should enjoy every moment we have. And you, Mister high and mighty Time Lord, seem to need someone to remind you of that."

Robin snorts, a small wavering smile finding its way onto his lips.

"Now, come on, we've got a place set for you at the table," Wally says, standing.

"Wally," Robin hesitates, looking up at him, "You… set a place for me?"

Wally laughs easily. "Of course! We do it every year for you and Bruce, on the off chance you two decide to stop moping, come out of that cave and have a civilized Christmas dinner for once."

There's no name for the feeling that wells up in his chest, but it's so wonderful and painful that he's almost strangled with it and his eyes sting.

"Earth to Rob," Wally says, bopping him lightly on the head. "Hurry up or there'll be nothing left for us by the time we get there. The grandkids are voracious. I'm beginning to suspect they're part velociraptor."

Robin starts a little, blinks away the tears, and nods, standing. "Thanks, Wally. I needed that."

"What are best friends for?" the retired speedster asks, smiling, and opens the door to the hall. "Besides, none of this would be possible without you."

"Or you," Robin admits, thinking of Wally's long-ago fateful question, "But, indeed, you do seem to attract a disturbing amount of trouble, my friend."

The smells of dinner waft towards them, tantalizingly vibrant, and they walk, falling easily into pace with one another. Ahead of them, they can hear giggling and shouting and chairs scraping across the floor as everyone shuffles in. For a moment, everything is perfect and Robin wonders how he got to be this lucky.

And then:

"Wait a minute… Wally, did you seriously just call dinner with your family civilized a second ago?"

"Just keep your hands clear of the carnage and you probably won't lose anything important."