Chapter Text
Tim’s parents loved him. He knew they did. They left a lot, but as long as he was reasonably well behaved, they let him do what he wanted. That parenting attitude included letting Tim stop getting haircuts when he asked. At five years old, they told him what reversible changes he wanted to make to his body was his decision, although they appreciated him talking to them about it first. His mother had solemnly warned him that he might get teased at school and to let her know if that happened. She gave him an encouraging smile, though, which sent little fireworks of joy through his heart. His father just laughed and ruffled his hair, making a joke about how he’d have to get the hair ruffling in while it was still short.
As it turned out, when Tim was seven he did get teased. He didn’t want to bother his mother, but he told his teacher like he was supposed to. The teacher told him to ignore the boys teasing him and move on.
Tim could not ignore the boys, and the bullying got worse. At this point, Tim was old enough to not need a live-in nanny—just an overnight babysitting service and Mrs. Mac. There was no one around to notice him becoming more and more despondent. The boys would pull his hair and say he looked like a girl. Tim didn’t particularly mind that—he liked the girls better anyway—but the way they said it made it hurt. He asked his teacher again and again to do something, and again and again she did nothing.
One Friday night, on a particularly bad week, Tim looked at his hair in his bathroom mirror for a very long time. It was thick and a very dark brown, almost black, just like his father’s. It fell past his shoulders when down, though he usually kept it back in a tight ponytail. He liked it, loved it, long, but was it worth the agony of being teased about it? Tim contemplated taking his scissors and cutting it all off. It would be easier. It would hurt. He held his craft scissors in his hands and felt their edge. They were dull and most certainly wouldn’t make clean cuts. The only scissors that Tim could think of that would possibly be sharp enough were the sewing scissors in the family sewing kit his mother insisted on keeping. But Tim knew the rule about sewing scissors.
Tim sighed and left the bathroom to put his scissors back in his desk organizer. Any cuts he made would be messy and his parents were scheduled to fly in Saturday morning anyways. He could ask his mother for a professional cut then.
When Tim did ask his mother if he could get his hair cut, they were in the small library on the West side of Drake Manor. Golden rays of sunset streamed in through the large windows and perfectly accentuated her long blonde hair. Janet Drake was a business woman and archeologist. She had little time for impracticality, so she usually kept her hair up in a complex braided masterpiece. Today however, it fell in a simple three strand braid over her shoulder as she read him a chapter of Emma.
He’d stopped her before she could start a new chapter, and bit his lip as she gave him a long and appraising look. “Tim, sweetheart,” she said, getting out of her chair and crossing the room to where he sat on the window bench. She bent her knees and sat back on her designer heels, putting her at eye level with him. “Do you really want to cut your hair?” The look she gave him was so loving and worried that he broke in a second. He told her everything that was happening at school and let her scoop him into her arms and hold him tight. Her sweet lavender perfume calmed him, and he held on to her neck as his tears slowly came to a halt.
Eventually, she pulled back from their embrace and put her hands on his shoulders. Her grip was firm, but not too tight. “Timothy Jackson Drake,” she said in her business voice, “You are a wonder and your hair is amazing long. Your teacher should have done something about you being bullied and it will not continue. Thank you for telling me all this.”
She brushed a stray piece of hair away from his face and behind his ear. She stared into his eyes for a long moment, brow furrowed, as if she was searching for something. Whatever it was, Tim thought she found it. “Now,” she said authoritatively, “Go tell your father what you want for dinner and let me handle this.”
He gave her a shaky grin and a nod. This is why Tim loved his mother. He should have come to her sooner. He scrambled off the window bench to go find his dad. He had just made it to the door when she called after him “Tim!” and turned back to look at her. She stood silhouetted against the sun, face almost entirely in shadow, looking like a queen from a fairy tale. Tim wished he had the camera he’d gotten as a Channukah present so he could capture his mother looking so tall and strong. Instead, he tilted his head and waited for her to speak further. Janet’s face softened, but her tone remained stern. “And never cut your hair unless you want to.” Then, she grinned at him. Her smile was a little too wide, a little too sharp, a little too predatory. It wasn’t the kind of smile she ever showed in public. It was the kind of smile she hid under much prettier smiles that were just as powerful. But it was the smile that she and Tim shared whenever something was about to get particularly terrifying for someone who should have known better. Tim loved her for it. And he grinned right back.
Those bullies were not allowed to sit next to Tim when he returned to school on Monday. After all, Janet Drake wasn’t just called a dragon for her last name.