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TESS
When Tess meets Tim, it’s a moment straight out of a cheesy romance movie.
It’s too early in the morning and she’s grabbing a blessed venti medicine ball, or at least, the equivalent at this small hole-in-the-wall cafe in metropolitan Gotham.
If you were to ask her a couple years where she’d be living around now, she’d say a penthouse in Manhattan, but now that she has decided to not rely on her mother’s wealth for everything, she now lives in a modest apartment in the nicer part of Gotham. Well, as nice as Gotham can be.
The commute to New York is hell but damn is the rent worth it.
And yeah, sure, there’s a lot of murder and terrorism here, but seriously, the rent. She gets a spacious two bedroom, one bath here for the price of half a closet in Manhattan.
Anyways, she’s sipping on her glorious drink that coats her throat in the best way and steams up her vocal folds and also just tastes really good when she realizes she forgot her muffin at the counter. She turns around and, to her horror, spills the tea over tailored Armani.
And not hers.
“Oh God,” Tess whispers. “I am so sorry.” She automatically tries to dab at it with napkins but it’s completely futile and she’s just left staring in horror at the two thousand dollar mess she just made.
“Don’t worry about it,” the man in the Armani suit says. “I can just buy another one.”
Her eyes go wide and her head snaps up. His face looks vaguely familiar in a way she’s more used to seeing on the streets of Broadway than Gotham. Where does she know him from?
She doesn’t ask because she doesn’t to embarrass herself in case she should know him (and he must be someone big if he can afford a suit like that and not care that she just spilled bright orange tea all over it) and she also knows that asking who someone is is the worst way to make a first impression.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “I can pay for the dry cleaning.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says again. “I’ve got another suit in the car anyways.”
She blinks owlishly. “Oh.”
“But hey, let me buy you another drink,” he says.
“I don’t think that’s how this is supposed to work,” she says with a confused chuckle.
He grins. “Yeah, I know. I’d still like to get you a drink.”
Her face flushes. “I wouldn’t want to make you more late than I already have.”
“I’m in no rush,” he says. “Mind if I join you?”
And she should say no. She actually has somewhere to be this morning, an open call that she knows she has no chance with because it’s out of her typecast and with a director who has beef with her mom, but something in her is telling her that this is more important.
And it is.
Tess does her best to not talk business with Tim, knowing how ill-received her talking about her pathetic career in musical theater can be, and she’d rather not embarrass herself and empty out her dirty laundry on the first date.
Tim is also private about what he does for work but he’s apparently someone with authority by the way he talks about it. She knows how to read his type — that being directors, producers and investors — and she can tell that he’s one of the good ones.
Show business is cutthroat, barbaric, and oftentimes disgusting, but it doesn’t seem like Tim has been tainted by the toxicity of it all.
They somehow end up having an intense discussion about cheese that had somehow come from a conversation about how long they’ve been living in the area to knowing good restaurants to charcuterie boards to a cutthroat debate over brie and parmesan-cheddar.
Tim makes Tess laugh more than anyone has in a long time and the best part is, he doesn’t know who she is. There’s no connection to her mother, no gold-digging for potential clout or secondhand nepotism, and no expectation except her just being her.
When Tess gives Tim her number, he looks surprised, but he takes her number and says they should do this again. She tells him that it’s a date and his ears turn bright pink.
TIM
There’s something that gravitates Tim to Tess.
They’re kindred spirits, both crushed by the pressure of expectations set by those they can never satisfy. Both talking around a life they know neither can outwardly say but are reassured that the others can understand.
Their first real date is to a restaurant Tess has never heard of but Tim tells her his little brother loves. It’s a hole in the wall Mediterranean place with the best bread she’s ever eaten with the most flavorful chicken on top. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to eat her plain lemon and olive oil chicken ever again.
“So, you mentioned a little brother,” Tess says, wiping off the delicious sauce off her plate with more naan. “Do you have any other siblings?”
Tim snorts. “Sorry, sorry, I… yeah. I have a lot of siblings.”
“That must’ve been nice, growing up with a big family,” she says. “It was always just me and my mom and even then she… wasn’t really around.”
Tim’s smile falls. “Yeah. I get that,” he says. “Before I was taken in, my birth parents… they weren’t really around either.” He swallows, looking away with a pensive frown. “They’d leave me home alone for months on end while they were on their trips. And when they were around, we were always out doing things to give them good publicity.”
“God, tell me about it,” Tess scoffs before she can stop herself. “I… things with my mom have always been more about her image than it ever was about our relationship. She was a mother when it was convenient for her and usually that was when cameras were pointed at her. The rest of the time… she was too busy. She was always too busy. Everything was more important than me. And I… I swear, I felt like I was constantly fighting for just a second of her attention. And even when I had it, I never really did, you know?”
“I do know,” Tim says. He laughs mirthlessly. “Yeah. I know.” He gnaws at his lip as he thinks. “It wasn’t until I found someone who actually cared that I realized how not normal that was.”
“Because it was your normal, and you never had it any different.”
“Exactly!” Tim says.
“I was… an asshole. For a very long time. Because the way my mother treated life made me believe that status was everything that mattered. Because that’s all she cared about, what she cared about more than me, and that’s… all of that? It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Not when you’re losing so much that’s right there in front of you to get it.”
Tim is looking at her with a look she can’t decipher. “You get it.”
Her expression sobers into something guarded, almost haunted. “For years, I’ve been trying to make up for all of the people I hurt. I relished in crushing people's spirits. All that mattered was that I won. That I was the best. I tore people down to build myself up. Ruined lives because it benefited me." She looks down, unable to meet his eyes. "Sometimes I think I’m not worth redemption. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of for reasons that were never worth the burnt bridges and ruined reputations and I… I want you to know that I’m not that person anymore. Or, at least, I’m trying to be.”
Tim understands. He knows exactly what it’s like making self serving choices because in the moment it’s what you think is right. That it’ll all level out and eventually be what’s best. “That’s all you can do. You are who you are because of what you’ve learned from your past mistakes. There’s no other way to grow. And it seems like you’re actually working to change.”
“I am.”
Tim smiles. “Then that’s all you can really do. The people you’ve hurt don’t owe you any forgiveness and redemption isn’t earned because of good deeds and better intention. They aren’t obligated to be part of your redemption.”
“You’re right,” she breathes. “You really get it, don’t you?”
“I do,” Tim says. “I’ve been on both sides and I… I’ve had to learn that too.”
Tess’s phone rings and she stills. “I’m so sorry. I have to take this.” She pulls out a phone that Tim knows for a fact isn’t the one he had put his number into. A burner? She steps out for a moment, eyes darting towards Tim as she talks to the person on the phone, her face unreadable.
When she comes back in, she gives him an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go. I was just… called into work.”
Tim still doesn’t quite know what Tess does but curiosity tugs at him. “What for?”
“I… I can’t tell you. Sorry. It’s confidential.” She pauses. “NDAs. What can you do?” She smiles half-heartedly.
Huh.
The detective in Tim is itching to interrogate but he knows it’s not the time.
“I’ll call you,” she says. “And I— I really want to do this again.”
Tim must say something in response before she rushes out of the restaurant, but he’s too focused on scrutinizing her pained, panicked expression.
Tim doesn’t want to jump to conclusions. Doesn’t want to think the worst.
But too many of his family members have dated supervillains.
And Tim can’t help but suspect the worst.
TESS
It’s honestly so refreshing to be with someone who has no idea who she is and apparently Tim feels the same way.
Who doesn't know about the way she clawed her way to popularity. Who doesn't know her shameful past filled with bullying and choosing the wrong side. Who doesn't see her as the traitor who sided with the competitors and almost got Camp Rock shut down.
There were a lot of people with a lot of different connections there and it was so hard rebuilding her reputation, even when she came back to them.
She doesn't like the person she was before. She's not sure if she likes the person she is now.
She knows eventually they will share their pasts but for now, it’s exhilarating being with someone who doesn’t care who her mother is or compares her to girl she used to be and who doesn’t expect her to be anything but herself.
Tim is like her. He grew up playing a role, following the script his parents had ingrained into him. From what he’s said, he did a lot of networking growing up and as he got older he was thrust into the spotlight as the representative of his parent’s legacy.
They’ve agreed not to look each other up. Or, at least, she did. She doesn’t know if he’s done his own research, but from the way he acts, he doesn’t seem to have.
She understands the paranoia though. Being used for your status. Being tricked into falling for someone who just wants to exploit your connections.
They’ve been together for a few weeks when they’re first tracked down.
Somehow the paparazzi caught wind of their regular date spots and are waiting at the door of their favorite cafe.
Tim immediately shields his face, going to cover hers, but she’s been trained to evade cameras.
She slips on her reflective visor, ruining any photo they’ve taken from the flash.
Tim guides her down an alleyway and pulls her up the fire escapes.
She will never admit it out loud but it is definitely super hot that he can parkour like that. She’s got a lot of body strength, being a dancer, but the ease that Tim has climbing just makes her want to make him come rock climbing with her.
They make it to the top of the rooftop and sit with their backs pressed against the brick wall.
“Are you alright?” Tim says.
“I am now,” she says with a smile. “Because of you.”
Tim ducks his head.
“Does that happen a lot?” she asks.
“Not as much as you’d think,” he says. “Gotham paps are usually a lot more discreet. You know, because of the threat of bodily harm.”
She chuckles. “Yeah. I’ve definitely seen some paparazzi being punched out.”
“They know better,” he says. “There’s already enough shit going on in this city. Celebrities only interest the outsiders.”
“I don’t get why they care so much,” she says.
“Same,” Tim sighs. “By the way, nice trick. What was that?”
“It’s reflective,” she says. “Basically turns me into a faceless blob of pure glare.”
HIs head throws back with laughter. “I don’t know why I never thought of that.”
“You clearly just aren’t tapping into your creative potential.”
He laughs again, resting his head on her shoulder.
They don’t talk about the paparazzi for the rest of the night. Don’t speculate who they were there for and if they got anything usable.
They just watch the sunrise, tangled together on a grimy rooftop, ruining their pants but not caring at all.
TIM
When Tim enters the sandwich shop, energy dwindling despite being on his fourth cup of coffee of the day (which most likely has to do with the fact he hasn’t slept more than three hours in the last two days), the last thing he expects to see is Tess sitting in one of the booths, absolutely devouring a roast beef sub.
Tim can’t help the smile that spreads over his features and after ordering his sandwich, he makes his way over to her, but he feels his heart stutter when he really looks at her.
She rests her hand on her temple, as if she’s too tired to hold her head up on its own. And almost shielded by her hand is a black eye. Her eye is swollen and puffy surrounded by dark bruises.
Tim rushes to her, cupping her cheek and tilting her head towards him.
She startles in his touch but quickly relaxes when she sees it him. “Tim. Hey.”
“What happened?” he demands.
Her brows furrow for a moment, like she’s confused about what he could be talking about, before her eyes widen with realization. “Oh, this? It’s just makeup.”
Tim frowns. “Makeup?”
“Yeah,” she says, grinning. “Gnarly, right? It almost looks real.”
It does look real.
Tim goes to touch it, to prove to himself that it really is makeup, but she flinches away from his touch.
She chuckles awkwardly. “Sorry, just. I don’t want to smudge it.”
A likely reason or a convenient excuse so that he doesn’t touch it and realize it’s real.
“What is it for?”
She presses her lips together, brows pinching in the way she always does when she is saying a half truth. “I can’t tell you.”
“Confidential,” Tim says, something he’s been hearing from her a lot. “Right.”
“You get it, don’t you?”
Yeah, he does. A little too well.
“Of course,” Tim says easily. “I just don’t like seeing you hurt.”
She smiles. “You’re too sweet.”
He kisses her softly and she smiles against his lips.
But that churn in his gut doesn’t go away.
And he can’t push away the thought that if that’s what she walked away with, he doesn’t want to know what she did to the one who gave it to her.
TESS
“Will you help me with my headshots?”
Tim’s hand slips on the plate he’s washing and it clatters in the sink. “What?” He turns around, eyes wide.
“You know,” she says, grabbing her outdated pictures from the coffee table, and showing it to him. “I need them updated since I’ve got the new haircut.”
Tim let’s out a small breath of relief. “Oh. Those headshots.”
“What did you think I meant?” she says with a chuckle. She poses like Charlie’s Angel with a finger gun and an exaggerated smolder. “Oh yes. I need a hand with all of those presidents I’m assassinating.”
He rolls his eyes but his apprehension doesn’t completely fade.
“Are these for fake IDs?” Tim asks.
She snorts. “Yeah. Sure. Because I need a backup plan when this gig doesn’t work out. I’ll run away to Manchester.” Since BBC moved there, but she figures Tim knows what she means.
His gaze lingers for a moment before he clears his throat. “Yeah of course. Let me grab my camera.”
She learned early on that Tim is a photographer.
“Seeing the world through the camera lens gave me a new perspective,” he had told her once.
It gave her another clue to the mystery that is Tim Drake.
She wonders what he sees. The unique perspective that only a certain type of artist can see. She wonders if he’s just a photographer or operator or if he’s a director. If he uses his talented eye to execute or create. Probably both.
All she knows is that he’s a master of his craft because the way he guides her through the poses, talking her through the different shots is so natural, like every transition is easy.
He makes her feel confident, like when she looks in the camera she’s saying “look at me!” and “you want me to be your star.”
Tim always makes her feel like that, though. He makes her feel seen. Like when he looks at her, she is the only thing he wants.
She wonders what the lens he sees her in.
She wonders if she’s his muse.
Because she knows he is hers.
TIM
When Tim shows up to Tess’s apartment, she smiles warmly up at him and greets him with a raw, hoarse voice.
Immediately, Tim is worried.
“I might not be the most chatty today,” she says, almost wincing as the words grind out. “I’m on vocal rest.”
“What happened?” Tim asks.
“A lot of screaming,” she says with a sardonic grin.
“Screaming?” Tim says. “Who—“
“I can’t—“
“Talk about it.” Now physically too. “Confidential.”
She just nods. “I wish I could tell you,” she says. “But you know how much trouble I’ll get in.”
He doesn’t, but he has an idea. He just hates that he can’t know. Hates that there’s someone forcing her to be silent. Hates that he can’t reveal his identity because he can’t fully evaluate the threat.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Just being here is enough,” she says.
He studies her expression, trying to find something that will betray her nonchalance, and seeing that she doesn’t need his prying. Not now.
“More tea?” he asks.
She knocks her head into his shoulder. “That would be the best. Licorice root with—“
“With enough honey to satisfy Pooh Bear. Got it.”
She snickers before slumping against his chest. “Your tea always taste better than mine.”
“Well, when you’ve got a British butler, you learn how to make a good cuppa.”
She looks at him with a raised brow. “Never do that accent again.”
“Oh, like you can do better.”
“It’s hard!” she whines. “There’s so many of them. You heard my Mrs. Lovett voice.”
“Oi! Mista Toyd! ‘Ow oi louvit!”
She shoves her palm in his face with a laugh. “You’re the worst.”
“Pies in London?”
“I should’ve never told you about that.”
She pulls away, going to lounge on the couch while Tim prepares them tea.
When he finally joins her, she wraps up around him, holding him tight.
“It’s hard,” she whispers. “It just hurts… being in the headspace for so long.”
He doesn’t know what to say. Tries to not imagine what kind of psychological torture she must’ve been put through to get her this distraught at just the thought of it.
“It’s over,” he says, running his fingers through her hair. “You’re safe. I’m here.”
And with her curled in his side, clinging to him like she’s afraid he’ll disappear, he holds her to remind her that he’s not going anywhere.
TESS
It’s rare that Tess gets side gigs, especially when she’s working on something as big as this movie, but she’s got a guest spot on an episode of an improv comedy show.
Of course, the only reason she’s on it is because she’s a nepo baby, but God the paycheck is big.
The only problem is: she can’t improv.
She can. She’s passable. But under pressure? She chokes.
And the thing about improv is that you can’t exactly practice it. It’s improv.
“Okay,” Tim says as they sit together, him on his computer, and her binge watching Who’s Line Is It Anyway? “What’s up?”
“Nothing is up.” Tim gives her the ‘bullshit’ face and she sighs. “Do you know anything about improv?”
Tim sits up, setting his laptop to the side. “What kind of improv?”
“I don’t know? Any?”
“Improvisation is dependent on the character you’re playing,” Tim says. “Every alias has different idiosyncrasies, different aspects that make it distinct. When you think of cover and backstories, you have to think about how they apply to what the sting requires.”
“So I have to think of a character before I start the actual improv?”
“Exactly,” he says. “Everything falls apart if you don’t have that because then you’re just yourself pretending not to be.”
“Isn’t that just what acting is?” She pauses. “No, it’s not. I know that. Acting is becoming the character. Looking into the psychology of whoever you’re playing. You have to think about not just what they say but why they said it. Their motivations, their unscripted past. You have to create them even if you’re stepping into an existing role.”
Tim looks at her with an awestruck gaze. “God, I love you.”
She laughs. “If I knew this is what got you hot and bothered, I would’ve mansplained my job much sooner.”
He just laughs and kneels between her legs, pressing a kiss to her lips.
“Way, way sooner.”
TIM
Tess has a habit.
He’s not sure where she picked it up but he’s not sure he wants to know.
When she’s watching Netflix, she plays with a dagger.
Tossing and twisting, slashing through the air with precision, so comfortable in her palm that the movement is completely mindless.
It’s like it’s ingrained in her muscle memories, that she can unthinkingly go through the motions, always in the same pattern.
He knows the dagger she has in her hand isn’t real, but it sure looks like it.
She has routines. Ones that Tim can’t seem to decipher.
They don’t stay the same.
When he comes in, she’s on her exercise mats, running through a series of blows on her own, he can’t help but correct her form.
She appreciates it, grinning at him and her strikes stronger and healthier.
It’s scary how quick she picks it up. How she can adapt to anything he says like she can meld to any direction.
He’s comforted to know that she can defend herself, but he can’t help but speculate why she needs to be fighting like this.
Some of the moves she uses are complex. He can’t pinpoint exactly where her training comes from. It’s a mix of different defense and offense from an array of backgrounds.
Her movements are always crisp, precise, rehearsed. The way she fights makes him think of Dick and Cass.
There’s something more to the way she fights. She wasn’t born a fighter. No. She’s got the nimbleness and agility of a dancer.
He doesn’t know how to bring it up. How to confront her and ask.
Because she doesn’t ask him. It’s just something they don’t talk about.
Tim comes into her apartment one day and there’s someone he doesn’t know wrestling on top of her.
Tess is ruthless in the way she fights back, overtaking them with ease and, honest to God, pulling one of those ridiculous spins over the shoulders like you see in the movies.
Tess stands and helps the other up, grinning as she pants. When she looks up she stills with wide eyes. “Tim!”
Tim gets a good look at the person she had just been fighting and he really doesn’t know what to think of him.
He’s big. Bigger than Tim realized when he first came in. He’s gotta be as tall as Jason, maybe even taller, and definitely broader. Tim doesn’t immediately feel like he’s dangerous which makes him even more wary.
“We were just…”
“Sparring?” Tim supplies.
Tess smiles. “You could call it that, yeah.”
“You’ve done well,” the man says, his voice thick with a Russian accent, sending a spike of alarm through Tim. “You are ready.”
Tess beams.
“I will go,” the man says. “Do not be late to shoot again.”
With that, he leaves, his words echoing in Tim’s mind.
“Do not be late to shoot again.”
Shoot? Tess shot someone? Who? When? Why? Tim knows there’s no guns in her apartment. She must have a second safehouse somewhere else in the city. God knows he has a few.
“I… need a shower,” Tess says. “I am gross.” She pecks his lips. “Do you mind waiting up?”
“Not at all,” Tim says.
Tess kisses him again before heading to the bathroom.
When she starts to sing, her voice carrying through the thin walls, Tim holds back the urge to sweep the apartment.
And when she comes out, kissing him slow and soft, the thought is stored for later.
TESS
Now, look.
There’s many things that Tess has had to deal with as a somewhat public figure daughter to a much bigger, much more famous public figure.
She’s had to deals with stalkerish superfans. She’s had to deal with handsy paparazzi. She’s had to deal with her phone number, email address, and Roblox password beng leaked.
But kidnapped?
Yeah, no.
They prepare you for this sort of thing, y’know? They tell you what to do if you’re in this situation and how to avoid it if possible.
But you don’t think it’s actually gonna happen.
She gets plucked off of set in the middle of a cityscape action sequence.
Some masked maniac shoves a cloth drenched in chemicals in her face and she’s out like a light before she can even process what’s going on.
When she wakes up, she’s tied up in an undisclosed warehouse and holy shit she’s actually been kidnapped.
She doesn’t know why she’s been kidnapped. If it’s for her mother’s fortune then they’re shit out of luck because her mom really does not care about her enough to pay ransom.
She’s sweating buckets in her costume, the thick material clinging to her skin and the intricate mask over her eyes starting to peel off.
She’s sweating so much the freaking adhesive is washing off!
Her heart is hammering in her chest and she’s honestly already crying.
She cries when she’s stressed, okay?
She knows of the bats, the protectors of Gotham, and she prays to deities she hasn’t believed in in a long time to please just get her out of her alive.
Suddenly, there’s shouts outside of the door. Sounds of fighting and screaming and Tess only cries harder.
The doors slam open and a man in red kevlar bursts into the room and Tess sobs in relief.
He runs to her, stiffening when he takes in what he sees.
“Shit,” he whispers. “I didn’t want to be right.”
“What?” Tess cries into the gag.
He quickly pulls it off and she doubles over, crying harder.
A familiar hand cups her cheek, tipping up her head to look into the masked eyes. Her eyes dart down and her heart stutters in her chest.
“Tim?!” Tess gasps.
Red Robin, no, Tim, her boyfriend Tim, freezes. “How did you— how long have you known? Have you known this whole time?”
“No!” Tess exclaims. “I know your lips! I spend eighty percent of my time with you staring at your lips. Do you think I wouldn’t recognize your lips?”
Tim pauses, staring at her with parted lips, before shaking his head. “Not the time.” He rushes to her side and starts to untie her. “We gotta get out of here. They’re incapacitated but I know they’ve called backup.”
When she’s free, he pulls her to her feet and guides her through winding hallways littered with bodies.
“Are they dead?”
“No,” Tim says, still dragging her as they jog.
“Oh my God.”
When they get out, Tim climbs onto a motorcycle and that would be a lot hotter if they weren’t currently running for their lives.
“Get on.”
Tess doesn’t need to be told twice.
She hugs her arms around his waist and he wastes no time speeding away.
“You need to tell me who’s after you,” Tim says, his voice a gravely grit.
“What?” Tess gasps. “I don’t know who did this! Why do you think I know who did this?”
“If someone is targeting you, I need to know.”
“There was a creep on Twitter that I ratioed but I don’t think he would go as far as kidnapping!”
“Tess,” he says. “I need the truth.”
And then it hits Tess. “Fuck. You think I’m a superhero. Because you’re a superhero. Oh my God you’re a superhero!”
“We prefer vigilante.”
“Tim! You’re a fucking superhero!” Her breath starts to quicken. “I swear on Beyonce’s career, I am not a superhero.”
“Or a villain?”
“What?!” she screeches. “I freak out when I have to kill a roach.”
“Yeah, but you’re pretty brutal when you do! You kill with the rage of someone accustomed with beating things to death.”
“Because they’re roaches! There’s hundreds of them! When I open my cupboards they fall in my hair! They get into my closed retainer case! Of course I’m used to killing them! They’re freaking bugs not human people!” Tess pauses. “Oh my God. Do you kill people?”
Tim hesitated too long.
“Oh my God, what?!”
“Tess,” Tim says.
“Tim,” she says. “What is going on right now?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Someone has targeted you and I wasn’t sure if it was because of you or me but I’m starting to see that it was obviously because of me.”
“Uh, rude! It could be because of me.”
“You’re a civilian.”
“Yeah, but a pretty famous civilian.”
“Famous?” he repeats.
“Oh, so you thought I was a supervillain, but you didn’t Google me?” She huffs. “My mom is T.J. Tyler.”
“Wait what?”
“Yeah,” Tess says. “And I’m Tesslin Tyler. I had a pretty underperforming pop career, some minor roles in movies that flopped in the box office, and I’ve finally got my first big role which is why I’m dressed like this. Not because I’m a freaking supervillain!”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“Did the guy you ratioed on Twitter happen to have purple hair? And wear a fedora?”
Tess groans. “Yes.”
“Holy shit,” Tim says. “I guess it was because of you then.”
Tess hits her forehead against Tim’s back. “I’m deleting all my social media after this.” She pauses. “Wait. If you’re a vigilante, then why are you so rich?”
“Bruce Wayne is kinda my dad.”
“What?!” Tess laughs slightly hysterical. "When we get home, we are going to have such a long talk. Probably involving alcohol. Definitely involving alcohol. I deserve alcohol after being kidnapped." She pauses. "Tim, I was kidnapped!"
Tim chuckles and squeezes her hand. "I promise I’ll explain everything. Or. Well, everything I can.” His lip quirks up. “It's confidential."