Chapter Text
It started with a good idea. A very generous one, which read something along the lines of, hey, B has been looking really tired lately! You should try and take care of that gang stuff on your own so he can deal with Scarecrow! Surely you can handle that Tim!
And because it was a generous idea, and gifts weren’t really gifts if you made a big deal out of giving them, he decided not to tell Bruce.
Tim wasn’t planning on single handedly fighting off the whole of the Escobedo cartel and Black Mask Syndicate all at once. He wasn’t gonna put himself into (too much) unnecessary danger, he was just gonna plant some wires. Tap some phones. Spend eight and a half hours pressed, belly down, to a roof in the Bowery taking pictures with his Canon EOS R6 Mark II. Y’know. Normal person activities!
Not anything Robin related he needed to tell the Big Bad Bat about.
After all, he’d been taking photos long before he’d put on the mask. No one could look at his art form and call him a replacement. No one could make the argument that he didn’t deserve to frame and shoot, adjust the shutter and click.
No one was going to break half the bones in his body for that.
Maybe that was another reason he hadn’t told Bruce about his recent project in… ah… candid portraiture. Because he was pretty damn sure Bruce had known that Red Hood was Jason Todd back from the dead, and that Red Hood was angry at Tim. And Bruce had warned Tim to stay away, but clearly, that hadn’t been enough. Bruce should’ve told Hood to stay away from him, not the other way around. And Tim wasn’t one to hold grudges, but if he was a little pissed off about the whole situation, who could really blame him?
So yeah. He was going to document the fuck out of a few shady deals, crack the Case of the Cartel/Black Mask Unfortunate Collaboration, and stick it to everyone who thought he couldn’t be Robin. Take that , Batman who’d kept him benched for injuries. Take that, parents who kept getting on his ass about college when he was already at the top of his class. Take that, ex-Robin lunatic who thought he “can’t be that good”.
Well, he was that good.
Good enough to notice a pattern in the times and places of various meetings, and set up a stakeout at just the right time to catch the tail end of the Black Mask talking with one of the higher ups in the Escobedo cartel. And he didn’t manage to catch everything (and thank god for that, between the amount of cursing and lewd insinuations the two men were making at each other he was pretty sure his ears were about to start bleeding), but he did hear three phrases.
Where go?
Disney.
Seventeenth.
The first one was pretty self explanatory, even if the criminal’s syntax left something to be desired. The second two took him a little longer to put together. Disney- it had to be referring to the place. And based on airport logs he’d hacked and traced to one of Masks’ shell accounts a few days later, it was the California location. A bit of a jaunt from Gotham, but he supposed even wackos needed the occasional vacation. The second, seventeenth, referred to a date. July seventeenth, as confirmed by the plane tickets.
When Tim had put that one together, he’d sat at the Bat Computer for a whole fifteen minutes just staring at the screen, trying to come up with a plan. Honestly, he might’ve sat there longer but Barbara came and kicked him out, and that woman was terrifying. Thankfully, she was also discreet, and hadn’t gone tattling to Bruce about his various events in Disneyland July google searches.
A bunch of B-tier villains choosing Disney’s 70th anniversary celebration as a meeting place seemed slightly suspicious to Tim, but what did he know? He was still technically grounded. He wasn’t even Robin right now, because his stupid broken leg needed another two weeks to heal fully. Just to be safe.
Like they were ever safe, running around Gotham at night on grappling hooks. Batman was a hypocrite. But Batman was also really cool and gave great hugs, so Tim was willing to forgive him.
But that meant this was one case he’d have to solve as Tim. Which was fine; he’d solved the case of Batman and Robin when he was nine. This was nothing in comparison.
First problem: transportation. Tim didn’t have a driver's license, or a car. The license thing wasn’t a problem, Bruce had taught him how to drive when he was twelve because it was useful in emergencies. And his dad had always said he’d get a BMW for his sixteenth if he got straight As, and he had. Unfortunately, his sixteenth birthday was on the nineteenth, two days after he needed to be in LA.
So while a cross country joy ride in a brand new BMW might work as a return plan, it wouldn’t be suitable for getting to the sunny city.
Option two was trains. He had the money to buy a cross country train ticket, but he’d have to leave a few days ahead of schedule, and his parents were flying into Gotham on the twelfth. He didn’t want to miss one of the rare times he actually got to see them, and they were flying right back out of the nineteenth, after his birthday party. At least he hoped it would be after his birthday party. Hoping where his parents were concerned was just about the stupidest thing he could do, but that hadn’t stopped him. He was smart in everything else, he was allowed this one vice. So because Tim was stupid, and had no plans to stop being stupid in the next two weeks, Option two was out.
That left Option Three; convince his parents that taking him to Disneyland for his sixteenth birthday was a good idea. Yes, the chances of that one working were phenomenally low. But it was better than the rest of his list, which included options such as:
- Steal car, drive to LA at breakneck speeds, don’t get caught
- Convince Kon to fly me and try really hard not to be awkward
- Convince Clark to fly me and hope he doesn’t tell Bruce
- Convince Bruce to fly me in the Batplane and hope he doesn’t tell Alfred
So, it was with this plan in mind, Tim drafted out an email.
_____
From: [email protected]
To: Janet Drake , Jack Drake
Subject: Birthday Travel Opportunity
_____
Dear Mom/Dad,
I expect your dig in Australia is going well! I know it’s cold down there this time of year, and hope you’re staying warm and cozy. I am emailing because, as you know, my sixteenth birthday is on the 19th, two weeks from now. Your current travel plans have you flying out of Gotham at 11am on the 19th, and catching a transfer in LAx at 3pm local time, which only gives you forty minutes to make your layover.
I was thinking it would be convenient for all of us if we were to spend my birthday in LA! It is Disneyland’s 70th anniversary on the 17th, which means there will likely be many important business connections in town, sponsoring the celebration. Additionally, family photos taken at theme parks are great for PR. Coupled with a donation to the city, following the fires, we could garner a lot of positive press.
If we were to fly out of Gotham on the 14th, you’d have two full days to recover from your trip in Australia, and we’d be able to spend four whole days in LA/Anaheim, which gives time for both business and relaxation. Also, you’d be able to spend a little more time with me on my birthday since you wouldn’t have to worry about catching an 11am flight.
Let me know, I’ve already found first class tickets that would work, and can book us hotels. Usually you need to make a reservation a year in advance, but I’m sure they’d make an exception for us.
Love,
- Tim.
_____
Tim must’ve reread the thing ten times before sending it, making minuscule corrections. He almost asked Dick to proofread it, but knowing him, he’d accidentally say something to Bruce and then this whole thing would fall apart. Tim’s current plan hinged on making Bruce think it was a surprise trip his parents were taking him on as a birthday present, not a calculated strategy to get him near several dangerous men.
He’d used every trick he knew when trying to get his parents to do something. Playing up the business angle, pre-planning out travel routes and destinations, emphasizing how nice and relaxing the whole thing would be. He reloaded the page, but predictably, no response. It was 4pm in Gotham, that was… 8am in Australia? His parents probably weren’t on their computers that early.
Tim shut his laptop with a decisive click, and sighed. He’d come back to this after he finished up his Spanish lesson for the week. School was out, but Bruce I-Speak-Over-Twenty-Three-Languages Wayne had taken it upon himself to bring Tim up to speed, so Spanish worksheet it was.
*****
His parents emailed him back two days later, on the 6th.
_____
From: [email protected]
To: Timothy Drake
Subject: Re: Birthday Travel Opportunity
______
Dear Timothy,
Your father and I have discussed your suggestion, and think it would be a good idea. Our assistant confirms many industry leaders will be in town for the Anniversary, including ones you haven’t had the chance to meet yet, due to their Silicon Valley location.
Please book the tickets and hotel, we have transferred sufficient funds to your debit card and the bank has been notified. We intend to spend the fifteenth and sixteenth in LA, and the seventeenth, eighteenth, and the morning of the nineteenth in Anaheim. Book yourself a flight home from LA on the nineteenth so we don’t need to waste money on a separate driver to the airport.
Love,
- Mom
P.S. Ensure that both hotels have a spa which can be booked for your father’s back problems.
______
Tim fist-pumped, then looked surreptitiously around to make sure no one had seen him fist-pump. But Bruce was down in the cave right now, and he could hear Alfred moving around in the kitchen, so it seemed the Wayne Manor living room was sufficiently safe to celebrate in.
He logged into his bank account, and nearly passed out. Sure, his parents were Rich with a capital R, and spending a lot of his time around Billionaire Bruce Wayne had somewhat skewed his perception of wealth, but 100,000 dollars seemed just a little excessive for a five night trip.
“Alright.” Tim mumbled, pulling up a few phone numbers. Time to book the most expensive hotel in LA.
*****
Three hours, five phone calls, and one very strongly worded email later, Tim had successfully booked three nights at the Beverly Hills Hotel, and two nights in the El Capitan suite at Disneyland. The fact he could do that and still have money left was a little terrifying, but wealth was wealth. His parents were worth nearly a billion, this was probably the equivalent of a normal person buying a cup of coffee. And not even one of those fancy cups of coffee Dick liked to get, with enough sugar it was really impossible to tell if he was jittery from caffeine or glucose. Just plain coffee with a dash of cream.
Tim sipped on some now, wrapping up another goddamn Spanish worksheet. Where the hell was Bruce getting these from? He’d have guessed the internet, like Duolingo or some shit, but he was pretty sure most language learning websites didn’t have drop the knife, you don’t have to do this as an example sentence.
He was curled up on the couch in the living room, laptop balanced on his knees. It was his favorite spot to sit, central to everything happening in the manor, but not in anybody's way. And if he got too cold, he was close to the electric fireplace and could turn it on- vice versa in summer, and the Central AC unit.
“How’s it going, sport?”
Tim jolted so hard that he very nearly spilled coffee all over his laptop, and turned to glare at Bruce, who was giving him a wide smile.
“I told you not to sneak up on me when I have liquids near a computer!”
“I wasn’t sneaking, I was walking.” Bruce said, striding silently around the couch. Goddamn Bat-Dexterity. The man weighed two hundred fifty pounds, it wasn’t fair that he could move like a ghost. “What are you working on?”
“Spanish.” Tim said. “B, I’m never going to need to know how to say they’re keeping the oranges in the left freezer. What kind of example sentence is that?”
Bruce’s eyes went distant. “The Naranja Incident of ‘99 would disagree with you.”
“I believe the Naranja Incident of ‘99 disagreed with all of us, Master Bruce.” Alfred said dryly, walking into the room. “Master Tim, what did I say about coffee on the couch?”
“Not to do it.”
“And what are you doing?”
“Drinking coffee on the couch.” Tim mumbled. “I’m not gonna spill it!”
Bruce chuckled. “Give the kid a break Alf, I’m sure we’ve gotten much worse on that old thing.”
“Yes, and I’d rather have avoided that as well.” Alfred said. “We have a black leather couch ten feet away, one that will be much easier to clean if coffee happens to be spilled. Is that journey such an Odyssey?”
Tim groaned, and shut his laptop. “Fine. But I’m revoking the Captain Fun Times title Dick gave you last week.”
“Oh horror.” Alfred said flatly. “Master Bruce, are you quite ready for dinner?”
“Yes, sorry the analysis took so long.” Bruce said, running a hand through his slightly greying hair. “Those damn psychoactives are going to be the death of me. It won’t even be the fault of the drug! But if I have to spend another minute looking at the chemical formula, it might just break me.”
“Like you’re not a super nerd.” Tim said, standing off the couch and placing his coffee carefully on the side table. He was good to walk around without crutches now, but he still wore a boot, and didn’t want to risk spillage. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who enjoys stoichiometry.”
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit.” Bruce said, ruffling his hair. “Mr. AP Chemistry in Sophomore year.”
“It wasn’t even that hard, Mr. Gavin’s just a good teacher.” Tim hedged, following Bruce into the dining table, where Alfred had laid out dinner.
“So every other kid in that class got a hundred on the AP practice test?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well no, but that didn’t mean I liked it.” Tim said, rolling his eyes. “I got a hundred percent on the World War II unit test, but I don’t like Hitler.”
“Don’t you dare compare stoichiometry to Hitler.” Bruce admonished, pointing a fork at him. “Face it sport, you’re just as much of a nerd as I am.”
Tim scoffed. “I’m not the one who buys 400 level college textbooks and reads them for fun.”
“It’s important to keep the mind sharp.” Bruce said coolly.
“Mátate.”
Bruce laughed, and Tim smiled. Having a parental figure- even if he was just substituting in for a real kid- laugh at his jokes, was nice.
“Y’know, I’d appreciate your spanish skills more if you weren’t using them to tell me to kill myself.” Bruce said.
“Well maybe if your spanish lessons included anything nice.” Tim huffed. “Not my fault you’re exclusively teaching me useless information.”
“Come tu cena.” Bruce said primly, taking a bite of his salad.
Tim snorted, but started shoving Alfred’s Fusilli pasta into his mouth. He was a growing boy, he needed the calories.
“I have news, by the way.” Tim said when they’d both finished eating, and Alfred was clearing away the dishes. “My parents are back in town on the twelfth.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow. “Did they extend their trip again?”
Tim shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, no.”
“Good, I know you’re excited to have them back home for your birthday.” There was a terrible sort of understanding in Bruce’s eyes, and Tim looked away. He didn’t like talking about his parents with Bruce. It felt like he was betraying either them, or Bruce, and he didn’t want to have to choose. So he usually avoided it. But sometimes, it was a necessary evil.
“We do have a change of plans though!” Tim said, forcing cheer into his voice. “We’re going to LA on the fourteenth, I’ll be back sometime late on the nineteenth or early on the twentieth. It’ll be fun, we’re gonna go to Disney, hang out at all the fancy restaurants, y’know. Live that west coast life.”
Bruce made a short humming noise. “Your family’s spending your whole birthday on a plane?”
“Yeah.” Tim said, because it wasn’t technically a lie. His whole family would be on a plane, just… not all on the same plane. “But I’m spending five days before my birthday in LA with my parents, having a great time, going around to the beaches! It’s about the vibes.”
“The vibes?”
“Yeah, the vibes. Birthday vibes.” Tim said, hoping the confusion on Bruce’s face was because he was outsmarting the man, and not because he was being so bafflingly stupid Bruce was questioning why he’d ever made Tim Robin. “Anyways, I’m excited.”
The unspoken you should be excited too finally seemed to get through Bruce’s head, and he smiled. “Well Tim, I’m glad your parents are doing something fun with you for your birthday, even if we’ll miss you here at the manor. Do you want us to throw you a party before or after you leave?”
“You don’t have to throw me a party.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes. They’d had this same argument last year, and the year before that, and the year before that. Tim hadn’t won yet, but maybe this time- “You are a part of this family young man, and if you don’t let Alfred bake you a cake, it’ll break his heart.”
“It will.” Alfred confirmed, sweeping the last of their dishes away. “Most terribly.”
Tim slumped in his chair. “After would be fine, I guess. Oh! And I can show you my car, because I’m pretty sure my parents are getting me a car.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s a BMW.” Bruce said with a long-suffering expression.
Tim prickled. “I’ve driven the Batmobile! Don’t tell me you’re concerned about safety ratings when you’ve literally let me hit the Turbo button-”
“The streets are much less crowded at night-”
“People have SHOT at us!”
“He has a point, Master Bruce.” Alfred said.
Bruce grunted. “Fine. But at least get your license first.”
“Obviously.” Tim said. “What kind of sick lunatic would drive a sports car without a license? Not like you ever faked a DUI one too many times and got yours revoked-”
“That was nearly a decade ago and I don’t want to talk about it.” Bruce said, crossing his arms, “And there is a difference between getting a license revoked and never getting one in the first place.”
“Whatever. I’ll get my license.”
“Good, we’ll get ice cream to celebrate.”
Tim gave Bruce a level look. “Try again.”
“… We’ll get iced coffee to celebrate.” Bruce relented, and Tim cheered.
*****
Tim stayed up late the night of the twelfth, waiting for his parents to get home. The airport’s website had said they’d be landing at nine, and the drive home from the airport was about an hour at worst (and he meant worst- that time accounted for the highway being blown up by a supervillain), plus an extra twenty minutes for baggage claim and any extras before-
His ears perked up at the sound of a car driving down their long cement driveway, and their automatic garage door clunking upwards. He leapt off the tall stool he’d been sitting on for the last hour, running around the dining room, making sure everything was the right temperature. He’d gotten Alfred to prepare some extra food, because his parents were usually hungry when they got home late at night, and Alfred was bad at saying no when it came to dinner requests. Especially when Tim volunteered to cook it with him. So they’d made it, and Tim had reheated it, put it on plates, set the table, made sure everything was perfect-
The front door swung open with a click, and Tim turned to face it, a smile spreading over his face. Jack and Janet stood in the doorway, both with terrible circles under their eyes, but at least Janet tried to smile back at him.
“You’re back!” Tim said, walking (not running, because running was undignified unless it was a race) over to meet them.
“Obviously we’re back.” Jack grumbled, thrusting his suitcase into Tim’s outstretched arms. Which was fine. Not like he’d wanted a hug anyways. “What are you cooking in there, son?”
Tim hurried after his father as the man strode inside. “It’s this really good pork-apple stew, and some homemade bread to dip in it, I remembered you talking about that one stew you had in England and I looked up the restaurant-”
“Oh I can’t have that anymore, I’m on a diet.” His mother said, brushing past him and squeezing his shoulder as she went. The contact felt a little like it was burning him, the spot where her fingers had lain smoldering.
“Well there’s salad too.” Tim said, making sure his smile stayed on his face. “It’s this seasonal one with strawberries and goat cheese and-”
“Yes, yes.” Jack said dismissively, waving a hand at him. “We can see it, son. Why don’t you go grab the rest of our luggage from the car? Your mother and I have had a long day.”
Janet huffed. “More than a day at this point.”
Tim nodded, feeling the smile starting to slip. It was… they were just tired. They’d perk up a little after they’d eaten, they usually did. “Of course.”
He ran as soon as he was out of sight, grabbing more suitcases then he should’ve been able to and running back with them, before he came into view again and walked at a respectable case to the foot of the stairs. It took him three trips, but he did it and didn’t feel out of breath, and his once broken leg barely even twinged. He’d take that as a win.
“So, Timothy.” Jack said as he sat down at the dinner table. His father had already dug into his stew, and half the loaf of bread was gone. His mother picked at the salad, seeming more interested in the Facebook page she was scrolling through. “Had a nice relaxing summer?”
“Yes sir.” Tim said, starting to shovel salad into his mouth. He didn’t know how his mom was acting so unenthusiastic about this, Alfred could make a fucking shoe taste incredible with his dressing.
“Have you… what was it the Reginalds were talking about Janet?”
“Charity.” His mother said. “Starting a charity.”
“Right! Have you started a charity yet?”
Tim blinked. “… No.”
Jack made a short hmph sound. “Well, think about it. Freddy Reginald was telling me all about college resumes, he said starting a charity is as good as guaranteeing you Ivy League, though if you go Yale, you’ll be legacy, of course.”
“Ah.” Tim said shortly. He wasn’t sure how he was gonna break it to his parents in a few years that he really didn’t want to go to college out of the city. He liked traveling, he did, but… there was just something about Gotham. Not something good, necessarily, but certainly addictive.
Christ, maybe Bruce was rubbing off on him.
“I guess I’ll think about it.” Tim said half heartedly. “I’ve been sorta busy. Y’know, photography. Networking. And I broke my leg, so starting a charity hasn’t been-”
“No excuses Timothy, you’re a bright young boy, I’m sure-” Janet paused before she could really get into her rant, seeming to process the rest of Tim’s sentence. “When did you break your leg?!”
“Seven weeks ago now. Skateboarding accident.” Tim said. “I emailed you about it.”
“I don’t remember that.” Jack said with a frown. “A skateboarding accident- why are you still doing that? That’s a sport for thirteen year old delinquents addicted to marijuana Timothy, not outstanding students from a stable family.”
“I like it!” Tim protested, but now his mother was talking and maybe he’d never really stood a chance.
“No more skateboarding.” Janet said decisively. “How many injuries have you gotten from that over the last three years? Too many. I swear, every time we come home you’ve broken another bone, it’s getting exhausting. Did you have to go to the hospital? Was it covered?”
“Like the insurance would cover that.” Jack grumbled.
Tim crossed his arms, a little miffed that one of the more painful beat downs of his career was being reduced to a deductible. Like his parents weren’t millionaires, like they couldn’t afford to spend a thousand dollars on a broken leg. “I didn’t go to the hospital. Mr. Wayne has a private physician, who he called in to see me, free of charge.”
“I forgot Brucie has a soft spot for you.” Jack said, some of the thunder clearing off his face. “Still can’t believe that. Bruce Wayne, a damn responsible adult.”
“I don’t believe it.” Janet said dismissively. “I saw him at one too many parties back in the day, stumbling around with a glass of champagne. It killed whatever brain was in there, no doubt. He’s a valuable connection to have, yes, but there’s nothing behind those baby blues.”
“Don’t insult him.” Tim snapped.
Janet’s eyes narrowed, and she looked up from her phone for the first time in the conversation. “Now don’t you take that tone with me young man.”
“And don’t give your mother an order in her own house.” His father commanded, laying a hand over Janet’s, and curling their fingers together.
It was strange, that sitting at the table with the two people who he was supposed to be closest to, Tim had never felt more alone in his entire life.
“Right.” He bit out. “My bad.”
“It’s sorry, young man. Not my bad. What sort of informalities are they teaching you these days?” Jack sniffed. “And be specific.”
Tim clenched his jaw, and took a deep breath. Maybe he was tired too, maybe that’s why he felt so unreasonably irritated right now. “Sorry mother. I shouldn’t give you an order in your own house.” Even if you’re never here to call it yours.
He shook the thought off and straightened out his shoulders as Janet gave him a thin smile.
“I accept your apology.”
There was a full minute of awkward silence where Tim heavily considered asking to be excused and just retreating to his bedroom. His parents would be in a better mood in the morning, then they’d remember to ask him about if he’d recovered from the broken leg, then they’d remember to ask him how his photography was going, then they’d ask him if he’d done anything fun and what he was looking forward to.
“So, Timothy,” His father said eventually. “Disneyland? What made you think of that?”
Tim shrugged listlessly. “It really was the business opportunity. I mean, I saw Queen Industries was sending some representatives, and I don’t want them to get ahead of us.”
He knew it’d been the right thing to say when his father’s face spread into a smile. “I knew we’d raised you right. There’s a businessman in there somewhere, ay Timmy?” His father asked jovially, poking him in the chest. Thank god he wasn’t bruised there right now.
“Only doing my part.” Tim said with a shrug.
“I do like the hotels you chose.” His mother said, and Tim felt a warm spark go through his entire body. “I’ve heard the El Capitan suite can host quite well, so we’ll be able to make some connections on our terms. At least, that’s what Yahdira tells me.”
“How you’d ever manage anything without that secretary, I don’t know.” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “Timothy I’m done, clear my plate.”
“Yes sir.” Tim said automatically, standing and grabbing his father’s plate. “Did you like it?”
“I’d like anything after a flight that long.” Jack said. “If there’s any left over I’ll judge it when I’m not two minutes from falling asleep at the table.”
“Ah.” Tim said, nodding. He supposed that made sense. “Mother, are you done?”
“What? Oh, ah, yes, I suppose. Whatever they gave us on that flight rather upset my stomach, I seem to have lost my appetite.”
He grabbed his mother’s plate as well, and after a moment of thought, his own.
“I can clean up.” He said, walking back towards the kitchen. Not quite fast enough to miss his father’s muttered I certainly hope so in lieu of a thank you. He took a deep breath.
Honestly, he’d wanted his parents home. He missed them when they were gone. He just wished he didn’t have to miss them when they were around too- but whatever. Being around the Waynes the last three years had given him unrealistic expectations, and he was well aware of that. It was only natural, to feel a bit disappointed, while he readjusted to being around his actual family.
He reset his shoulders, and started to clean off the plates, and clear the kitchen, as his parents retreated upstairs, leaving their suitcases on the ground floor for him to deal with. Their behavior would improve tomorrow, and everything would feel better after he’d slept. He took whatever weird melancholy bullshit he was feeling, put it in a tight little locked box, and stuck it in the mental warehouse where he kept everything else.
He’d come back to it when he had the time and energy. So, preferably, never.
Tim finished hauling the last suitcase up the stairs, walked into his bedroom, grabbed his phone, and climbed straight out the window. He fitted his comm over his ear, and punched in a familiar number, the one he didn’t save in his phone for security.
“Hey B, we up for patrol?”
“Ten.” Batman's familiar voice filtered into his comm and he smiled. Who cared if his parents liked dinner? Gotham was waiting, and Gotham didn’t like anything.
“Be there in five, over.”