Chapter Text
Dana blinks at the man standing awkwardly in front of the apartment she and Tim have been living in for months. Since the... break in. She knows his face, because unfortunately everyone in Gotham knows his face, but she also knows he has a penchant for shadows and bats. She's one of thr— two people outside of the secret, that knows that.
Though, Tim was part of the secret, so... hm, she doesn't like that. Best to ignore that for the moment. Instead, she cocks her head, smiling her 'this is a difficult patient' smile. "Brucie. If this is about your offer, I really don't think it's necessary."
His offer to adopt Tim and take some pressure off her at Jack's funeral. Like crying over her dead husband with her son was some weakness she needed help overcoming. She had managed to keep all her horror about Tim being Robin tied to Batman until Brucie Wayne was bumbling around the graveyard at her husband's funeral.
Now she had no care to separate Batman from Brucie Wayne in her mind.
Brucie's smile is a little more awkward, a little colder, than it was a second ago. "Ah, no. Of course not! I heard the good news." Of course he had, because the tabloids still couldn't let go of the 'Drake Tragedies' despite— or maybe because of— the fact that Jack (and now Dana) couldn't even afford to sue. "I just wanted to check on Tim."
Dana feels her smile turn brittle. She's exhausted and grieving and the adoption went through only a week ago. Tim being safe with her was only solidified a week ago. She's spent three months, carefully concealing her fear that Batman would swoop in and take Tim away, and she wouldn't be able to do anything to stop it. "It's a school day."
Brucie frowns, something in his shoulders stiffening, and Dana matches it. "It's 3:46."
"He stays late for Photography Club." It had been part of their deal; she'd try making some more friends if he tried to find a place at school. "He'll get home around 4:15."
And he won't be delayed by the bus or getting mugged, because Dana is 80% certain he gets home via the rooftops, but she's waiting to have that discussion. Because he gets home with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes, and when she takes that away...
Brucie's eyebrows furrow. "You let him walk alone?"
"Lots of kids walk home alone."
"Tim isn't just another kid."
Dana takes a deep breath, instead of snapping in Batman's face. "He's fine. He has my number in his emergency contacts, and he doesn't leave the apartment without a pocketknife or mace."
Batman's lip tugs down. "Tim is a brilliant child. He shouldn't have to carry mace."
And Dana— Dana can't disagree, but this is the best life she can give Tim, right now. And— and Tim doesn't seem to mind. It's not like he's switched schools again, he's going to the same one from before— before Jack died. He's, well, they're both still a mess, but he gets home from Photography Club with flushed cheeks and dancing eyes, and Dana doesn't know when Tim would look like that, if she'd been killed too and Tim had been adopted by Batman.
Batman continues talking, "I'd be happy to pay for it, of course."
Oh, Dana missed something. "What?"
Bat— Brucie blinks, "I'd be happy to pay tuition for Tim to go back to Gotham Academy. It's much safer, and I'm sure he misses his friends. Besides, it would be much more intellectually stimulating for him."
Tim only got one C last semester, and they had gone out for ice cream. Jack had smiled, and ruffled Tim's hair, despite the fact that they still hadn't been talking they never got to talk. Tim doesn't care about school, not really. It had been a surprise that he'd done more than pass, for most of his classes.
(Tim, looking down at the grocery cart sheepishly. "I dunno, you seem so happy when I talk about school, D. So I guess I just... wanted more things to tell you.")
Dana opens her mouth, to say something mean like— like— like how his shoes don't match his sweater. But instead, she takes another deep breath, drops the smile because this man is not deserving of that effort right now, and steps out of the way to let him inside. Because— because he just wants to help Tim. And if he brings up Robin they might have problems, but so far, he just seems like a man trying to keep Tim safe. She can't let her grief overlook that.
Brucie continues to stand in the hallway. Words, Dana, "Would you like some tea? Apple cider, maybe?" She and Tim had bought a slightly ridiculous amount at the Winter Market, the spicy heated-up apple drink helping make their Christmas a little more bearable. They still had a bottle or two left, Dana thinks.
Brucie finally takes a step inside. "Tea is fine."
Dana nods, shutting and locking the door behind him, and leading him to the 'kitchen'. The only thing separating it from the main room is the counter, the dent next to the stove shouting at Dana as she nods to one of the barstools against the counter, and grabs the kettle because just microwaving tea is probably a bad look in front of Brucie Wayne.
She's already cried about the dent several times. It's doesn't matter, it's not like this place cost less just because of the dent. But the little bit of savings she and Jack had left from selling the manor— and paying off the last of those medical debts the insurance was holding up, and buying the house— went towards Jack's funeral and fixing the window and redoing the floor so she could then put the house that still hasn't sold back on the market. Forget that Dana hasn't been able to take more hours at the hospital while planning a funeral and trying to sell a house and jumping through the hoops to adopt Tim while Gotham Gazette accused her of being a gold digger.
The dent reminds her, every day, that she can't afford to fix it right now. That Jack isn't here to complain about the poor quality of the granite before purposefully placing something on it every time he cooks, smirking at her when she rolls her eyes. That Tim, despite apple cider and Photography Club and Dana trying so so hard, also locks onto the dent as a place of discord.
She fills the kettle, and sets it on the stove, cranking the burner. "Black? Chamomile?"
"Whichever you prefer," Brucie murmurs politely, and Dana decides this is a black tea type of day. She glances at her watch; Tim should be home soon.
"Ms Winters?" Dana thought she'd have more time to get used to Mrs looks up again, making eye contact with the man hunched over her kitchen counter. "...Are you alright?" Brucie winces, hopefully realizing what a dumb question that is.
"Call me Dana," she says automatically. Then rubs her face, tired in more ways than one. "I'm..."
The squeak of a key in the lock, the door slamming open in that adrenaline-rush way that Dana's pretty sure means Tim just did something heart-attack inducing. "D! You'll never guess what happened with—" Tim looks up, sees Brucie, and freezes. "Um."
"Did you finally get your hands on a prism?" Dana asks, because this is the best part of her day and Brucie is not going to ruin it.
"—Yeah." Tim glances between them quickly, then shuts the door, leaning against it as he decides to make firm eye contact with her. Dana does her best not to melt in relief. "Skye held it for me so I could get this great shot with an old bottle, and then I had to hold her leaf-contraption still so she could get a good shot of the shadows without blur."
It's not as much as she'd normally get, but Dana takes it. "Mr Wayne wanted to check on you."
Tim stares at Brucie like he's an idiot. "I have Photography Club on Tuesdays and Fridays."
Dana hides her smile by ducking her head while she pours boiling water into three mugs, then rummages through the cupboard for two tea bags and a packet of hot chocolate mix.
"Oops," Brucie says so monotone Dana has to stifle a laugh. "Dana and I were just discussing moving you back to Gotham Academy."
Dana grabs one of the black tea bags that like to disintegrate. She plops it into one of the mugs, and sets it in front of Batman. "Mr Wayne offered, nothing's solid yet."
Tim freezes again, his backpack and camera bag haphazardly next to the couch. "We're moving again?"
"Nothing's solid," Dana repeats, then pauses. "What?"
"Gotham Academy requires you to be living in a certain distance from the school," Tim says while Brucie takes a visible interest in his tea. Any guilt over the crappy teabag vanishes.
"Then," Dana says, more tired than ever, "We'll have to decline."
Tim nods, and thankfully he doesn't seem disappointed. He ducks under her arm and leans against her while she hands him the hot chocolate, then wraps her arms around him. Brucie eyes the contact, and Dana ignores him.
Brucie clears his throat. "Of course, it must have slipped my mind." Pause, then; "Alfred misses you, Tim."
Tim tenses slightly under her arm. Dana squeezes his shoulders and deliberately waits for Brucie to take a sip of tea. He grimaces, but just takes another, longer sip. Tim quickly takes a gulp of hot chocolate, likely just noticing which type of teabag Dana gave Brucie. "Remind me who Alfred is?"
"B's dad," "The family butler," they say at the same time.
"B wants us to come over for dinner sometime," Tim says. The same way he'd tell Dana 'Jack likes this movie' or Jack 'Dana really wants this yogurt'. That way that means I want this too but pretend like I didn't, please.
And— this is the man that held Tim until Dana got home that day.
This is the man that called the police.
This is the man that made sure she didn't have to see her husband's body.
This is the man that had Tim for a year while Jack was in a coma. A year, and she's only had Tim for a few months.
Tim wants to go.
"Sure," Dana takes a deep breath, ignores Brucie's surprise. "Friday?"