Chapter Text
Tim’s phone had died sometime around noon. He knew this because it had flashed 12% at him accusingly while he was halfway through an impromptu meeting, and then… nothing. Black screen. No vibration. No mercy.
He really had meant to charge it.
That intention had gotten buried somewhere between the rest of his work day as he sorted through spreadsheet after spreadsheet, picking Steph up and stopping at her favorite burger place because she’d mentioned – offhandedly, pointedly – that she’d been thinking about fries all week. That then turned into grabbing tacos because the place next door had limited-time churros, and then somehow a milkshake detour happened because Steph claimed emotional damages.
By the time they parked, Tim’s backseat looked like a fast-food sampler platter.
“I don’t understand how you’re like this,” Steph said, leaning across the center console to balance a drink. “You are the most high-strung person I know. You run a company. You fight crime. You schedule yourself in five-minute increments.”
Tim rolled his eyes, but he was unable to hide the revealing smirk of clear un-annoyance. After all, she had a point. Over the past four months, Tim has (totally unintentionally) made it his mission to have nearly no time to himself except for meals, transportation, and sleep. He even found himself penciling in appropriate times he could go to the bathroom. Gods, no one could ever see his calendar. Yeah, Steph was right.
Not like it was the observation of the century or anything.
Nor would he ever outwardly admit that to her or anyone else for that matter. But so what? It wasn’t Tim’s fault that people needed him. Sure, he understood that maybe there weren’t many people that had jobs, school, and heroism to attend to, let alone without completely losing their minds. But then again, he would just have to be the first. Tim had been catching himself a few times smiling while thinking about how proud his parents might be of him if they were still around.
(“Still around,” as if they were just abroad on another dig and not in twin coffins buried two miles from his apartment.)
His father would clap him on the back and say something like that’s my boy! His mother would catch his eye from across the room as she would not-so-humbly brag about his accomplishments to whichever gaggle of wives or clients she was currently attending to.
The grief hit in funny ways like that. When his parents were alive, all of their praise felt like it had to be earned. Not that that had ever really been the problem, as Tim knew he was capable of earning their love. In fact, he realized too late that he may have only hurt his own chances of impressing his parents as he was always taking on so much already. His parents began to expect him to be so above average, it took all but a personalized letter of approval from the superintendent of Gotham Academy for them to even quirk an eyebrow in his direction before his mother died. Tim hoped she would be proud of him if she knew she did all of this on top of Robin.
Not that his father had when he found out. Whatever. Tim was proud of himself and that was enough, right? It didn’t matter if they didn’t understand. It doesn’t matter if anyone understands. Being useful is all that mattered after all.
Now he lived a life where everyone was impressive. Dick and Jason both became Robin a lot earlier than he had, so naturally Tim knew he had to work harder to prove his agility and durability. Steph had all of the cards stacked against her and she was still able to stick it to her father and become one of the most badass vigilantes in Gotham. Barbara was stripped from her role as Batgirl in the most devastating way possible, yet she was able to immediately pivot to another one of her strengths. Damian and Cass, well – actually Tim wasn’t ready to unpack all of their trauma before they did. And Bruce is… The Batman.
Tim on the other hand had all of the resources his entire life, so everything he had accomplished naturally had an asterisk next to it. He knew that. So did everyone else.
So, after cross referencing his calendar exactly seven times, Tim found time for his “neglected” best friend. He missed just hanging out with Steph. Sure, they saw each other at least every other day on patrol – that was his argument every time she said they didn't see each other anymore. She replied by saying that wasn’t the same thing. Tim had to admit she was right. So, here they were. Parking in the lot of a tall building on the edge of the Bowery.
“And yet,” Steph continued, forcing Tim to refocus on their conversation, “you cannot remember to charge your phone.”
Tim shrugged, grabbing his bag. “I remembered to buy you food.”
“That is not the same thing. And how,” Steph added, popping the trunk, “do you not own a charger?”
“I do,” Tim said defensively. “Just… not with me.”
“I thought you’d explode without technology,” she muttered, pulling a cable from her pocket. “You’re welcome, by the way.” Together, they carried their haul of food and loaded themselves into the elevator. Tim hit the button for the top floor and noticed how Steph did her best to not raise an eyebrow at him.
The rooftop was exactly how Tim set it up to be.
Wide. Open. Quiet in the way Gotham rarely was. The two headed over to the blanket, set close to the edge of the building that was already spread out by Tim just hours before. Steph set the food down, already opening containers like this was routine. When Tim spotted the outlet tucked behind the vent on the other side of the roof, relief washed through him.
He instantly pivoted and plugged the charger in and set his phone down, watching it stubbornly refuse to turn on.
“…Okay,” he murmured. “So it’s very dead.”
Steph snorted. “I told you.”
Tim decided to leave it and sat down beside her, pulling his camera from his bag and resting it carefully on his knee. The city stretched out below them – steel and glass and motion, all of it humming softly under the setting sun.
Steph reached for a fry, then stopped when she noticed what he was holding.
She glanced up. “Hey,” she said. Then, squinting at the setup: blanket, food, drinks, skyline view. “So. Just checking. I did break up with you, right?”
Tim snorted, dropping his bag beside her. “I broke up with you, actually. Mutual clarity. Big difference.”
“Mmm,” Steph said, unconvinced, resuming her pursuit of fries. “Because this looks an awful lot like a date.”
“Friends are allowed to eat together,” Tim said, focusing on adjusting the camera lens. “On rooftops.”
“At night.”
“In civilian clothes.”
Steph looked at him sideways. Steph’s eyes flicked back to Tim’s camera. “Are you going to take my picture?”
Tim huffed a laugh. “You’d break the lens.”
“Rude.”
“And inaccurate,” he added, raising the camera and checking the settings. “But no. If my intel is correct–”
Steph groaned. “Oh my god.”
“–and it is,” Tim continued calmly, “because I am the intel, there should be a metahuman entering the area in the next few minutes.”
Steph froze mid-chew. “…You’re serious.”
Tim nodded, eyes already scanning the skyline. “That’s what the camera’s for,” he said. “Pattern analysis.”
“That’s stalking,” Steph said flatly.
“It’s research,” Tim shot back automatically.
She watched him for a long moment, expression unreadable. “You said the same thing when you were nine and following Batman and Robin.”
Tim didn’t look at her. “And I was right then too.”
Steph opened her mouth, then closed it. “Okay,” she said finally. “So this is apparently a Thing.”
A shadow crossed the opposite rooftop. Tim’s breath caught.
There.
He raised the camera instinctively.
The metahuman descended without resistance, boots meeting concrete like it had been waiting for him. Leather jacket. Relaxed posture. No attempt at concealment. He stood at the edge of the building, hands on his hips, looking down at the city like it was speaking directly to him.
Click.
Click.
Steph leaned forward despite herself. “…Whoa.”
Tim swallowed, fingers moving on autopilot as he adjusted the focus.
The metahuman crouched, peering down, then smiled at something unseen. It was small. Unguarded. Soft in a way Tim hadn’t expected.
Click.
“Does Bruce know about this,” Steph asked quietly.
Tim didn’t answer right away.
“No,” he said finally.
Steph sighed. “Tim.”
“He doesn’t need to,” Tim said, a little too fast. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
Steph snorted. “That has literally never been true for your family.”
Tim’s jaw tightened. “I still don’t understand why he hates metas.”
“Okay,” Steph said immediately, holding up a hand. “Daddy issues. I am not touching that with a ten-foot pole.”
Tim huffed a weak laugh and took another picture.
The metahuman shifted, scanning the skyline again, utterly unbothered by being visible in a city that had a strict no-meta policy. Who are you?
Steph shook her head, biting into a churro. “You said this was a side quest.”
“It is.”
“Then why,” she pointed at the setup, at Tim, at the camera, the churro jabbing the air accusingly, “am I being wined and dined in civilian clothes while you take pictures of your future boyfriend?”
Tim choked. “He is not–”
Steph grinned, resting her head in her hands innocently. “I mean he’s not blonde, but let’s be real. He’s got that vigilante glow. Have you zoomed in on his ass yet? You know, for research purp-”
“Stephanie Lyla Brown.” Steph threw her head back and laughed, satisfied.
“Why even include me on your little escapade?” Steph sat up, trying to get a better look from Tim’s angle. “Aren’t stalkers supposed to be like… more discreet? And alone? This isn’t exactly a two person activity.”
“Not stalking,” Tim reminded her, his camera shuttering once more. Steph let out a huff in response as if verbally rolling her eyes. “We are being discreet.”
“Then either your skills have gone rusty, or Batman has worse instincts than we thought,” Steph laughed. “Because this,” she gestured to the obviously lit rooftop and then to the two of them, “is the most conspicuous place to take pictures. That guy has definitely seen us.”
Tim sighed, lowering his camera. “It doesn’t matter if he’s seen us. Why do you think I invited Steph and not Spoiler?”
Steph blinked. “Because of my charming personality?”
“That,” Tim smirked, “and because I’ve scoped out this area on patrol. There are no non-lit rooftops in this radius, including the one our meta-friend is brooding on. He clearly doesn’t care if he’s seen, but he might if he knew he was being…” Tim chose his words carefully, “observed. So, the easiest way to snag a photo? Chance. Red Robin is not known for chance or carrying cameras, but Tim Drake might just be casually hanging around with his camera and his friend and just happen to take an interest in the dark figure he sees in the distance.”
“You think too much.”
“Thanks.”
“So what, just in case he sees us, now he won’t recognise you as Red Robin? Again, why not just come alone? He wouldn’t think anything of it.”
Tim sucks in a breath.
“Well he wouldn’t, but the press might.” Steph stops moving. Slowly, she looks away from the figure across the city and ohboyiflookscouldkill. Tim’s mouth moves faster now, “If someone spots me alone on a rooftop with a camera aimed at Gotham’s newest metahuman, that would be difficult to write off. But-”
“But if you were on a date with a girl from that area you’d get off easy.” Any expression resembling any warm feelings for Tim was gone. Tim cooly swallowed his instinctual (and well founded) fear and ventured on.
“Stephanie, my dear, close, personal friend-”
“Timothy Jackson Drake, I will do many things for you, including but not limited to burying multiple bodies. But I swear to all things holy if I end up with my face plastered on another Gotham Post article titled ‘She’s the One!’ I will personally fake your death as Red Robin in a secluded area where you are face down in a ditch, dagger in your back, so it looks like you were running away like a coward.” And she didn’t stutter once. Or break eye contact.
Tim had to fake a cough to keep his cool. If he laughed in her face right now, Steph would probably carry out her threat right then and there.
“Normally that would be a very spooky threat, but unless I really have lost my edge, there’s been no reporters over here anyways.” Steph raised an eyebrow and scanned the rooftops despite herself. She hummed in confirmation. She quickly caught her dropped glare though, and narrowed her eyes at her best friend once again.
“And you better thank your lucky stars for that,” Steph gritted out, one of her eyes twitching. Whether it was for dramatic purposes or an actual, bodily reaction to being set up was anyone’s guess, but Tim’s mind went to another question that crept up on him.
“I don’t understand why though. I’ve been flanked by at least two every time I leave my apartment this week,” Tim’s eyebrows were getting closer by the second. As he spoke, it dawned on him that something was missing here, but his mind just kept reverting to wondering if there was some major crime occurring somewhere across the city. Maybe an Arkham breakout again–
“Excuse me, but it looks like you’re disappointed in this fact,” Steph interpreted his thoughts, with a dramatic frown on her face.
“Well I put a lot of effort into the spread,” Tim mutters half-heartedly, still focusing on the mini puzzle in his head that he’s putting together with tweezers. He chooses to ignore the swears and empty threats that start spewing out of Steph’s mouth. If there was something serious occurring, surely I would have gotten an emergency beacon from Bruce by now–
That’s when Tim remembers his phone. Instantly he sets his camera down and makes his way across the rooftop to the outlet where he plugged in his device not long before. Steph, still clearly exasperated by the whole ‘using her’ thing, pointedly stomps after him and looks over his shoulder as he unlocks his phone.
There is a moment of silence. That moment was extremely fleeting.
Tim’s phone begins to vibrate and rapidly starts to overheat from the sheer amount of texts and calls he seems to have missed. As he scans the multiple messages of “Where are you” and “Tim, pick up the phone” from nearly all members of his family, Tim's mind flips into Red Robin mode. He is racing to grab all of his belongings as he shoves miscellaneous items haphazardly into his backpack.
“Earth to Tim,” Steph’s voice cuts sharply through his brain fog. Tim full body pivots towards her to catch her eyes wide and hands thrown up in the air. Steph takes his moment of full attention to rattle off her multitude of questions. “What the actual hell is going on right now, huh? Do we need to report?”
Before Tim can open his mouth to respond, his phone begins to vibrate in his hand. Dick’s caller ID flashes on the screen for a second before Tim swipes to accept it. “Dick? Report. What do I need to–”
“Report?” Dick’s voice crackles over the line in an intense tone. It sounds more subdued. Subtle, even. Almost like he is whispering. “Tim, where are you?”
“I’m with Steph on the east side of the Bowery. We were following a lead,” the half truth (or half lie) slips out without hesitation. He continues to gather his things, now with Steph following suit. “We’re in civvies but we can be enroute within five. What’s your status?”
There is no response from Dick for a moment, but Tim can hear the background chatter with a lack of motor sounds or wind. He’s on foot. Getting people to safety. It may be serious if he’s not backing up B directly.
Dick sighs on the other line. “My status is pretty friggin’ irritated.” Tim slows – literally. His brain starts to short circuit with all of the reasons Dick of all people would say that he’s anything below indifferent. Steph catches his eye and mouths something along the lines of “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, my phone was dead and I’m not supposed to be on patrol tonight so my beacon–” Tim’s explanation is cut off.
“Tim, do you have any idea what day it is?” Again, Tim is stumped by the situation. Why isn’t he just asking me for help? Save the lecture for later!
“It’s Friday.”
“It’s Saturday, Tim.” All of the annoyance in Dick’s voice seems to have faded into something much more worn and tired. “But you’re right. You’re not on patrol tonight. None of us are.”
Suddenly, Tim is in motion again – somehow much faster than before.
“I’m on my way–” He sputters, all of the air seemingly sucked out of him. It all makes sense then. The insane traffic. All of the missed messages and phone calls. The mysterious lack of reporters following him! It’s not that they magically lost interest, but they assumed he would be somewhere else. And the assumption should have been easily met because he was missing–
“Tim!” It was Steph again, but as he whirled towards her this time, Tim nearly collapsed. With the reflexes of a vigilante (well… duh), Steph was right there to steady him before his knees hit the floor.
“The gala,” Tim managed to say. His phone (and subsequently Dick) forgotten and hanging limply in his hand. “I need to leave now.”
After gaining some semblance of presence again, Tim raises the phone to his ear to apologize to Dick in as many creative ways as he knows how. Dick muttered some form of, “I’m not mad,” (I’m so mad) and “I’ll see you soon,” (Get your ass here yesterday). All the while Steph has grabbed the last of what was their rooftop dinner. The two of them hauled ass down the access stairs and towards the elevator. They stayed silent until the elevator doors shut. Finally, Tim explains.
He tells Steph about the gala that was being held that night at Wayne Manor. He tells her about how it is the first Wayne-hosted-gala that he was to appear as a fully adopted son of Bruce Wayne. About how he was also to appear as a stakeholder in Wayne Enterprises. About how this was a controversial decision that left the press hot and with questions: the entire reason he was being nagged by all of those reporters for the past week.
About how he was so tired because he was so stupidly awake all night planning this dumb steak out for a dumb meta that he didn’t even know any reliable facts about. And he knew he had to lie about all of this or else Bruce would lose what was left of his marbles over his not only unsanctioned side quest, but in civvies none the less! How could he be so clueless!
If he wasn’t so tired he wouldn’t have forgotten about the gala. If he wasn’t so tired he at least wouldn’t have missed all of the obvious signs. Tim would remember that today was Saturday, and not Friday, unlike the absolute idiot that he was.
Steph just stared at him. Uninterrupting, nodding along, and being non-judgemental. Well, mostly non-judgmental.
Practically vibrating with newfound adrenaline, Tim turns with another revelation, “Sorry Steph, I can’t drop you off. You’re either coming with me or walking home.”
Steph groans and glances at her own phone for a moment before sucking in a breath. “Well it’s almost ten and we’re in Gotham so that’s not really much of a choice, is it.”
SHIT. Ten already?
Tim is so majorly screwed.
Once the elevator reaches the ground floor, the pair bolts out of the building and to the lot where Tim’s car lay in wait. Climbing in on either side, Tim starts the car and doesn’t wait for Steph to get settled when he begins to pull out of the lot. “You owe me so hard for all of this,” Steph grumbles, but her face is tight with concern. Tim didn’t understand why she seemed nervous. Maybe he wasn’t scared enough for the verbal lashing he was about to receive.
“Yeah,” he says out loud, jaw tightening in tandem with his grip on the steering wheel. What he doesn’t say is: I think I’m going to hear that a few more times tonight.