Archive of Our Own ^beta

The digital clock on the corner of Caitlyn’s laptop screen seemed to be mocking her, the neon digits blinking away the precious seconds of a Tuesday evening. In a week, she and Inaya would hit the one-year mark. One year. In the world of teenage romance—especially one conducted under the watchful, albeit loving, eyes of two former superheroes—that was basically a diamond anniversary.

Caitlyn was a girl of logic. She spent a significant amount of time reading scientific journals and true crime dossiers she definitely wasn’t supposed to have access to on Tim’s laptop. She knew, with clinical certainty, that personality traits were not strictly inheritable in the way eye color or height were. More importantly, she knew that since she was adopted, any shared neuroses between her and her parents were a product of environment, not DNA. Nature versus nurture was a debate she had practically memorized.

And yet, as she stared at the blank "Notes" app on her phone, a familiar sense of frantic, last-minute improvisation began to swell in her chest. She wondered, with a touch of dry humor, if she had somehow absorbed this specific brand of chaos through osmosis from her pops.

Conner Kent was a man who lived his life in the glorious, terrifying present. Caitlyn had grown up on the legends—the stories of the Boy of Steel charging headlong into intergalactic disputes without so much as a plan B, let alone a plan A. Tim loved to tell the story of their wedding day; how Conner had been so caught up in the joy of the morning that he hadn't realized he hadn't actually written his vows until he was sitting at a diner, eating a stack of pre-ceremony pancakes. He’d scribbled his lifelong commitment to Tim on a grease-stained paper napkin while the wedding march was practically playing in the distance.

Tim, of course, had spent six months drafting his own vows in a leather-bound journal, complete with footnotes.

Currently, Caitlyn felt much more like the man with the napkin than the man with the journal.

“So, my parents are asking what we plan on doing, and they said your dad said to ask you,” Inaya’s voice crackled through the phone speakers, warm and grounding.

Caitlyn looked at the FaceTime window. Inaya was framed by the soft glow of her desk lamp, her dark hair pulled back, a few stray curls framing a face that still made Caitlyn’s heart do a strange, fluttery somersault even after twelve months.

Caitlyn pulled on her best, most convincing "I have everything under control" smile. It was a facial expression she had practiced in the mirror, one she often used when Tim asked if she’d finished her calculus homework.

“It’s a surprise,” Caitlyn said, her voice steady despite the internal alarm bells. “But it’s nothing insane.”

She hoped she wasn't lying. "Nothing insane" was a relative term in their household. To a normal person, it meant dinner and a movie. To a Kent-Drake, it could mean anything from a private rooftop picnic to an accidental trip to the Fortress of Solitude if someone left a Zeta-tube key lying around. She just needed to figure out what the hell she was actually doing.

Inaya laughed, a bright, musical sound that made the guilt prickle at Caitlyn’s conscience. “You’re very lucky my parents trust you guys, Cait. Seriously. This would not slide with anyone else.”

Caitlyn’s smile softened, becoming more genuine. “I am very lucky, yes,” she nodded. She was lucky that Inaya’s parents saw the heart beneath the occasionally overwhelming power of her family. They saw the Kents and the Drakes not as urban legends, but as the slightly eccentric, incredibly protective family that had taken Caitlyn in.

Inaya turned back to her desk, the rhythmic scratching of her pencil against paper filling the silence of the call. It was a comfortable silence, the kind earned through a year of shared lunches, whispered secrets in the hallway, and late-night study sessions where more talking happened than studying.

Caitlyn glanced down at her own homework—a history essay on the industrial revolution—but the words blurred. Her mind was a map of the city, searching for the perfect spot. It couldn't just be a restaurant. It had to be the spot. It had to be something that reflected a year of Inaya being the person who could make Caitlyn forget the weight of her last name.

Inaya twirled her pencil between her fingers, her gaze drifting back to the screen. Her eyes were bright, shimmering with a quiet, eager anticipation that made Caitlyn’s stomach flip. “I am very excited for this surprise, Caitlyn. I've been thinking about it all week.”

Caitlyn felt the familiar pressure of a deadline pressing against her ribs. It was the same feeling her pops must have felt when the Justice League gave him a countdown, or when Tim realized a case was going cold.

“Me too,” Caitlyn said, her voice dropping an octave. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her chest from heaving in a way that would betray her nerves. She hoped it was subtle. She hoped the camera didn't catch the way her eyes darted toward the calendar on her wall.

“You okay?” Inaya asked, her brow furrowing slightly. “You look like you’re doing that thing where you calculate the trajectory of something.”

Caitlyn let out a soft, huffed laugh, leaning her chin on her hand. “Just making sure the surprise is perfect, Inaya. You deserve perfect.”

“I just want to be with you,” Inaya said, her voice soft and sincere. “That’s the only part that has to be perfect.”

Caitlyn felt a lump form in her throat. The simplicity of Inaya’s love was a stark contrast to the complexity of Caitlyn’s world. While her dads were busy saving the city or managing multi-billion dollar legacies, Inaya just wanted her.

“I can definitely manage that,” Caitlyn promised.

As they returned to their respective assignments, the scratch of pencils the only sound in the digital space between them, Caitlyn’s mind began to race in earnest. She had seven days. Seven days to take the chaotic, last-minute energy she’d inherited from Conner and refine it with the tactical precision she’d learned from Tim.

She needed a plan. She needed a location. And most importantly, she needed to make sure that when she presented this "surprise," it didn't look like something scribbled on a breakfast napkin—even if, deep down, that was exactly how it started.

She watched Inaya through the screen for a moment longer, a silent vow forming in her mind. Personality traits might not be inheritable, but the drive to protect the people they loved certainly was. Whether it was nature or nurture, Caitlyn was going to make sure this anniversary was something Inaya would never forget.

"Cait?" Inaya murmured, not looking up from her notes.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Caitlyn froze for a second, a warmth spreading through her that no superpower could ever replicate. "I love you too, Inaya. More than the surprise."

"Good," Inaya smirked, finally looking up. "Because if the surprise is bad, you're still stuck with me." 

Caitlyn laughed at that.

— 

The sanctuary of the master bedroom was usually a place of quiet order, but at four o'clock on a Thursday, it became the staging ground for a teenage existential crisis. Caitlyn didn't just walk into the room; she surrendered to gravity, plopping face-first onto the expansive bed. She let out a long, muffled scream that was swallowed by the eclectic mix of high-end, high-thread-count silk comforters Tim insisted upon and the chunky, hand-knitted wool throws that Martha Kent had sent in care packages from Smallville.

Conner, who was currently occupied with the domestic mundanity of dusting the heavy mahogany dresser he and Tim shared, didn't even flinch at the sound. He was used to the dramatic flair of the youth in this house. He simply paused, rag in hand, and glanced over his shoulder at the sprawled-out figure of his daughter.

“It is four in the afternoon on a Thursday, Caiti,” Conner remarked, his voice carrying that easy, Midwestern lilt that always seemed to ground the room. “The sun is still up, the world is still turning, and you haven't even had dinner yet. What exactly has ruffled your feathers to this extent?”

Caitlyn didn't sit up. She merely turned her head to the side, her cheek squished uncomfortably into a particularly scratchy red throw blanket that smelled faintly of lavender detergent. Her eyes looked wide and slightly panicked.

“What did you and Dad do for your one-year anniversary?” she demanded, the words slightly distorted by the fabric.

Conner snorted, a genuine, amused sound that vibrated in his chest. He turned back to the dresser, moving a stack of Tim’s watch cases to wipe underneath them. “Caiti, you’re asking the wrong guy. I was technically dead for our one-year anniversary. Or maybe I was in that alternate future? The timeline is a bit of a mess. I have no idea when our ‘one-year’ actually is.”

He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully with the dusting rag. “Your dad knows, probably. He has a spreadsheet for everything, including the first time we shared a cup of coffee. But me? I know our wedding anniversary for sure, and that’s the one I make sure to clear my schedule for. Everything before that is a bit of a blur of capes and crises.”

Caitlyn let out a theatrical sigh, her breath puffing against the wool. “So helpful,” she said, her voice dripping with the kind of sarcasm only a sixteen-year-old can truly master. “Truly a fountain of romantic wisdom, Pops.”

Conner turned around fully then, leaning his hip against the dresser. He abandoned the cleaning for a moment, sensing the genuine distress beneath her dramatics. “You haven’t planned what you wanna do with Inaya yet, have you?”

“Nope,” Caitlyn groaned, burying her face back into the pillow for a second before looking up again. “And at this rate, I think I’ll actually die before I figure it out. The pressure is immense. I told her I could handle it because she already has so much going on with her AP classes and her parents, and I just... I wanted to make it easier for her. I wanted to be the one who had it all figured out for once.”

She looked small amidst the pillows, the shadow of her father’s perfection—or at least, the perfection she perceived in her parents—looming over her. She wanted to be the stable one, the one who didn't need a plan from Tim or a rescue from Conner.

“Caiti, look,” Conner said, shrugging his broad shoulders. “You know a ton of people who are in... let's call them ‘successful’ relationships. Or at least, very complicated ones. Why don't you ask them what they did? Sometimes learning what not to do is just as good as a blueprint.”

Caitlyn raised a skeptical eyebrow, finally pushing herself up onto her elbows. The red yarn of the blanket had left faint indentations on her cheek. “Is that what you would do? Call up a bunch of disaster-magnets for dating tips?”

“Oh, not in a million years,” Conner admitted with a grin, shaking his head. “I’d be mortified. I have a reputation to uphold as a cool, collected husband. But you? You’re a teenager. People expect you to be a little lost. They’ll think it’s cute and precocious that you’re doing research.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but she reached for her phone, which had been buzzing with notifications in her pocket. 

“I’ll call Uncle Roy,” she decided, her thumb hovering over his name. “He’s usually around, and he’s had enough romantic disasters to fill a library. Plus, Uncle Jay never answers the phone unless the world is on the very verge of exploding or aliens are actively invading a major area.”

Conner snorted, the image of Jason Todd ignoring a phone call in favor of a dramatic rooftop silhouette being entirely too accurate. “Fair point. Roy’s a talker. He’ll give you at least three stories you didn't ask for before you get to the actual advice.”

“Better than silence,” Caitlyn muttered, hit dial, and waited for the chaos to pick up on the other end.

She plopped the phone down on the blankets and watched it ring, looking at the photo of Roy’s forehead that Lian had sent him years ago as a joke—it remained his contact picture, a blurry, tan expanse of skin and a sliver of red hair. The phone vibrated against the mattress, the hum of the motor muffled by the thick Kent-knitted throws, until it was answered after the third ring.

“Hey, Kid,” Roy’s voice crackled through the speaker, accompanied by a cacophony of white noise. Even through the phone, the environment sounded aggressive—the whistle of wind at a high altitude and the sharp, mechanical thwip-zip of a grappling line engaging. It was the quintessential soundtrack of a Harper-Todd afternoon.

“Hey, quick question—what did you and Uncle Jay do for your one-year anniversary?” Caitlyn asked. She didn't bother with the "how are you" or "are you currently mid-freefall" pleasantries; in this family, speed was the only way to get a word in before someone’s comms went dark.

“Oh, man, for Jason and me’s one year?” Roy’s voice shifted, the wind noise muffling as he presumably tucked the phone closer to his ear. “Let’s see... that was a classic. We went to a shooting range with Lian. It was great—bonding time, you know? Taught her some proper stance work, checked the calibration on her sights. Really wholesome stuff.”

Caitlyn heard a distinct, audible ‘chef’s kiss’ sound over the line.

“And then,” Roy continued, his tone turning almost reverent, “we went to dinner at this really high-end steakhouse downtown. The kind where the waiters wear white gloves and the bill looks like a phone number. I think about that meal at least once a week, Cait. The peppercorn crust on the ribeye? Divine. Seriously, I’d marry the chef if I wasn't already occupied. Why’d you ask? You looking for a recommendation?”

“I’m trying to plan mine and my girlfriend’s first anniversary, and I’m stuck,” Caitlyn admitted, her voice muffled as she spoke directly into the fabric of a pillow. “It’s next Sunday, and I have exactly zero ideas that don't end in me getting grounded for life.”

“Well, did I help you?” Roy sounded genuinely hopeful, his voice brightening. “That’s a gold-standard date night right there. Action, followed by a calorie surplus.”

Caitlyn paused, staring up at the ceiling fan. “Well... Inaya’s a vegetarian. And she has very strict parents. So, a high-caliber shooting range followed by a temple of red meat isn’t exactly what I had in mind for a romantic evening, Roy.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right,” Roy conceded, the enthusiasm deflating slightly. “I guess the 'guns and gore' vibe is definitely more of a 'us' preference.”

There was a brief silence on his end, punctuated by a distant shout that sounded suspiciously like Jason yelling about a rooftop lead.

“Also, just for the record,” Roy added, his voice dropping into a mock-conspiratorial whisper, “if your Uncle Jay ever tries to claim he got more accuracy points than me that day, he is a liar and a cheat. He used the Red Hood HUD to stabilize his aim. It was a total breach of the spirit of the competition.”

Caitlyn hummed, a small smile finally tugging at the corner of her mouth. The advice was objectively terrible for her specific situation, but the sheer "Roy-ness" of it was a comfort. “Yeah, okay, I'll keep that in mind,” she said, her thumb already hovering over the contact list for her next attempt. “I have a few more people I need to call to get a broader sample size, so I’ll talk to you later. Don't fall off any buildings.”

Roy made an affirmative noise, followed by the metallic clack of a magazine being checked. “Yeah, of course. Good luck, kid. You’ll find something. Just maybe steer clear of anything that requires a background check. Oh, and tell Thomas I said hi!”

Caitlyn pressed the hang-up button and let out a long, dramatic sigh that ruffled the fibers of the blanket. “No one would be able to help me,” she lamented. “The bars for 'normal' in this family are in the basement.”

“There are some reasonable people,” Conner suggested, moving a stack of Tim’s neatly folded sweaters. “Try your uncle Dick.”

Caitlyn shifted her head to stare at him with a perfectly flat, deadpan expression. “Pops, the words ‘Uncle Dick’ and ‘reasonable people’ should never be in the same sentence. Unless the sentence is ‘Uncle Dick is not a reasonable person.’”

Conner snorted, unable to argue with the logic. “Well, yeah. Point taken. But he is dating two people simultaneously. The one-year anniversary had to be pretty good for them to all love each other this much and co-parent Mar’i without ending up in the news.”

Caitlyn considered this. It was true that the Grayson-West-Koriander household was remarkably stable, if high-energy. “I guess.” She pressed the next contact, the photo of a grinning Dick Grayson popping up.

“Hey scumpică, how can I help you?” Dick’s voice was bright, clear, and suspiciously energetic. “Did you get kidnapped again? Do I need to get the bike?”

Caitlyn snorted. “Not again. But I did have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“What did you, Uncle Wally, and Aunt Kori do for your guys’ one-year anniversary?”

“Well, we had Mar’i by the time all of us finally figured out our feelings, and she was a toddler back then,” Dick reminisced, his voice softening. “So we went to this giant indoor trampoline park. We had the time of our lives, honestly. I think Wally, Kori, and I might have had more fun than Mar’i did. Kori accidentally flew through a ceiling tile, and Wally got banned from the dodgeball court for life.”

Caitlyn stared at her pops, who was nodding along as if a trampoline park was a perfectly sophisticated, five-star venue for a romantic milestone. She chewed her lip, thinking it over. On one hand, it sounded amazing. Both she and Inaya were athletic, and they shared a deep, mutual love for "silly" dates. They had spent countless afternoons at local parks, ostensibly to walk, only to end up having contests on the swings or seeing who could go down the slide faster.

But this was the one-year. This was supposed to be the big one. What if Inaya thought it was immature? What if she was expecting candles and slow music instead of foam pits and grip socks?

“That won’t work,” she mumbled, shaking her head.

She could feel her uncle’s raised eyebrow through the phone. “Won’t work for what?”

“I’m trying to plan me and my girlfriend’s anniversary and I want it to be eventful and special,” she explained, her voice rising in frustration. “Uncle Roy said he took Uncle Jay and Lian to a shooting range and then a steakhouse. I need something that feels... important.”

“Oh, a steakhouse sounds so good right now,” Dick mused, distracted. Then, his voice drifted away from the phone as he shouted into the rest of his house. “Wally! Kori! Do you guys want to go to a steakhouse tonight? Roy was talking about it!”

At that exact moment, the bedroom door pushed open and Tim walked in. He looked utterly exhausted, his tie loosened around his neck and his hair a mess from a long day at the office—or the cave. He was holding a stack of mail and looked like he was one minor inconvenience away from a very long nap.

He paused in the doorway, eyes darting between Conner—who was still smugly tidying the dresser—and Caitlyn, who currently had her head buried in her hands while Wally’s muffled voice could be heard through the phone, excitedly debating the merits of a loaded baked potato.

Tim sighed, a long, weary sound. “I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said, looking at Conner. “But what, exactly, is going on?”

“Cait is trying to get advice on what to do for her and Inaya’s anniversary,” Conner answered, glancing at Tim with a soft, welcoming smile.

“And she chose to ask the world’s weirdest couple? Said with love, of course,” Tim added quickly, his voice projecting toward the phone.

“I heard that, Timbert!” Dick’s voice chirped.

“I mean, we are pretty weird, babe,” Wally’s voice joined in. “A human, a speedster, and a Tamaranean walk into a bar...”

“Not helping my argument, Wally,” Dick grumbled.

“Ignore them,” Kori’s voice rang through next, clear and authoritative. There was a slight shuffling sound, a brief yelp from Dick, and then the boys’ voices were gone. “Caitlyn, dear? Have you asked her what she wants to do?”

“It’s meant to be a surprise, and she said she was excited for anything,” Caitlyn sighed into the mattress. “But she has trouble making decisions and it stresses her out. She gets that analysis paralysis thing. So I said I’d figure it out and I just—I don’t have any ideas. I love her, and I want to make it good.”

“Whatever you choose to plan, she will love because she loves you,” Kori said, her tone radiating that warm, alien sincerity. “The heart of the gesture is you, not the location.”

Caitlyn smiled, feeling a little less like her head was going to explode. “Thanks, Auntie.”

“Of course. I have to go deal with my husbands now. They are currently arguing over which steakhouse has the better ambiance. I say we eat the leftovers that are in the fridge,” she mumbled. Caitlyn snorted as the call ended with a soft click.

“Who else can I call?” Caitlyn mumbled, her thumb scrolling through the 'W's.

“Well, before you call Wonder Woman or whoever is next on that list, I need you to empty the dishwasher and then help me make dinner,” Tim said, “It’s your night to help.”

“Do I have to?” she asked, tilting her head and offering her best pout.

“Empty the dishwasher? Yes, it’s a chore,” Tim said, unfazed by the look. “I did it last time, your pops did it the time before, and we both know Thomas is too short to reach the top cupboards without a stool, and I don't want him climbing the counters. As for cooking with me? I’d like you to. I’d like some father-daughter bonding time, but if you’re truly too busy, we can postpone the bonding.”

There was a genuine, quiet vulnerability in Tim’s voice that made Caitlyn feel like a jerk for wanting to hide in the blankets.

“No, I’ll come help,” she said, pushing herself off the bed.

“Okay. I’ll see you in the kitchen,” Tim said, a small, satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

Conner turned his head toward his husband, pausing his cleaning, and puckered his lips expectantly.

Tim stared at him for a long beat, as if weighing the pros and cons of public displays of affection in front of their teenager, before rolling his eyes. He walked over, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to Conner's lips before turning back around to head toward the kitchen.

“Make more calls tomorrow, Caiti. There’s no rush,” Conner said, picking up the rag again.

“There is a rush! It’s in nine days!” Caitlyn huffed, sitting upright and sliding her phone into her pocket.

“Nine days? That’s so much time!” Conner called out as she retreated. “I’ve saved the world in nine minutes!”

Caitlyn only sighed and walked out, her socks sliding on the hardwood as she made her way into the kitchen. Tim was already there, having already donned an apron. He was chopping vegetables with the terrifying, rhythmic precision only someone who had been trained by Batman and Alfred Pennyworth could possibly possess. The tock-tock-tock of the knife was a testament to years of discipline, even in the mundane task of dicing a bell pepper.

“You want my advice on what you should do?” Tim asked, his voice cutting through the rhythmic clatter of ceramic and silverware.

Caitlyn was elbow-deep in the chore, reaching up to stack the dinner plates in the overhead cupboard with a precision that almost matched her father’s. She paused, a stack of saucers balanced in her hand, and looked over her shoulder. The kitchen light glinted off the steel of Tim’s knife as he made quick work of a bundle of scallions.

“You actually have an idea on what we could do?” Caitlyn asked, her voice tinged with a mix of hope and skepticism.

Tim didn't look up from the cutting board, but a small, knowing smirk played on his lips. “I don't have a specific location for you, no. But I have advice on the methodology of how you should figure it out. You’re approaching this as an emotional crisis, Caitlyn, but you should be approaching it as a research project.”

Caitlyn finished stacking the saucers and turned fully to face him, leaning her hip against the counter. “A research project? Dad, it’s a date, not a thesis on the sociological impact of the Bronze Age.”

Tim finally set the knife down, wiped his hands on his apron, and leaned forward, his eyes bright with the spark of a true intellectual challenge. “Think about it. The scientific method says that a theory is only plausible if it can be replicated. Therefore, if you are asking for advice from our... admittedly eclectic family to achieve a life-long relationship based solely on the data of a one-year anniversary, it would be statistically unrealistic to assume it would work for you if you only attempted to replicate a single outlier.”

Caitlyn blinked, her brain momentarily stalling as she processed the rapid-fire logic. She raised a dark eyebrow, her expression deadpan. “So... what? You want me to try everything they’re suggesting? I have to go to a shooting range, a steakhouse, and a trampoline park all in one night? That sounds like a heart attack, not an anniversary.”

“No, no, no,” Tim said, waving the hand that wasn't currently occupied with gathering the diced scallions. “You’re missing the point of the preliminary research phase. Right now, you’re gathering other people’s theories—their subjective experiences—which aren’t backed by any replications or hard data that apply to your specific variables. Inaya isn't Jason Todd, and you certainly aren't Roy Harper.”

He paused, dumping the scallions into a simmering pot with a satisfying hiss. “What I’m trying to say is that you need to create a new theory entirely. Every great scientist gathers data from the giants who came before them, but they don't just copy the old experiments. They use that data as a foundation to create their own unique hypothesis, and then they gather the specific data needed to support that.”

Caitlyn watched the steam rise from the pot, her mind whirring. “So... in non-detective-slash-mad-scientist speak, you’re telling me to keep asking people I know who are in successful relationships, but use their stories as inspiration rather than a to-do list?”

Tim nodded, looking quite pleased with himself. “If you want to make it sound incredibly basic and strip away all the intellectual rigor? Sure. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Caitlyn let out a genuine laugh, the tension that had been coiled in her shoulders since 4:00 PM finally beginning to unfurl. “You’re so weird, Dad. Honestly. It would have been much easier to just say ‘keep asking around for ideas’ instead of giving me a lecture on the philosophy of science.”

Tim picked the knife back up, returning to his work with a graceful, practiced ease. He didn't look offended; if anything, he looked vindicated. “Well, you were smart enough to decipher my ‘weirdness’ in under sixty seconds, so what does that say about you, Caiti?”

Caitlyn reached for the last of the silverware in the drying rack, a small, proud smile touching her face. She thought about the way she analyzed her homework, the way she looked for patterns in people, and the way she was currently trying to "solve" her anniversary like it was a mystery.

“It says I’m your daughter,” she said softly.

Tim’s hand paused for a fraction of a second—a tiny break in his perfect rhythm—before he continued. He didn't say anything, but the warmth in his silence was loud. 

“Tomorrow,” Caitlyn mused as she worked. “I’m calling Auntie Steph and Auntie Cass. If anyone knows how to balance ‘eventful’ with ‘actually romantic,’ it’s them.”

“Good choice,” Tim agreed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just be prepared. Stephanie’s idea of a ‘successful’ anniversary once involved a stolen golf cart and three different colors of spray paint.”

Caitlyn snorted. “Still better than a steakhouse for a vegetarian.”

“Marginally,” Tim conceded. “Marginally.”

—-

So, Caitlyn did.

The following night, the house was filled with the rhythmic, low-frequency hum of a family winding down. Caitlyn had just returned from volleyball practice, her muscles aching in that satisfying way that made the couch feel like a luxury liner. After a quick shower to wash off the scent of the gym floor and knee pads, she retreated to her room. She didn't go for her homework immediately. Instead, she sat at her desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of legal pad paper—a habit she’d picked up from watching Tim break down cold cases.

She created a formal list, a physical manifestation of her "Data Gathering Phase." She wrote down who she had already consulted, marking them off with a neat, decisive stroke of her pen:

Uncle Roy and Uncle Jay 

Uncle Dick, Wally, and Aunt Kori

She stared at the blank lines beneath them for a moment, then added the next name. She took a deep breath, grabbed her phone, and laid flat on her back across her bed, letting her legs dangle off the side. She pressed call and set the phone on the pillow next to her ear, watching the ceiling fan spin in lazy, hypnotic circles.

“Caitlyn?”

The voice was soft, clipped, and possessed a unique cadence that always made Caitlyn feel like she was being truly heard, even over a cellular connection.

“Hi Gūgu, I had a question,” Caitlyn said, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. Hearing Cassandra Cain’s voice always felt like a warm, steady hand on her shoulder.

“What is it?” Cass asked, her tone open and curious.

“So, what did you and Aunt Steph do for your one-year anniversary?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, the kind of silence where Caitlyn knew Cass was leafing through her memories like a physical photo album. “I bought us tickets to a boxing match,” Cass said finally, a hint of fondness in her voice. “Her favorite boxer was fighting. We sat close. We went to my favorite restaurant after—the one with the quiet booths. It was... loud, then soft. It was good.”

Caitlyn could almost picture it: Stephanie Brown screaming herself hoarse at ringside while Cass watched the movement of the fighters with clinical appreciation, followed by a quiet corner in a dim restaurant where they didn't have to say anything at all.

“Is this about you and Inaya’s anniversary coming up?” Cass asked.

Caitlyn nodded, her hair rustling against the pillowcase, despite knowing Cass couldn't see the gesture. “Yeah. It’s in eight days. The clock is definitely ticking.”

Cass hummed, a low vibration of concern. “You have not planned it yet?”

“No,” Caitlyn admitted, her voice dropping into a nervous whisper. “I’m asking around for some inspiration.”

“That makes sense,” Cass said. “Information is strength. But... who have you asked so far?”

“Uncle Roy and Uncle Dick.”

There was another silence, this one significantly heavier than the last. “You asked them? Why?”

Cass’s tone wasn’t judgmental—Cass was rarely judgmental—but it was deeply concerned, in the way a doctor might be concerned if you told them you were treating a broken leg with glitter and optimism.

Caitlyn let out a sheepish laugh. “I don't know. I just thought it would be a good idea. They’ve been together a long time, so I figured they must be doing something right.”

“They are lucky,” Cass stated simply. “Who else are you going to call?”

Caitlyn sat up slightly, reaching for her legal pad and reading off the remaining names on the list. 

“Good,” Cass said, her approval palpable even through the speaker. “Good options. Better than the first two. I wish you much inspiration, Caitlyn. The answer is usually in the person, not the place.”

Caitlyn smiled, feeling the knot in her stomach loosen just a fraction. “Thank you, gūgu.”

“Of course. I will tell Steph you said hello. She is currently trying to fix a toaster. It is not going well.”

“Okay, I love you.”

“Love you too, Guāiguāi.”

Caitlyn couldn’t help but let out a long, contented breath as the call ended. She lingered on the term Cass had used. When Cass had first learned that Caitlyn was Taiwanese, she hadn't just acknowledged it; she had gone to work. She’d spent weeks sequestered with language apps and old films, learning Mandarin so that Caitlyn could communicate with her with a specific kind of ease that didn't require translating her soul into English first.

Tim knew some Mandarin—he knew a little bit of everything—and Conner had picked up phrases here and there to cheer her on at games, but this felt different. To speak the same language with someone who shared a similar heritage, who understood the nuances of the culture without it being an academic exercise, was a profound comfort. It was a connection that went deeper than her second generation Korean dad or her White dad could reach, as much as she loved them.

Cass had started calling her guāiguāi shortly after they met. It reminded Caitlyn of her biological parents in a way that didn't hurt as much as it used to. It was a living bridge to the past, a reminder that she still carried pieces of them that weren't just written in her DNA or the shape of her eyes. She carried the language her mother had whispered into her lungs when she was a baby, paired with the memory of the slight, endearing stumbling of her father, who had tried his absolute best to learn the tonal shifts just to make his wife laugh.

She knew Cass was doing the same thing for Thomas. After learning he was Tamil, Cass had begun the process of learning the language to ensure he felt that same sense of ancestral grounding. She referred to him as Kannu and it never failed to earn the brightest, most gap-toothed smile from him. Cass had even sat with him for hours, helping him perfect the soft, rolling 'th' sound in Athai, so he could call her "Aunt" properly the next time they saw each other.

In a house full of high-tech gadgets and capes, those words felt like the realest things they owned.

She reached out to press the next contact, but the screen suddenly flickered, shifting into an incoming call. The name she had literally just been staring at popped up in bold letters before she could even tap the screen.

“Hey kiddo,” Barbara’s voice rang through the speaker, crisp and clear, sounding like she was sitting in a room filled with the gentle whirring of high-end servers.

“Hey Babs. How did you know I was just about to call you?” Caitlyn asked, rolling over onto her stomach and propping her chin up on her elbows. She shouldn't have been surprised—this was Oracle, after all—but it still felt like a magic trick.

“Don’t even worry about it. I just know these things,” Barbara said, her tone light and teasing. In the background, Caitlyn could hear the rapid-fire clack-clack-clack of a mechanical keyboard—the soundtrack of Barbara Gordon’s life.

Caitlyn squinted her eyes at the phone as if she could see through the signal. “Right. Omniscience. Got it,” she mumbled. “Anyway, I’m doing some research. What did you and Aunt Kara do for your first anniversary?”

Barbara hummed, the keyboard noise pausing for a second. “Let’s see... we hacked LexCorp to divert a significant portion of his hidden offshore accounts to go to local animal shelters and underfunded clinics. My technical work, her investigative idea. It was really romantic, seeing those numbers transfer in real-time. Then we ordered takeout—Thai, I think—and ate in the clock tower together watching the city. It was perfect.”

Caitlyn let out a long, heavy sigh that puffed against the duvet. She was truly getting no inspiration from this. Unless Inaya suddenly developed a desire to commit high-level cybercrime against a billionaire, this was another dead end.

“Why’d you ask? Oh, wait—is this for you and Inaya’s anniversary?”

“It’s next Sunday,” Caitlyn sighed, her voice muffled by the pillow. “I have absolutely zero plans. I’m gathering 'theories,' as Dad puts it, but so far everyone’s theories involve vigilante justice or property damage. I’ll figure something out, I guess.”

“You are Tim Drake and Conner Kent’s daughter, Caitlyn. You’re very smart, you’re incredibly intuitive, and you have a heart that’s bigger than both of theirs combined,” Barbara said, her voice turning soft and encouraging. “You’ll know what to do before the time comes. Trust your instincts.”

“Thanks, Babs. I needed to hear that,” Caitlyn said, feeling a small spark of confidence return.

“Of course, kiddo. Now I’ve gotta go. Patrol starts in ten minutes and Jason is already being difficult; he’s threatening to 'accidentally' leave his comms off again and I need to hack the secondary trackers I embedded in his helmet before he leaves the safehouse.”

“Talk to you later,” Caitlyn said with a chuckle.

Barbara made a sharp, affirmative sound. “Oracle out.”

The call disconnected, and Caitlyn let out another breath, staring at the ceiling. She was starting to feel a lot less hopeful than she had been when she started this "scientific method." She only had three more people on her list, and the data was pointing toward a very specific trend of 'extravagant but highly illegal' activities.

She took a deep breath, centered herself, and dialed the next number. It was picked up almost immediately, before the first full ring could even finish.

There was a soft, melodic purr on the other end that sounded like expensive silk sliding over marble.

“Caitlyn?” Selina’s voice hummed through the phone, rich and affectionate. “Darling, are you alright? You rarely call. Not that I’m upset—I love hearing from you—but I know you’re a very busy young lady with a very full life.”

“Sorry, Mima. Everything is okay, I promise. I just had a question,” she said, relaxing a bit. Selina Kyle had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the world just by the way she said your name. “Are you busy?”

“Never too busy for you, honey,” Selina said. In the background, Caitlyn could hear the distinct, rhythmic whipping of wind and the distant sirens of Gotham, as if Selina were currently perched on a gargoyle or leaping between brownstones.

“What did you and Grandpa do for your first anniversary?”

Selina made a slight hissing noise, a sharp intake of breath. “Which one, darling? We have had quite a few ‘firsts’ over the decades,” she said with a dry, knowing laugh. “We were very on-and-off for many years. It was a bit of a revolving door policy for a while.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, curious. “Well, which was your favorite? The one that felt the most... real?”

Selina hummed in thought, the wind noise dropping as if she’d stepped into a sheltered alcove. “Well, it was our last ‘first’ anniversary. After we decided to stop the games. He and I dressed in our casual clothes—no leather, no Kevlar—and bought enough supplies to fill three trucks to donate to the local women's and children’s shelters in the Narrows. He knew how much that work meant to me. He even helped me... settle a few debts with some men who were being particularly handsy with the younger girls in the neighborhood. It was in the headlines for weeks, though they called it ‘anonymous philanthropy.’ He didn’t care one bit. We even pickpocketed the bad guys on the way out and donated their jewelry too, though that part stayed out of the papers.”

Caitlyn couldn't help but smile. “So, that’s a really sweet story, Mima, in a very Gotham kind of way. But I can’t exactly take my girlfriend to go beat up criminals and rob them for charity.”

“No, definitely don’t do that,” Selina agreed quickly, her tone playful. “Tim would have a coronary and Bruce would give you a three-hour lecture on the ‘slippery slope’ of vigilantism. In that case, perhaps just take her to a nice dinner. Bruce and I did that a few times when we weren't busy being dramatic.”

“That’s so boring, though. No offense,” Caitlyn said, her voice trailing off. “I just want it to be interesting. Special. Different.”

“A little offense taken, but I love you, so I’ll let it slide,” Selina said. “But darling, remember: sometimes ‘boring’ is just a blank canvas. It’s the people who are meant to make the night interesting. And you, my dear, are very interesting. You don't need a gimmick to make someone feel loved.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Caitlyn hummed, looking at the doodles on her legal pad. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Now, I must go, darling. I have some... business to attend to. Some people who need a reminder about their manners.”

“Stay safe, Mima.”

“I always land on my feet, sweetie.”

“Bad pun, Mima. A little cringe,” Caitlyn teased.

Selina let out an exaggerated, offended gasp. “I love you, and we will be having a very long talk about your lack of appreciation for wordplay later.”

“Love you too,” Caitlyn said, grinning as the phone clicked shut.

She crossed out Selina’s name and moved on to the next one. Her heart gave a little thump against her ribs. She was nervous about this next call; she’d only interacted with this person a handful of times, usually at big family functions where the air was thick with the scent of ozone and old money. But she was family. And if anyone knew about being a teenager in love while balancing a complicated life, it was her.

Caitlyn took a steadying breath and pressed the icon for the penultimate name on her list.

The phone rang a few times, a steady, rhythmic pulse that made Caitlyn’s heart tap against her ribs. She didn’t know why she was so nervous; maybe it was because the Kane side of the family always felt like a different world—sharper, more military, and significantly more intimidating than the chaos of the Titans or the sprawling warmth of the Kents.

Then, there was a click.

“Hello?”

The voice was cool and direct, possessing a gravelly edge that reminded Caitlyn instantly of her Grandpa Bruce, though with a distinct, feminine bite.

“Uhm, hi, this is Caitlyn. Bruce’s granddaughter,” she said, her voice hitching slightly. She felt like a rookie reporter on her first big assignment. “This is Kate Kane, right?”

The woman on the other end laughed. It wasn't the mocking laugh Caitlyn might have expected; it was light, genuine, and carried no judgment whatsoever. It was the sound of someone who had survived enough family drama to find a great-niece’s cold call charming.

“I remember you, Caitlyn. The volleyball star, right?” Kate asked, and Caitlyn felt a small rush of relief that she wasn't just another name in a database. “How can I help you?”

“Well, my first anniversary with my girlfriend is coming up, and I don’t know what to do for it. I’ve called around, and you’re not my last option, but I know you have a wife too. I thought you might have an idea I could use for inspiration?”

Kate hummed, a thoughtful sound. “Renee and I’s first celebrated anniversary together was... complicated. It was actually after we got married. We had been separated for a long time because of some things—life in Gotham, mostly—but when we found each other again, we couldn't wait. I set up a fake murder case for her to follow. She’s a detective, so it was right up her alley. The trail was full of inside jokes and romantic hints. It ended with things that aren’t appropriate to tell a—what are you now, seventeen?”

Caitlyn made a quick affirmative sound, her face heating up.

“Yeah, and you’re my great-niece, so I’m definitely not telling you the rest of that story,” Kate said with a smirk in her voice.

“I appreciate that,” Caitlyn said, clearing her throat and staring intently at a stray thread on her duvet.

“Sorry, I can’t be much more help, kid. Vigilante romance tends to be a bit... unconventional.”

“It’s alright,” Caitlyn mumbled, her shoulders slumping. “No one really has been. Everyone in this family is either a hacker, a gymnast, or a detective. I'm starting to think 'normal' doesn't exist.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Kate said, her tone turning uncharacteristically soft. “You seem like a smart kid, I’m sure you’ll find your way.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Kane.”

“Call me Kate, please. 'Mrs. Kane' makes me feel like I’m about to give a briefing at the Pentagon.”

“Okay, Kate,” Caitlyn said, a small smile finally breaking through. “Thank you.”

“Call me if you ever need any more advice. I can try my best. Bye, Caitlyn.”

“Thank you again. Bye.”

The phone hung up, and Caitlyn let out a huge, lung-emptying breath. She sat up, her list sitting on her lap like a testament to her failures. She crossed Kate's name out with a heavy black line and stared at the very last name on the paper. There was no hope left in her expression. If the Batwoman of Gotham couldn't help, what could Superman of Metropolis do?

She dialed the number anyway, rolling back onto her back and balancing the phone on her shoulder as she looked out her window at the evening sky.

“Caitlyn, honey!”

Caitlyn blinked, sitting up straight and pulling the phone away to look at the contact she had dialed. “Mama Kent? Why do you have Grandpa Clark’s phone?”

“Well, honey, I came to visit Metropolis to see Jon and Clark and Lois and everyone, and they left me here while they went to get some groceries! But my son left his phone right here on the kitchen counter! Honestly, how is he meant to answer calls and save the world if he doesn’t have his phone on him?”

Caitlyn let out a long, shaky breath, the familiar, comforting sound of Martha Kent’s voice acting like a warm blanket. “I don’t know, Mama. He’s probably just relying on his ears.”

“What’s troubling you, dear? You sound like you’ve got the weight of the world on those shoulders, and you’re far too young for that. Talk to me.”

Caitlyn bit her lip, her heart aching with a sudden need for the kind of simple wisdom only Smallville could provide. “You know how I have a girlfriend? Inaya?”

Martha made a happy humming sound. “Yes! I remember her perfectly. Very sweet girl. She’s very pretty, too—you certainly picked a good one, Caitlyn.”

“Thank you. She is really pretty,” Caitlyn said, feeling a blush creep up her neck. “Our first anniversary is coming up next Sunday, and I don't know what to do. Everyone I’ve asked tells me to do things that are extremely specific to them—like hacking or boxing matches—and none of it suits us. I just... I want it to be perfect, but I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, darling. Well, there’s an easy solution to that. Can I tell you a story? Let me tell you a story,” Martha said, and the tone of her voice changed, becoming soft and nostalgic.

Caitlyn leaned back against her pillows, closing her eyes. “I’m listening.”

“Well, me and Jonathan’s first anniversary was many, many moons ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a bright and sunny day, just like it usually is when the world is being kind. We didn't have much money back then; we were saving every penny just to get the farm started. But your great-grandpa didn't let that deter him one bit. He marched his behind right down to the local corner store and bought a handful of our favorite snacks. Then, he told me to meet him at ‘the spot.’”

“The spot?” Caitlyn whispered.

“The spot where he first saw me. It was this cute little bench at Metropolis University, right under this beautiful, sprawling tree. We just sat there, ate those cheap little snacks, and we talked. We talked for hours until the stars came out. It was so perfect, and do you want to know why, Caitlyn?”

“Why?”

“Because it was us. It was two people who love each other, in a place they loved, doing what they loved. Sometimes, all that matters is that you show you love them—whether it’s by spending time doing what they love, doing something you love, or even something you both love. I promise you, honey, as long as you do it together and with love, Inaya will enjoy it.”

Caitlyn sucked in a deep, trembling breath. It was so simple. It was the exact opposite of a plan or a high-tech surprise. It was just... them. “Is that really all? That’s all I have to do? Just be us?”

“That’s all. I pinky-swear,” Martha said, and Caitlyn could practically hear her smiling through the line. “It’s how I have fifty-five years of marriage under my belt, dear.”

“That’s a really long time, Mama.”

“It is. But I remember every second when I look at Jonathan. Every moment with him is worth it because he knows me and loves me, and I know him and love him. It makes the hard parts easy.”

Caitlyn felt the knots in her stomach finally, truly unravel. The "scientific method" hadn't found her a location, but it had led her to the truth. “Thank you, Mama. Thank you so much.”

“Of course, honey. Next time you need advice like this, you just call me first and save yourself the long distance fees to those Gothamites.”

Caitlyn laughed, her heart feeling light for the first time in a week. “I will. I promise.”

“Now, I think I hear the door. Clark is probably home and panicking about his missing phone. Love you, dear!”

“Love you too, Mama.”

Caitlyn stared at her legal pad. She didn't need to call anyone else. She knew exactly what to do now. She knew the spot, she knew the snacks, and most importantly, she knew the person.

— 

The following Sunday arrived with a crisp, clear sky that seemed to mirror the newfound clarity in Caitlyn’s chest. The frantic energy of the week—the lists, the failed theories, and the investigative phone calls—had finally settled into a quiet, confident hum.

Caitlyn sat in the driver's seat of the car Tim had insisted was "safety-rated for a small tank," her fingers tapping a rhythmic beat against the steering wheel. Beside her, Inaya was a whirlwind of curious energy. That morning, Inaya had texted her, practically vibrating through the phone screen, asking what the dress code for the day was. Caitlyn, channeling every bit of the stoic mystery she had observed in her Grandpa Bruce, had replied with a single, cryptic text: “Something comfortable.”

In her head, it sounded like a profound, mysterious clue. In reality, it mostly just made Inaya send back a series of confused cat emojis.

Ultimately, Inaya had settled on a pair of loose-fitting ripped jeans with black fishnets visible beneath the tears, topped with a cozy, oversized hoodie. Caitlyn had opted for a similar vibe—black ripped jeans and a vintage band t-shirt that she knew was Inaya’s absolute favorite. As they sat in the driveway, the scent of vanilla perfume and car air freshener hanging between them, the weight of the "one-year" milestone felt palpable and sweet.

“Are you gonna tell me where we’re going yet?” Inaya asked for the fifth time since they’d left the house. She was practically bouncing in her seat, her seatbelt the only thing keeping her from leaning over to inspect the GPS, which Caitlyn had cleverly muted.

“It’s meant to be a surprise, Love,” Caitlyn said, her voice steady. She felt a surge of pride; for once, she was the one holding all the cards.

“I tried every tactic in the book, Cait. I asked your dad and he just gave me that shrug that tells me absolutely nothing. Then I asked your pops and he just snorted and went back to his protein shake. Even Thomas wouldn't budge! He told me it was 'top secret' and looked at me like I was a villain trying to steal the launch codes,” Inaya said, dramatically clutching her hand to her heart. “You turned my most reliable secret teller against me. I am deeply hurt.”

“You’ll live,” Caitlyn teased, her socks sliding slightly as she eased onto the brake at a red light. The nervousness she’d felt all week was still there, but it was being pushed aside by the genuine joy of seeing Inaya this excited. She reached over the center console and took Inaya’s hand, lacing their fingers together before lifting it to her lips and pressing a soft kiss to the back of her hand.

“And we’re pretty much there. I really hope you have fun, Inaya. I really do. I called like a million people this week trying to get ideas. I may have slightly overthought this.”

Inaya turned in her seat, her expression shifting from playful to surprised as Caitlyn pulled into a sprawling parking lot. “I thought you already had a plan from the start? You seemed so certain.”

“Well, I might have lied just a tiny bit. I wanted to be the one who had it all under control because I knew how much work and school have been stressing you out lately,” Caitlyn admitted, her voice dropping into a softer, more vulnerable register. “I just wanted to make this part of your life easy. I wanted to help.”

Inaya tilted her head, her dark eyes softening with a look of pure, unadulterated affection. “Cait, you help me every day just by being there. But next time? Don’t carry the stress of the world by yourself. That’s what I’m here for. Let me know when you're stuck, and we’ll figure the mystery out together, okay?”

Caitlyn glanced over, a small, genuine smile finally breaking across her face. The "Smallville" wisdom she’d gotten from Martha Kent—the idea that the 'who' mattered more than the 'where'—felt like it was clicking into place. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“I love you, Cait,” Inaya said firmly as the car rolled into a parking space.

Caitlyn turned the engine off, the sudden silence of the car filled only by the ticking of the cooling metal. She looked at Inaya, really looked at her, and felt a profound sense of gratitude that out of all the people in the world, this was the person who had chosen her back. “I love you too, Inaya.”

She got out of the car and moved with a bit of a bounce in her step, rounding the hood to open the passenger door with a flourish. “Behold. This is where we’re going.”

Inaya stepped out onto the asphalt and looked up at the large, vibrant building in front of them. The sign above the entrance was massive, glowing with neon lights that read “Jump City’s Biggest Trampoline Park” in a bubbly, energetic font.

“A trampoline park,” Inaya repeated, her eyes widening as she glanced back at Caitlyn.

“Uh, yeah,” Caitlyn said, suddenly feeling the familiar itch of self-doubt. She began fidgeting with her hands, her fingers twisting around each other. “I know we’re both into sports and we're both pretty competitive, and I thought it would be fun. My uncles and aunt actually did this for their first anniversary, though they had a toddler with them at the time. I started thinking maybe this was a little immature for a real anniversary—it’s okay, I have a back-up plan, we can go to the museum instead—”

Inaya didn't let her finish the sentence. She reached out, grabbed the front of Caitlyn’s t-shirt, and tugged her forward, closing the distance with a kiss. Caitlyn froze for a heartbeat, her brain still running through secondary locations, before she finally melted into the moment. The world around them—the cars, the neon signs, the distant sound of children shouting—seemed to fade into a blur of warmth and the scent of Inaya’s hoodie.

Inaya pulled back just an inch, her smile wide and radiant. “It’s perfect, Cait.”

Caitlyn bit her lip, her heart racing. “You sure? It’s not too... childish?”

“I don’t care what we do, as long as it’s with you,” Inaya insisted, her eyes dancing with a sudden, competitive spark. “And honestly? This is perfect because I did gymnastics for six years when I was younger. I can definitely do more backflips than you.”

Caitlyn’s competitive streak, inherited from two of the most driven men on the planet, flared to life instantly. “I could totally do more backflips than you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Inaya said, grabbing Caitlyn’s hand and practically dragging her toward the entrance.

“Wait! There’s a part two,” Caitlyn laughed, stumbling slightly as she followed. “We also have dinner at your favorite Italian place down the street afterwards.”

Inaya stopped in her tracks, her jaw dropping. “You got a reservation at Ricci’s? On a Sunday night? Cait, are you serious? That place has a six-month waiting list!”

Caitlyn offered a modest, slightly mischievous shrug. “I might have mentioned during the phone call that my grandfather is Bruce Wayne and my dad is Tim Drake. Turns out, the name has a lot of pull, even when you're outside of Gotham limits.”

Inaya grinned, stepping back into Caitlyn’s space and pulling her close, her arms looping around Caitlyn’s waist. “I love it when you use your nepotism to get me high-quality food.”

Caitlyn wrapped her arms around Inaya, leaning her forehead against hers. The "data" was finally in. The experiment was a success. “Anything for you, Inaya. Happy Anniversary.”

“Happy Anniversary, Cait.”

Hand in hand, they walked toward the bright lights of the park, ready to spend the day exactly how they were meant to: together.

— 

Bonus: 

The house had finally settled into its nighttime rhythm. The low, blue light of the kitchen’s under-cabinet LEDs cast long shadows across the granite island, where a half-empty box of herbal tea sat next to a stack of discarded mail. 

Tim was leaning against the counter, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of peppermint tea, his shoulders finally dropping an inch from their usual defensive posture. Conner sat on one of the high stools, his large frame looking slightly out of place in the domestic quiet, though the expression on his face was one of pure, focused attention.

Caitlyn sat across from them, her phone face-down on the counter. She looked exhausted, but the frantic, panicked energy that had fueled her earlier phone calls had been replaced by a soft, weary glow of success.

"So," Tim began, his voice low and grounding. "The data collection phase is officially over?"

Caitlyn let out a long breath, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Yeah. The hypothesis was tested, the variables were managed, and I think... I think I found the right result. It wasn't in the boxing matches or the stolen golf carts. It was in a trampoline park and a bowl of pasta."

Conner chuckled, reaching over to nudge her arm. "I told you the trampoline park was a solid choice. It’s got velocity, it’s got snacks—it’s the Grayson-West gold standard."

"It was perfect, Pops," Caitlyn said, her eyes shining as she looked at him. "Actually, perfect. We spent two hours trying to see who could get more height on the high-bounce mats. Inaya did this double-twist-into-a-backflip thing that she definitely didn't tell me she could do. She’s been hiding secret gymnastics skills from me."

"See? That’s the beauty of it," Conner said, his tone turning surprisingly sage. "You think you know someone, and then you put them on a spring-loaded floor and they surprise you. That’s how you keep things interesting."

Tim smiled, though his gaze was more analytical, his eyes tracing the way Caitlyn was fidgeting with the sleeve of her hoodie. "And Ricci’s? How did the reservation hold up?"

Caitlyn laughed, a bright, clear sound that filled the quiet kitchen. "Dad, the look on the hostess's face when I walked in and gave the name was hilarious. I felt like a total fraud, but then the food came, and I decided I didn't care. Inaya almost cried over the mushroom risotto. She said it was the best thing she’d ever eaten that didn't come from her mom’s kitchen."

She paused, her expression softening into something more thoughtful. "But the best part wasn't the food or the flips. It was just... being there. We sat in the car for twenty minutes before I walked her to her door, and we just talked. Just us."

Tim set his mug down, his expression shifting into that quiet, proud look that he only reserved for the big moments. "That’s the part they don't teach you in the manuals, Cait. You can plan the most elaborate mission in the world, but if the core objective—the connection—isn't there, the rest is just noise. It sounds like you focused on the right thing."

"I really did," Caitlyn whispered. "I was so worried about being 'mature' or 'eventful.' I thought I had to prove that we were this big, serious couple. But Mama Kent was right. She told me that if you’re with the right person, the 'where' doesn't matter. It’s the 'us' part that makes it an anniversary."

Conner leaned back, a look of immense satisfaction on his face. "Ma always did have the best advice. She’s the only person in this family who actually knows how to be normal. The rest of us are just pretending and hoping nobody notices the capes under our shirts."

Caitlyn reached out, her fingers tracing a stray water ring on the counter. "You know, when I was calling everyone... I realized something. All of you—Uncle Roy, Uncle Dick, Aunt Cass, Babs, Mima, even Kate—everyone has these crazy, chaotic stories. They all sound like disasters on paper. Boxing matches, shooting ranges, hacking LexCorp... but you all talk about them like they were the best days of your lives."

"Because they were," Tim said softly. "Because in our world, 'normal' is a luxury we don't always get. So we make our own. We find the person who can stand in the middle of the chaos with us and not blink. For your Uncle Dick, that’s a trampoline park. For your pops and me... it was a lot of things. But it always came back to the fact that we chose to be there."

Caitlyn looked between her two dads—the man who thought in spreadsheets and shadows, and the man who thought in sunshine and strength. She saw the way they looked at each other, a silent language of shared history and deliberate choice.

"I think Inaya is that person for me," Caitlyn said, her voice steady. "She told me today that if I’m ever stressed like that again, I shouldn't do it alone. She told me we should figure the mystery out together."

Conner beamed, his eyes crinkling. "She’s a keeper, Caiti. Any girl who sees a Drake-level spiral and says 'let me help you with that' is definitely part of the inner circle."

"She already was," Tim added, reaching over to squeeze Caitlyn’s hand. "But I'm glad you know it now. You don't have to be the perfect daughter or the perfect girlfriend. You just have to be the version of yourself that she loves. The rest is just the glitter on top."

Caitlyn let out a final, contented sigh, the last of the day's adrenaline finally fading into a comfortable exhaustion. She stood up, leaning over to give Conner a quick hug, her head resting on his shoulder for a brief second, before moving to give Tim a similar squeeze.

"Thanks for the advice, guys," she said, heading toward the hallway. "Even the weird scientific theory stuff, Dad. It actually helped."

"Of course it did," Tim called out after her, a playful smirk on his face. "Data never lies."

As her footsteps faded down the hall and the sound of her bedroom door clicking shut echoed through the house, the kitchen returned to its peaceful silence.

Conner turned to Tim, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. "So... we're officially the parents of a teenager who's in a 'serious relationship.' How are we feeling, Detective?"

Tim picked up his mug, taking a slow sip of the now-lukewarm tea. He looked toward the hallway, then back at his husband, his eyes soft and resilient.

"I think we're feeling like we did a good job, Kon," Tim murmured. "She didn't hack anything. She didn't get arrested. And she knows how to choose someone who loves her for her heart, not her last name."

Conner stood up, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn that sounded like a contented lion. "Yeah. I'd say the Drake-Kent theory is holding up pretty well."

He walked over to Tim, sliding an arm around his waist and pulling him close. They stood there for a moment in the quiet of their kitchen, two men who had been through wars and reboots and endless crises, finally finding the greatest victory in the simple, quiet success of a Sunday night.

"Come on," Conner whispered, kissing the top of Tim’s head. "It's past our bedtime, too. And I'm pretty sure we have a dishwasher to empty in the morning."

Tim leaned into the warmth of Conner’s side, letting the weight of the day finally fall away. "It’s your turn."

"Pretty sure it’s yours," Conner countered.

"We have a spreadsheet for this, Kon."

"I'm ignoring the spreadsheet," Conner laughed, leading him out of the kitchen. "Tonight, we're winging it."