Chapter Text
Stephanie does not jump when her big brother appears behind her, moving far more stealthily than such a tall man should be able to move. If she jumped every time someone snuck up on her, she'd never stop. Years of exposure to Damian, Bruce, and Cass have made it second nature to stay still when someone seems to appear from nowhere. Damian knows that she's startled, probably, but no one else but Cass and Bruce and Alfred would be able to tell. Even Jason isn't quite sure how to see through their society masks yet.
Damian's lips quirk into a tiny smile as he holds out a glass of fruit punch. “You might as well stay hydrated while you try to pretend you aren't hovering.”
Stephanie accepts the drink and gives up on subtlety. She looks directly across the ballroom to see Jason. He still looks perfectly comfortable in a group of kids his own age that he met at school. Jason's own society mask is making excellent progress, thanks to Jason's passion to learn anything and Alfred's skill as an instructor, but Stephanie would be able to tell if he was unhappy.
“Like you weren't doing the same,” Stephanie mutters into the glass before taking a sip. She tries to be annoyed that the fruit punch is delicious but gives that up as far too much sulking. She drinks half the glass before accepting that Jason will look for help if he wants it. “He's okay?”
“Jason is doing quite well. Father is also keeping an eye on him. So is Cassandra.” Damian's words are clear even as his lips hardly move. “Most of the children in the group are classmates and acquaintances of his. He is on friendly terms with a few of them. The few others are clever enough that they do not want to insult Bruce Wayne's ward.”
Stephanie sets the empty glass on a tall cocktail table. “I worry, that's all.”
“You care.” Damian rests his hand on her shoulder for a moment. From Damian, that's very demonstrative in a public place with so many strangers watching them. “Jason appreciates that, I know, and so do the rest of us.”
“It's just... I don't want him to have a bad time at his first big party,” she says. “We couldn't keep the tabloids away from the entire story since it all is a little wild. Going from homeless to a home in Wayne Manor is hard to resist as a story even after he's been with us for a few months. It all feels like it's happening so fast even though he's settled in and he's doing fine.”
“Jason is not shy about accepting help, Stephanie. Even if he tried to tough it out, Cassandra would not stay back if he was unhappy. None of us would.”
Stephanie smiles reluctantly. “I guess I'm missing Tim again. I saw that guy that was messing him the first time we met earlier tonight. The guy looked like he was going to come re-introduce himself to me but Jack Drake intercepted him.”
“Do you recall the man's name?” Damian asks casually.
Stephanie bites back a smile. Damian is never that casual without having some greater purpose. “Maximilian call-him-Max Corwell,” she says. “I think he already left but maybe you'll have a chance next time.”
“Perhaps,” Damian says mildly. “I have come across Mr. Corwell before. If he has not left, I'll be sure to say hello.”
Stephanie can't help a tiny smile at that. Damian has said 'hello' to quite a few people over the years in ways that left his target eager for excuses to leave a party early. She doesn't think Corwell will get anywhere near her with Damian on guard.
She looks around the ballroom. Jason still looks happy and the mob of kids his age is heading toward the buffet. Cassandra looks fully engrossed in conversation with half of the Wayne Foundation's Arts subcommittee but Stephanie suspects that Cass still knows precisely where Jason is and how he is feeling. Cass is going to start working with the Foundation soon, Stephanie knows, and Cass is very interested in the committee's ideas about making the arts accessible to everyone in Gotham.
Cassandra's group shifts toward the dessert table. Stephanie frowns as they walk past an ice sculpture. None of her family was involved in planning the event or they would have vetoed that idea entirely. Alfred had informants everywhere, though, so Bruce had advanced warning that someone didn't care about risking Mr. Freeze's attention at a fundraising event meant to benefit children's hospitals. Bruce had been very confident that the leaked cryogenics data from LexCorp would keep Freeze busy for at least a few nights, though, and had been quite cheerful about his brief visit to Metropolis.
Jack Drake isn't talking to Max Corwell anymore. He's over by the dessert buffet and not making any move to join Cassandra's group and talk about getting Drake Industries involved in the project even though he should be able to hear enough of the conversation to make the offer. Stephanie frowns. It would be a natural angle for Mr. Drake's recent philanthropy ideas. He wanted to start a scholarship for photography or sponsor a museum showing. The Wayne Foundation would help and would let him keep his name as the primary sponsor while using a lot of connections that Drake Industries doesn't have yet.
“I think I'll go say hi to Mr. Drake,” Stephanie decides. “Let me know if there's anything left of anyone who messes with Jason after you and Cass and Bruce take your shots.”
Damian looks the tiniest bit smug. “I am certain that you could finish off whatever we left for you.” He inclines his head and heads toward some new target of his.
Saying hello to Mr. Drake isn't as simple as crossing the room. Stephanie keeps her cameras-are-everywhere smile in place and pauses to make small talk with half a dozen people before she gets to the dessert table. Mr. Drake has a death grip on the cane that he hasn't been using in his own home.
Mr. Drake doesn't run when she heads his way with a plate of dessert. He looks wary, maybe, but he's looked wound up tight since he almost tripped getting between her and the guy that Tim hadn't liked.
“Hello, Mr. Drake,” Stephanie says. Her smile for him is genuine. “I don't know if you'd like me to make introductions but I think that I know exactly the right people to help with that photography project you mentioned last time I showed up for Mrs. Mac's cookies.”
Jack Drake's smile is thin but real. “I hadn't thought you'd remember, Miss Brown. Perhaps another night.”
“I'm happy to mention it and to let them go through your foundation, Mr. Drake,” Stephanie promises. “Cassandra is going to start sitting in on the Wayne Foundation meetings about art initiatives in the next few weeks. Damian will be the one officially making the decisions but they all know she's going to be a part of the foundation in her own right when she's eighteen. They'd be happy to help you even if it wasn't in memory of Tim.”
Jack looks away for a minute. “I... thank you.” His voice is rough. He turns back and looks stiffer than ever. “I would really.... yes. I'd like to be involved but don't know if I can manage that yet. If it wouldn't be an imposition, perhaps they can look at a few ideas I drafted out. I might be in a better place to help someday.”
“Maybe you can bring the plans over and come to dinner,” Stephanie suggests hopefully.
Jack Drake's smile is crooked. “I don't mind the invitations, I promise you, but my answer is the same. I'd rather not. It's still too much to be in that house and wonder... well. Maybe that's something else that will happen someday.”
Stephanie still pictures Tim at his usual place at the table, sometimes, and still hides in his bedroom on the days when she misses him too much to put it into words. Someone always finds her eventually. They all know what it means when someone uses Tim's bedroom as a sanctuary.
“Maybe someday,” Stephanie agrees. “Maybe I'll pick up a copy of your notes with the next batch of cookies?”
“I'll text Alfred. He's offered to coordinate with Mrs. Mac.” Jack's smile shifts to something brighter and false. “My schedule is going to be a bit more busy thanks to a couple shifts. I'd prefer you didn't drop by without checking in first. I'd hate to have you come all that way only to find an empty house.”
In two weeks, Tim will have been dead for a year.
Stephanie can't imagine going through that anniversary in an empty house without family members to pull her out of bad days. Badgering Mr. Drake about it won't change his mind, though, so Stephanie nods. “I'll check in, then.”
Jack Drake's fake smile doesn't waver. “I have a couple people I should greet before I go home. I still can't be on my feet all night, after all, and it was always easier to get through a gala with Janet's help. Have a good evening, Miss Brown.”
Stephanie watches him leave. He seems steady on his feet, and if he was using the cane for support he would move differently, but she can puzzle over Jack Drake another time. The vein at the side of Commissioner Gordon's forehead looks like it's about to start pulsing and the lady talking to him at length doesn't seem to realize that her conversation partner is annoyed.
Stephanie fills a new plate with desserts and cheerfully barges in. “Hi, Mrs. Olmsted! I think Bruce missed you earlier. He's wrapping up a conversation now if you wanted to catch his attention.”
Mrs. Olmsted beams at her. “Such a helpful young lady. I hope it's not offensive to leave so suddenly, Commissioner?”
Commissioner Gordon looks impressively regretful for a man whose body language shows only relief. “It is the nature of a gala to not monopolize someone's attention, Mrs. Olmsted. I'll have a word with Miss Brown instead.”
Mrs. Olmsted smiles and heads over toward Bruce. She means well, Stephanie knows, but she likes to talk someone's ear off instead of circulating.
Stephanie hands Commissioner Gordon the plate of coffee-flavored brownies topped with chocolate-covered espresso beans.
The brownies vanish rapidly.
“You, Miss Brown, are a lifesaver.” The commissioner almost completely recovered after a moment of peace and the snack. “I don't suppose you want to be a detective?”
Stephanie shakes her head. “I'm not sure what I want to do yet, Commish, but that's probably not in the cards.”
“I'm happy to write a reference for your babysitting work alone. Barbara is thrilled that you'll be over again in a couple weeks.”
Stephanie smiles. “She's an easy kid to babysit. I can imagine she wouldn't be fun to watch at a gala, though.”
“If she had someone her age, perhaps, but she wouldn't be able to sit and play board games with you the entire time.”
Stephanie looks around the ballroom. Bruce is handling Mrs. Olmsted beautifully, of course, and he's already set up to foist her off on a nearby banker when he makes his escape. Jason still looks happy. Cass looks content talking with the Wayne Foundation board members. Damian is still circling near Jason and Cass but most people might never follow his path and realize just why he's making his choices about which people to greet next.
One of the girls from Stephanie and Cassandra's modern dance class looks at odds near the buffet table. Her family just moved to Gotham a couple months ago and Stephanie didn't know that they would be invited to the fundraiser.
“Bruce will probably be free in a minute,” Stephanie says. “Someone I know looks lonely so I want to go say hello.”
Commissioner Gordon tips his empty plate to her. “Thank you for the save, Miss Brown. I'll see if I can catch Bruce.”
Stephanie grins. Just like Alfred had said, parties aren't so hard once you know all of the rules. “Anytime, Commish.”
She makes her way across the room again, still pausing to say hello and trade compliments on outfits, and the girl she half-knows from class looks relieved to see a familiar face heading her way. Stephanie can't remember the girl's name but not knowing a name hasn't stopped her from making friends before.
Tim pretends to be engrossed in his katas and listens to the suspiciously quiet training room.
He can't hear anything, not even the subtle shifting of the two men who are ostensibly Tim's honor guard but who also would kill him without hesitating if they thought it would improve their standing in the League of Assassins.
He hadn't heard a fight. If they left without a fight, then Ra's dismissed them or they were bribed well enough that they are willing to risk Ra's al Ghul's ire if anything happens to Tim while they're meant to be on watch.
Ra's al Ghul seems to think that Tim is loyal and grateful for the protection. Tim has put on a much better show of that lately, least, and Tim is mostly sure that Ra's doesn't suspect anything. It's starting to seem like Ra's might actually follow through on his idea of sending Tim to Gotham to personally deal with the man that had Janet Drake killed.
Tim's expression doesn't change when he smells the sharp iris perfume that Talia leaves off when she's sure that she can talk to Tim without an audience. When she appears in the room, Tim turns to face her without fanfare. She hadn't hinted about meeting him again. She would never approach him in such a public area unless she had another trick in mind or unless she was tired of wasting her small pool of influence on him.
Tim doesn't know Talia well. He only knows that perfume is based on irises because Ra's had ordered large bouquets of them set on the table after the last time Talia approached Tim in public. Tim hadn't been sure if it was a rebuke or a compliment or an insult but he'd committed the smell to memory. Even if he hadn't been able to recognize irises by scent, he could remember Alfred's garden and the meticulously planned perennial beds that bloomed from spring through fall.
Talia's heeled shoes clack on the stone floor. “I hope that you have considered my offer, Timothy.”
When they aren't watched, she leaves the perfume off. Even when she's wearing Western-style shoes with hard soles, she is perfectly capable of walking without making a sound. If she's this blatant and the guards vanished without a struggle, then Tim knows what game they're playing.
“You cannot offer me more than your father has, Miss al Ghul.”
Talia looks a trace disappointed, if someone is only looking at her face and her shoulders, but Tim thinks he knows her well enough to be sure that this is all another game.
“I know he has made vague promises, Timothy, but you know that none have been specific. You have no names or plans or goals for heading to Gotham to gain your vengeance.”
Tim isn't sure where their audience is so he keeps his attention on Talia and does his best to look stalwartly loyal. If there are cracks in the display, all for the better. Talia wouldn't push this strongly unless she was working toward some other goal.
“Lord al Ghul has given his word,” Tim replies after considering several angles. “You have many words that do not hold so much weight.”
Talia draws herself up, as if offended, and looks all the more upset when another voice cuts in.
“Leave us, Daughter. As always, you try to interfere with what you cannot understand.”
Ra's al Ghul walks from the room's back entrance slowly. He has a small honor guard of only four fighters.
Tim refuses to let himself move even though he never likes having Ra's at his back.
Talia sneers. “As you say, Father. I grow tired of offering any help to someone so foolish.”
“Loyalty is not foolish, Daughter,” Ra's al Ghul says as if anyone could be loyal to him without waiting for a knife in the back. “Go.”
Talia turns on her heel and leaves without another word.
“Timothy,” Ra's says.
Tim turns to face him. Ra's is dressed in the overly elaborate outfits he prefers when he's holding court, not the less voluminous clothes he wears when he chooses to spar. Sparring against Ra's al Ghul is a very painful lesson in just how much Tim will have to learn if he's going to get what he wants.
Tim sheathes his sword.
Ra's al Ghul smiles. His lips are so thin and pale that it seems like more of a threat than a welcoming expression. “I needed some time to verify that I could find enough contact information to make any trip worth your while. After all, if this undertaking was simple, the Bat would have managed to root this organization out years ago. He would have been able to stop them years before one of them ordered your mother's death if he was able to live up to his reputation.”
Tim lets the flicker of surprise show. Ra's likes to feel in control and Tim works hard to make sure Ra's always thinks he knows what Tim is feeling.
Ra's doesn't ask for a response. He nods to one of the men, instead, and the man that Tim can't place holds out a manila envelope stuffed with what seems to be papers.
“Two months should be enough time for you to finish your research and make your plans on how to approach, Timothy. You could target only the one man responsible, of course, but I suspect that you will be more interested in destroying the little empire he takes so much pride in.”
Tim bows when he has the envelope in his hands. If it's a trick, he'll find out soon enough. If this is real...
Two more months. Tim can make it through two more months of pretending that he'll spend his second chance at life doing whatever it is that Ra's al Ghul wants.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Ra's smiles again, thinner than before. “Be on your way, then. Be ready to discuss your plans over supper next week.”
Tim hasn't survived almost half a year in the League of Assassins without knowing when to leave when the Demon's Head remotely suggests it. “Of course, my lord.”
The envelope is heavy in his hands but he isn't foolish enough to look through it in the hallways. He knows a few of the hidden passages, now, but that means he knows just how many more could be hidden in the complicated fortress. He heads all the way back up to his room and double-checks his traps and security measures before he looks carefully at the simple manila envelope.
For once, there aren't any extra tricks. The thin metal prongs of the envelope bend easily and the seal adhesive doesn't have any hidden dangers when he slits it open with a knife. The information inside is just as priceless as Ra's had implied and Tim finally knows what he wants to do next.
When Jason can't find one of his siblings in Wayne Manor after he's checked all of their favorite places and the family calendar, he heads to Tim's bedroom.
He stays out of the room unless he's looking for someone. It feels invasive no matter how many times someone assures him that he's welcome there. He doesn't have any memories of Tim's room as a disaster of clutter that Tim could somehow navigate in the dark and blindfolded. (Stephanie, of course, had challenged Tim when he'd insisted that he knew where everything was. She'd ended up making waffles for everybody when he walked blindfolded through the mess without putting a foot wrong and found the precise book she'd asked for even though it was near the middle of a stack of nine books under the bed.)
Jason only has secondhand memories of Tim. He's only seen Tim's room as a sterile space that only gets cluttered when one of his siblings is already there.
Stephanie usually looks at the photographs Tim left behind and sprawls out on the thick rug near the window. Damian sits in the armchair and holds one of Tim's books. On very bad days, Damian will have the book open when Jason gets there and won't even notice that someone else came into the room. Jason always finds someone else to help, after Damian's polite but firm insistence that his startle reflex is not to be tested when he's at home. Stephanie tends to throw things from the doorway when she's getting Damian's attention, which still seems a little rude, but the others will approach cautiously. Jason has only seen Damian launch himself at someone once. It was Cassandra, who was ready for that somehow, and Jason hadn't been able to track the rapidfire blows that Cassandra dodged effortlessly before Damian came back to himself.
If Bruce or Alfred go into Tim's room, Jason has never caught them, but Cassandra is easy to find. She likes to wrap herself in one of the brightly-colored blankets and curl up in the middle of Tim's bed.
“Hey, Cass.”
The Cassandra-shaped lump of blankets shifts slightly, as if a slender arm mostly buried in fleece waved.
Jason sits at the end of the bed. “Dinner's going to be on the table in ten minutes. Are you coming down?”
The blankets shrug.
“Alfred reminded me that it's been a year since Tim died. You won't be the only one at dinner who doesn't want to talk.”
Cassandra doesn't move.
Jason waits patiently. If she needs more than half an hour, Alfred will come to find him or send someone else to help. Alfred had guessed that Cass would have a hard time on the anniversary. If Damian or Stephanie was home already, they would have found her already, but Damian gave Steph a ride to gymnastics so that she wouldn't be alone.
Finally, the blankets shift slightly. “You didn't have to come find me,” Cass says quietly. “I'm not good company today.”
“You don't need to be good company. You don't even need to leave. I don't think anyone would care if we ate dinner here.”
Cassandra slowly pushes the blankets back. “Don't want to mess up Tim's room,” she says quietly. “I... thank you. For coming to find me. Sometimes it's hard to talk about him with you because we don't want to make you feel left out.”
“I don't mind,” Jason promises. Cassandra will be able to tell if he's lying, he knows, but it's easy to tell her the truth. “It would feel stranger if no one talked about him.”
Cassandra tilts her head slightly as she thinks. “That makes sense,” she says finally. “Maybe – maybe we can all tell you a favorite story? If the others will.”
Cassandra still has blanket lines pressed into her face and it's all too obvious that she's cried herself sick. Jason is pretty sure that everyone would agree if Cassandra asked. If she asks looking like this... maybe Jason will pick up several more stories to add to what he knows about Tim. No one talks about Tim often so Jason hoards the stories that he does hear. All of them help to make a little more sense of the space that Tim left behind.
“I think you could talk them into it, Cass.”
Cassandra sheds most of the blankets but she keeps a mustard yellow one wrapped around herself when she slides off of the bed. It trails behind her like an oversized fleece version of Batgirl's cape when she heads to the dining room.
For the first time Jason has seen in months of living with the Waynes, Cass doesn't follow along with the unspoken family tradition of ignoring the chair closest to the east window. Damian had told Jason about that chair before Jason even set foot in the dining room. Damian had seemed wary that the warning might hurt Jason's feelings but Jason had appreciated it. He didn't want to start out sitting in the wrong place and making anyone think that he should be a replacement for Tim.
Cass drops into Tim's chair defiantly, Tim's blanket still draped over her shoulders, and smiles when Damian shifts her place setting where she will be able to reach it.
“We should talk about Tim,” Cassandra says, looking to each of them in turn. “It is sad to talk about him but I think it is sadder that we don't talk about him. So it hurts and then keeps hurting and all the words get inside.”
Stephanie nods, atypically serious. “You're right, Cass.” Her hair is still wet. For once, she hadn't spent ages blow-drying her hair after her post-gymnastics shower.
Damian smiles. “Agreed, Cassandra.”
Alfred looks very approving when he rests his hand against Cass's shoulder for a moment. “I agree as well.”
At the head of the table, something set in Bruce's expression eases. Bruce hadn't had much to say when Jason stopped by earlier but his office had been a peaceful place to work on homework.
“Will you start, Cassandra?”
Cass nods firmly. “I want to tell Jason the story of when Tim just asked for another blanket, the first time that we were going to get presents for his birthday, and somehow he thought he would only get one blanket when he wouldn't ask for anything else.”
Stephanie giggles. “And I want to hear it!”
Jason does, too.
Tim's expression is scrupulously neutral as he studies the thin glimmers of information that Ra's al Ghul presented after Tim had admitted that he needed to know more before he could make a plan.
The first envelope of information had not given Tim nearly enough data to make a plan. For once, telling Ra's that there was not enough information to proceed had been the right choice. The test might have been checking if Tim was so eager to leave that he would run back to Gotham with nothing more than a name and a few financial ties connecting him to Tim's parents.
Ra's does not know nearly as much as he promised. He has managed to find the identity of the man who gave the order, which is impressive enough when Batman hadn't managed it, but Tim is sure that Bruce could have done more if Tim had trusted him back then.
One of Tim's instincts had been correct, at least. One of the cops had documented connections to Ra's al Ghul's prime suspect. Someone looking at her financial statements would probably miss the details. It all seemed a little more obvious when the young police officer who had tried to lure Tim out of his parents' safe room had quite a few grants and special awards with monetary rewards despite her short career.
She had been one of two officers guarding the crime scene at his parents' house that had been injured when someone ambushed the officers and ransacked the house. She was evaluated for a concussion and returned to service within a couple weeks and another commendation followed soon afterward by a superior officer that seemed to sign off on quite a few of her awards.
Her partner never returned to active duty. There were two versions of his medical file in the latest batch of information. The first had the official hospital letterhead and showed an unremarkable recovery. The handwritten progress notes were much more informative. His hospital stay had been marked by several complications that all seemed to ease when he repeatedly insisted that he couldn't remember anything about his last patrol. He claimed he couldn't remember their assignment, let alone what happened after he reached the location. He had resigned from the police force from the hospital bed and moved to Metropolis quickly enough that he had to find physical and occupational therapists from his new apartment.
If the woman was not the one to leak the imminent arrival of the police to the man who ordered Janet's death, Tim will be very surprised.
Tim is far more interested in what Ra's and all of his agents and research can't show. Ra's suspects a connection between the man who gave the order and any number of larger organizations. If any of his men had grown up in Gotham, they would have known just where to look, but Tim has information that none of the assassins would pick up. It wasn't as if someone would go out of their way to tell assassins about an old nursery rhyme that only people born near Gotham seemed to know.
“Well, Timothy?”
Tim had almost forgotten that Ra's al Ghul has been watching Tim study the file. For once, Ra's hadn't felt like a danger.
“Thank you.” For once, Tim means it. The file is a strange present to mark the anniversary of his death, and he can't be sure that Ra's meant to mark the day, but he hadn't been able to make those connections before. Tim wouldn't have thought to look past the official hospital records for the male police officer to find evidence of something else at play. He also wouldn't have looked past the female cop's unremarkable financial statements with occasional bursts of income from public commendations. He also wouldn't have followed her long enough to track and photograph her occasional visits to a bland-looking bank downtown.
This time, the lobby has muted blue walls and a darker blue carpet with dark brown leather chairs and a sleek wooden reception desk. The changed paint and furniture don't hide the layout, though, or the location. It's the same lobby that Tim has seen in person twice.
The woman hadn't gone downstairs. She'd left a file in a discreet locked bin built into the reception desk.
The man who had ordered someone else to kill Tim's mother didn't check the desk himself. None of Ra's's agents had caught him in the lobby. The man carried his cell phone with him, though, and the man's cell phone records were a match for Jack Drake's back when he'd still been making the same trip downtown.
For once, Ra's al Ghul seems satisfied with nothing more than that. “Speak to the quartermaster for any supplies you might want to bring with you and to arrange transportation. Whenever you finish up with this side project, I will have tasks here that are far more suited to your talents. I can think of no one more suited to some of that work.”
Whenever Tim finished with his side project, he'd have a plan or two of his own. None of that showed on his face, however.
“It would be my honor,” Tim lies.
Ra's al Ghul inclines his head in dismissal.
Tim bows, collects the papers, and leaves.
As much as it's tempting to book a flight to Gotham immediately, leaving no time for Ra's to change his mind about sending Tim away or adding conditions, Tim won't get the results he wants without much more time to prepare. He doesn't want to get rid of a single man, as satisfying as that might be, and then face pressure to come right back to whatever Ra's plans next.
Tim will put together the kind of plan that Ra's al Ghul can't resist. Toppling an entire secret organization in Gotham itself would be tempting enough to justify a longer timeline and even matches with what Ra's had mentioned the last time he gave Tim information. Destroying an organization that even Batman hasn't found, one with significant resources that could be taken away and put to a different use... It will be hard for Ra's to resist showing up Batman, even if it does delay whatever else it is that Ra's has in mind.
It shouldn't take more than another month to put together something that will work for every goal that Tim can imagine and perhaps a few that he'll only be able to picture once he returns to Gotham.
Stephanie frowns at her newest brother and his tape-wrapped hands. “If you go through with this, you won't be the favorite anymore.”
“I'm not the favorite,” Jason lies.
Stephanie raises a brow. “You love school. You convinced me to go to the rich-people school Bruce has been trying to coax me with forever so you wouldn't be alone. I actually do like it, just like Bruce said, and the gymnastics team has my back so hard I can't believe I was ever worried I wouldn't have friends. You get amazing grades, your teachers love you, and until today at dinner we all thought you'd be the sensible one to hang back and let the rest of us chase down the feeling that we can make Gotham better one punch at a time.”
Jason ignores her skeptical brow-raise even though she has been learning that expression from Alfred himself. “You guys save a lot of people and it's not like you had any more training than I did when you got started.”
“I almost died!”
“You're back on patrol. You've been back for months and you told me what happened.”
Stephanie frowns at his back. He's got decent form, of course, but anyone would when Damian and Cassandra personally insisted on helping him master his stance. It started as self-defense. It was the kind of thing that made sense when Jason ended up as a plausible target for kidnapping and wanted to feel safe. Jason had tolerated Damian and Cass's micro-managing with much better temper than Stephanie would have. They'd been easier on her when she started to train in the Batcave.
“I guess I just thought you'd be the sensible one,” she says finally.
“I don't know if I want to be the sensible one.”
Bruce had warned her. He'd be happier if they all stayed home but he lost that right the second he agreed to take Damian on patrol with him instead of giving up Batman. Stephanie has heard that story several times over. Last week, though, Bruce had warned her that she shouldn't be surprised if Jason followed them soon.
Stephanie shrugs and grabs her own tape. If she can't talk sense into him, she can at least make sure he is completely aware of how much stamina he'll have to build before any of them let him think about patrolling without someone in arm's reach at all times.
“Black Bat or something new?” she asks when he's been working long enough to start getting short of breath.
“Black Bat. I think.”
“Keep punching,” Stephanie says. “It's good to work your breathing around talking and not just hitting. Have some pros and cons thought out already?”
“Cons first?”
“Sure.” Stephanie picks up her speed pointedly. She smiles when he matches the pace. Jason's entire upper back is going to feel awful tomorrow but Damian is an amazing masseuse and sometimes he'll even talk about poetry while he works. Jason and Damian prefer to sit silently in the library, mostly, but when they're at a good break in their respective reading they like to compare literature and poetry.
“Cons – Black Bat was Tim's after Damian was done with it,” Jason begins. “No one has had it since and people don't know what happened to him. I already feel like I'm taking his place, sometimes, and I don't know if that would help or make it worse or if I'd feel awkward if I started and then realized I wanted one of the names I've been trying to brainstorm. Damian's right. Coming up with a name is really awkward when you don't grab one from Superman.”
Stephanie hums thoughtfully. The timing of his punches is still precisely on rhythm and it's not much of a surprise he can work up the pattern to breathe through the exertion. It isn't like Bruce ever wore her out of talking with rooftop tag even on the night that she was so tired he had carried her back to the Batmobile. Tim had laughed so hard that he almost fell out of the car.
“Pros?” she asks.
“Gotham misses Black Bat. I think everybody would know it's someone else but he and Damian both helped a lot of people under that name. It might make it feel a little less like everything that he started is over.”
“For what it's worth...” For once, Stephanie turns to the memorial case, with Tim's last Black Bat suit neatly folded over his last set of photographs. She doesn't usually like to look at it but it doesn't feel right to look away when she's thinking about someone else taking up Tim's mantle. “I think Tim would agree.”
Tim's face remains blank when he notices the small stack of newspapers beside his breakfast plate. Ra's never has Tim's happiness in mind when it comes to news from Gotham.
Ra's seems to think that eating breakfast first is a trial. Tim lets his stoic expression waver as he glances at the paper. So long as Tim looks angry and unbalanced, Ra's will not care too much about the cause. Ra's is many things but he is hardly subtle.
Ra's is content in his assumption that Tim will be a weapon made mindless by rage, furious that his family replaced him with someone more worthy of love.
If Ra's wanted a mindless weapon, he never should have put Tim in the Lazarus Pit.
Tim looks down at the newspaper and its half-blurred photograph of rooftop tag, with Black Bat caught smiling as he tries to keep pace with Nightwing. The other newspapers can't offer any more details and all use the same blurry image of Gotham's third Black Bat.
Gotham's newspapers are thrilled to have Black Bat back on patrol and several tried to get a comment through Commissioner Gordon. Not one reporter had any luck. No one comments about the previous Black Bat, of course. They don't wonder if he died or went off to college or found some sort of useful occupation beyond Black Bat's ever-changing cape.
Tim lets his grip on his fork tighten until it draws Ra's's notice.
“Perhaps it's time to return to Gotham,” Tim says when he knows he has the man's attention.
Ra's al Ghul smiles. “Perhaps that can be arranged.”
Cassandra likes the mask she uses as Batgirl. It covers her entire face and makes it much easier to hide her emotions. It makes it easier to hide her doubts, too.
“Black Bat will stay with one of us, Batgirl.” Nightwing can hide his emotions even with just a domino mask, she knows, but this time he lets her see that he is calm. “He agreed to it as a condition of patrolling and he's done well over the last month.”
Cassandra frowns from her high vantage point. Jason can't see her, at least. He is doing well in his role as a lookout. It's harder to watch him and know that he is at risk, though. Stephanie's near-death makes it all too easy to imagine what could happen.
“Black Bat and Spoiler weren't...” Cassandra's frown deepens. “They were kids, first. Not weapons who learned how to be children.”
“They still aren't weapons,” Damian corrects gently.
Cassandra considers that and nods. “They aren't, yes. Like – like Tim.”
Damian nods. “He wasn't. I think we'll find out more when his father decides to trust us.”
Cassandra looks back toward Bristol. They're a long way from home, though, and a couple minutes further from the mansion that Jack Drake bought after he came out of his coma. “He was trusting us. I think he was going to tell what he knew. He let Stephanie visit almost every week. Something happened at that gala, though. Jason's first gala. Mr. Drake looked scared when he left and still won't let any of us visit.”
“Batman and I have a couple theories, now, but no definitive answers.”
Cassandra tilts her head as she thinks. “We know that Mr. Drake knows something. That's more than we had before. Maybe... maybe I don't need the details to help. Just tell me who to watch and I will see if I can find connections. I think it would be easier if I just watched one person and then tried to find all links without knowing who you already suspect, if it is someone at a gala.”
“We think Spoiler might have had the right idea, all those years ago. If you want to keep an eye on anyone, watch Maximilian Corwell.”
Cassandra nods sharply. She remembers him. She remembers meeting Tim, all those years ago, and knowing that Tim was uncomfortable with the man. “I will.”
Damian smiles. “He won't know what hit him. I'll tell you when we expect him to be at a party and takes notes for you if that's what we need.”
She looks down to see Jason in the alley, still on guard, not relaxing a bit even after almost fifteen minutes on high alert. Jason doesn't trust people easily. He knows that the world is unfair and he ran away from a bad situation to trust his own instincts instead of an adult who should have helped him.
Maybe Jason will be easier to protect than Tim. Even if Jason's father is released from prison and wants him back, Jason has already told them that he wants to stay.
“Black Bat is doing well,” Damian says. “I think he'd like company, though.”
Cassandra agrees. The strain is starting to become far more obvious. Jason is making himself stay alert, now, and far stiffer through the body even as he keeps an eye out in all directions.
“I think so, too.”
When Cassandra shoots her grappling line and arcs down toward Jason, he isn't scared. He always remembers to look up. He tracks her almost right away, impressively for someone so new to patrol, and after he looks closely to be sure that she is the right person he looks relaxed as she swings closer.
He smiles when she lands with the kind of showy flip that Stephanie uses, sometimes.
“Hey, Batgirl. You were up high for a while. Anything to report?”
Cassandra looks at her slightly-older brother thoughtfully and then shakes her head. “Only that you are good at this and will only get better.”
Jason, usually so brash when he's on patrol, blushes. “Thanks, Batgirl. That means a lot, coming from you.”
Perhaps she could stand to remember a little more praise when she's working with her brother. He isn't a weapon, after all, and she never wants him to become one.
“It's only the truth, Black Bat.” She listens thoughtfully to the quality of silence change. “Batman will be ready to move soon. Nightwing can keep watch from on high if you want to block the main escape route with me.”
Jason grins. “Sure! Especially if you let me get a couple hits in.”
Cassandra smirks behind her mask. “Be quick, then.”
“Moving in on the target in two minutes,” her father says to everyone through the earpiece. “Status?”
“Spoiler is up high inside ready to block the main doorway,” Cassandra reports. She smiles when Stephanie clicks her comm in acknowledgment right away. “Nightwing is watching the surrounding area. Black Bat and I will guard the back entrance.”
“Set mark for two minutes unless the situation changes, then,” Batman replies.
Cassandra smiles. Whether or not the situation changes, she and Jason will be ready.
Any gift from Ra's al Ghul comes with strings. Tim is mostly sure that he's found all of them by the time he steps onto the fourth plane after more than twenty-two straight hours of traveling.
Tim doesn't want to tell just anyone that he has spent most of the year and a half since his death with the League of Assassins. He'd rather not have to answer stupid questions about just how one survives a league of assassins after an apparently soft childhood. Some people will be more impressed with the truth, of course, but not just anyone will get the chance to know why he's nothing like the kid with a camera who died at the Joker's hands.
Three planes were private jets under Ra's al Ghul's control. The first two were owned outright by the League, Tim thinks, so he'd been careful to note all the details that he could so that he could track their future movements. The third was a rented jet that looked identical to the others on the surface. The separate flights would help mask just where Tim had been at first but it made for a very long day of traveling.
This last flight is a commercial flight, albeit one in first class, and he draws a few curious looks as a teenager calmly presenting a boarding pass for first class. He makes sure to be entirely unremarkable about accepting first class as his due and soon enough the puzzled looks die down. Most people in first class have no interest in being caught gawking. If they think he looks familiar, at least it seems that none of them have connected him with a child who died in Gotham.
Tim dismisses almost all of the other passengers on the flight as unthreatening. It's easy enough to take a few selfies and not have anyone notice that he has a camera trained on all the passengers entering the plane behind his seat while he pretends to be picky about the results. One, though – one passenger worth noticing is not working for Ra's.
The black-haired woman with sunglasses that hide half her face looks almost normal. The mirrored lenses make it hard to see her face. Her dark grey blazer and dress pants fit in with the other passengers in business class. She moves like someone harmless, too, and Tim never reached her skill in looking just as dangerous as he wants to appear. He only learned the basics before Lady Shiva was sent away.
Lady Shiva nods to Tim, a tiny motion that barely moves her hair, and then heads to her seat in business class.
No one on the flight tries to assassinate him. He almost wants someone to try so that he can rely on adrenaline to stay awake for another few hours. He doesn't know if any would-be assassins would have tried to attack him or slip poison onto his meal without Lady Shiva on the plane but he makes a show of pretending to eat the unverifiable food. He had enough to eat on the previous flight when he could eat only on things he'd packed himself.
Tim walks off of the plane with a single carry-on bag. Almost all of the suitcase's space is taken up with weapons and mostly-legal forms of identification. If the driver's license was actually valid, he would have sat for a test and his father would have been involved. With a little extra money and a little help from Ra's al Ghul, only a few people in Gotham know that Tim is alive. Jack Drake isn't one of them.
Tim walks through the airport and almost relaxes at the anonymity. If anyone recognizes him or thinks he looks like the Drake boy that died, no one says a word and no one starts taking pictures of him.
Lady Shiva follows him through the airport. She keeps her distance so Tim doesn't so much as look her way.
In a sea of drivers holding up signs with neatly-printed names, Tim finds a familiar man holding a sign with T.J.D. written instead of his full name.
Tim approaches the man who had his mother killed. He smiles.
“Max. I'd thought that you would send a driver, not meet me yourself.”
Maximilian Corwell smiles. Just like Tim's, Corwell's smile is fake, but it would fool most people walking by into thinking that they're old friends.
“What can I say, Tim. I'm intrigued that you'd reach out after all these years and not least because I thought I knew what had happened to you.”
“Intrigued enough that your group accepts my proposal?” Tim asks blandly.
Corwell's smile sharpens. “No one has ever made that as their opening bid. Color me interested, Tim.”
“I'm glad that you took me seriously.”
“Well, we were in the market for a new member, and not many are clever enough to find us and know that we can offer far better than favorable treatment in the business world. We're willing to meet with you and I think that you'll fit in very well. Far better than your parents ever would have managed.”
It's a test, Tim knows, and one that is all too easy to pass. He doesn't hesitate. “I think that your organization and I will both benefit.”
Corwell nods to the line of waiting cars outside. “No time like the present, then?”
Corwell will rarely have a chance when Tim is fatigued from traveling and only has a single suitcase at hand, he means, but Tim accepts. He hadn't expected anything else. “Lead on, Max.”
The man waiting behind the wheel of a plain black towncar is familiar, too.
Tim doesn't protest when Corwell takes the front passenger seat. Tim slides into the back seat with his suitcase and nods to the tall, thin man at the wheel. “I don't think we've had the pleasure of being formally introduced, Monty.” He pauses for a moment. “I do hope it's alright that I call you Monty?”
Montgomery Beauregard, the lawyer who had tried to gain custody of Tim three years ago, isn't as well-versed in the game as Max. He grimaces before attempting a game smile. “Of course, Tim. After all, Max tells me that you're ready to join, and we'd be equals.”
Tim watches Beauregard and Corwell's reactions when Lady Shiva strolls past their car, heading toward a different vehicle. Neither one of them glances at her for a moment.
Lady Shiva's fingers shape the tiniest bit of a wave before she gets into a waiting car. Tim doesn't have a way to respond, not in a way that she could see, but she doesn't seem to mind.
Whatever protection she gave him on his way to Gotham, that bit of information is just as valuable. As much as Corwell and his group have a high opinion of themselves and their importance of the world, neither one of them can recognize Lady Shiva at a glance. Neither one showed a single hint of fear when one of the world's most deadly fighters walked within arm's reach of Corwell.
However much they claim to watch all the time, they certainly don't know everything.
For the third time in his life, Tim steps into a building with a generic lobby. It looks like a bank waiting on the last traces of branding. The first time, it had been decorated in green and brown. The second time, it had been a sad shade of industrial beige. This time, it's a blend of muted blue walls and carpeting with dark brown leather furniture.
“We are hoping to keep these decorations a little longer,” Max says in a cheerful tone. “It's inconvenient to change everything around every so often but worth the benefits.”
“I do like this better than the beige,” Tim replies lightly.
Max shouldn't have expected a different reaction but he still looks disappointed as he crosses the empty lobby and punches a code into the keypad on the wall. “A one-time code, Tim. We're just considering your membership, after all.”
Tim smiles agreeably and does not say just how many ways he could break through their system now that he knows one code that does work. It's fascinating how many time-limited codes can be circumvented by changing the system's default time and date. Tim doesn't show any surprise when both Corwell and Beauregard pull white masks out of a cubby locked with a second keycode and put them on. Ra's found enough information that Tim could anticipate the round white masks.
Just as Tim had thought, they lead him to a room with fifteen other men wearing white masks, and a few all-too-familiar lithe figures dressed all in black.
A man whose name even Ra's al Ghul hasn't been able to find stands at the center of owl-masked men. He looks up as Tim enters.
“Timothy Drake. One of our number tells me that you wish to join the Court of Owls.”
Tim is the only person in the room without a mask. He doesn't need one. He trained with Lady Shiva and lived. He made a deal with Talia al Ghul and so far she's fulfilled every part of their bargain. He faced down Ra's al Ghul and walked away with everything that he hoped to gain.
Tim pulls a folio out of his suitcases outer pocket. His meaningless business smile doesn't waver. “I understand that you have a selective membership, gentlemen, but I am entirely sure that I qualify. One of your number tells me that my proposal for membership is worth discussing. Let's talk about just we can do for one another.”