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The usual hustle and bustle of galas rarely tended to bother Tim. As something he’s grown up with since he could crawl, galas are a walk in the park for him. The smile he plasters on his face helps give the impression that the lines at the corners of his eyes are crow’s feet and not at all the pulls of exhaustion and stress. For a moment, he can almost pretend that he is precisely like the tabloids say: another rich boy that only cares about what shiny new car he can buy. He could pretend that he didn’t have to wear makeup at all, that he didn’t spend almost an hour in front of the bathroom mirror, caking on concealer and foundation to hide the bags under his eyes. He blends the makeup down to the neckline of his tuxedo, pretending he had a tan from a sunny vacation and not vampiric pale from days without sunlight, holed up in his room and hunched over his laptop as he pored over cases and W.E. emails.
He’s oddly comfortable here. Galas aren’t as bad as his brothers and sister make it out to be. Cass, as quiet as she is, tends to make herself invisible in either the corners of the room or at one of the family members’ sides. She nurses a glass of sparkling grape juice and says not a word to any passersby. His brothers, on the other hand… sometimes Tim and Bruce share exasperated looks across the room and wish the others were as silent as Cass is. Alas, they are lucky to get one somewhat well-behaved member; four is apparently asking for too much.
In any case, Tim quickly loses himself in the monotonous routine of galas. They are easy. They are simple. They are something Tim innately understands. He shakes Mr. Tomlinson’s hand, lets old Mrs. Greenwich pinch his cheeks, and whispers into Mrs. Fanning’s ear about how hideously Mr. Bunnell’s tie contrasts with his suit as they share glasses of champagne. It’s frighteningly comforting to be so plastic. For once, the stresses that come with being… Tim disappear, and he embraces the chance to be someone else, someone that’s not him.
Or is it? Honestly, Tim doesn’t think he remembers. The answer to that question feels so complex, lost in the years of having Janet Drake’s manicured nails dig into his shoulder but having Bruce clap his back as the older man smiled with joy. They conflict, but they don’t exclude each other. Galas are of contrasting emotions. There is a hint of happiness when he catches Bruce gesturing to him across the room as he speaks to another shareholder, love and pride shining in his eyes. But there is also a rigidity to his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as he senses the cold presence of Janet’s spirit hovering over his shoulder, daring him to slip up and smear the family’s name.
He loves it. He hates it. He wants it. He rejects it.
“Oh, and did you hear about the latest scandal between Margaret Gunn and Joseph Polinsky?” Mrs. Fanning gasps, raising a dainty hand to her too-red lips.
Tim takes that as his cue to lean back slightly, eyes wide as he pretends to let the words sink in. “No, I haven’t!” He tilts back in, making a show of giving her his undivided attention. “Don’t tell me they’ve broken up again,” he whispers conspiratorially.
Mrs. Fanning’s eyes light up with delight, and Tim knows he has her. Mr. Fanning, Mrs. Fanning’s supposedly devoted husband, has been a bit unfaithful. From what Jason told Tim, his lieutenants spotted Brian Fanning around known pimps in Crime Alley. Politicians are much easier to get to than thugs, contrary to what people might believe. If Tim could score a seat in Mrs. Fanning’s monthly Sunday brunch at their mansion, then Tim could use that time to do a bit of snooping and get Jason the information he needs to find the base of operations for the sex trafficking ring.
Complicated? Maybe, but in some ways, that’s how Tim likes it. A bit of challenge never killed anyone, and Tim has a bit of a competitive streak.
All he has to do is get a little closer to Hayley Fanning. Then he gets in with her little gossip club and…
A large hand encases Tim’s shoulder. Instincts blare at him to grab the assailant’s hand, break a finger or two, maybe even a nose with a well-placed right hook. His discipline, however, only has him lifting his eyes to glance at Mrs. Fanning’s expression. The startled yet awestruck look on her face has Tim’s heart sinking at the realization of who’s behind him.
“Hayley!” the sugary voice of a tipsy Brucie Wayne booms. “It’s good to see you again! Been a while! How’s Brian?”
“Uh, w-well, he’s…he’s good!” Mrs. Fanning stammers, her eyes unsure if they want to be captured by Bruce’s dazzling blues, his broad chest, or a particular low spot Tim happens to be standing in the way of. That thought alone has equal parts disgust and rage bubbling in his chest, and it almost makes him pull Bruce out of the ballroom.
But he has a job to do, thanks, so if Bruce could skedaddle along, that would be phenomenal.
The hand moves from his shoulder, and for a moment, Tim thinks he’s scot-free. Only Bruce wraps his arm fully around Tim’s upper back, pulling him into a side-hug, and all that hope flees faster than Bart when he sees a spider. Tim tries not to visibly deflate, but he’s certain Bruce knows what he did anyway.
“That’s good to hear!” Bruce chuckles, sounding too honest for Tim’s liking. “I wish we could stay and chat, but unfortunately, I’m gonna have to steal Tim away from you. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course, I don’t mind!” Mrs. Fanning replies, looking for all the world that she really minded. She turns to Tim, but her attention isn’t actually on him anymore. “It was nice speaking with you, uh….”
Fuck.
“Tim,” he all but grits out, irritation threatening to make his eyebrow twitch.
“Right,” she mutters. The bright smile reappears as she bats her lashes and coos, “Bye, Bruce. It was lovely to see you. Hope it happens again soon.”
Bruce responds with an equally warm yet fake platitude, but the anger rushing in Tim’s head blocks out that answer. He lets Bruce steer him away from the crowd, heading towards a hallway that leads to an off-limits area of Wayne Manor. Tim keeps his mask up until they are far out of sight and hearing of others. Once Bruce has them in a sitting room with the door closed, Tim explodes.
“What was that?” he snaps, rounding on Bruce, who doesn’t look fazed in the slightest. “I was working, B! Jason needed something from her, and I was about to-”
“No.”
That gives Tim pause. He blinks, watching as Bruce makes his way to the room’s couch. His father sits down and crosses one ankle over the other leg’s knee, signaling they won’t return to the party soon. Tim ought to be concerned about that, letting his siblings run rampant with no one to watch him, but the way Bruce purses his lips and levels Tim with a severe look has him settling down in a chair.
“No?” Tim asks quietly, shaking his head. “What do you mean, no?”
Bruce exhales softly, collecting himself as he turns his gaze to the ceiling. The sight makes Tim’s heart catch in his throat. He doesn’t think he did anything wrong, yet a pit in his stomach warns him otherwise.
As if sensing his son’s impending turmoil, Bruce starts with, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Tim wishes that soothed the anxiety, but it only made it worse. Why would Bruce have gone so far as to withdraw Tim from the gala if he had done nothing wrong?
Bruce visibly chewed the inside of his cheek, mulling over his words. When he spoke, he did so slowly, as if being cautious with his words. “You were starting to worry me.”
The sudden incredulity makes Tim scoff lightly. “I- how?”
“You reminded me too much of Janet Drake.”
That makes Tim pause. He reminded Bruce too much of… his own mother? Well, of course, he did! No matter how much Tim and the Waynes try to deny it, at the end of the day, Tim is the son of Jack and Janet Drake. It’s not like any of them wanted that - in fact, Tim is sure his biological parents hated that more than anyone - but he was their son. Bound by blood, it was unbreakable no matter how he tried to run from it. Tim never looked much like Jack; he always took after Janet. Her demeanor was so calm, it was almost cold. He took after her physically, sharp edges but softened enough that people felt captivated by him… by her.
He removed Tim from the gala, from a critical discussion to bust a sex trafficking ring… because he looks like Janet Drake?
The anger comes back tenfold. “What the fuck, Bruce?”
Bruce’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. “Tim-”
Tim scoffs, holding up a finger as he tries to collect his thoughts. Surely, there is more to this. Bruce has to have a better reason. “I am their son . Adopted by you or not, I am still their son. I am going to look like her whether you like it or hate it. Trust me, I don’t want to be connected to them either! But I’m not going to stand here and let you take me from important things that need to be done because the World’s Greatest Detective magically forgot that biological relationships mean physical similarities-”
“It’s not that,” Bruce interrupts, voice almost in a growl. Tim takes a moment to look at his adopted father - to really look at him - and what he sees halts him in his tirade.
It’s been a long time since Tim has seen Bruce this tired. The exhaustion and worry lines pull at the other man’s face, making him seem so much older than he is. When Bruce is with his sons, there’s a new life in him. He laughs, his eyes are bright, and he looks like a kid again. But now… Tim feels a well of guilt as he realizes he put that pain in Bruce’s expression.
Quieting down and adequately chastised, Tim asks softly, “Then what is it?”
Bruce runs a hand over his face, looking more stressed than Tim is comfortable with for this situation. “I didn’t mean physically, Tim. Of course, you look like her, and every day… I wish you were mine. Not that you aren’t,” he adds hastily before Tim has a moment to feel stricken, “but I mean… mine. Mine like the way Damian is. Mine like the way I wish Jason and Dick were. Because maybe then… maybe you guys wouldn’t have had to go through what you all have. Maybe I could have kept you safe.”
At this, Bruce looks off to the side, glaring at the corner of the room like it personally offended him. Or maybe Bruce’s demons were gathering there, taunting him. As his son, Tim should feel protected by his father, but he can’t help the urge to protect Bruce, too. It kills him that he can’t fight the past.
Pursing his lips, Bruce continues. “What I meant was you reminded me of her… behaviorally. You… you looked so much like her, how she used to grab people’s attention, but not in how I do. You weren’t acting airheaded or extroverted. You were… cynical. You were cold and detached. Maybe you were socializing with Hayley Fanning, but it wasn’t….”
Bruce huffs in frustration, clearly unsure of the right words to say. Tim wishes he could say he understands what Bruce is hinting at, but he feels just as lost as Bruce looks.
“What I’m trying to say is… you looked like you were her. And I don’t want you to become this shell of a person. Janet was a great businesswoman, but she wasn’t a good person. She was fake and toxic. Some would even call her aggressive. And you… I don’t even think you noticed what you were doing. But you dominated that space. You kept a distance between you and Hayley, but everyone knew who was in charge of that discussion. You were manipulating her to get what you wanted, and I… I don’t want that for you. I don’t want that to be your default.”
Tim stays silent for a moment, trying to wrap his head around those words. In a way, he finally understands, but a part of him believes this is a bit hypocritical. Their whole lives revolve around being people they aren’t, getting what they need any way they can, and taking advantage of situations. So he says as much in response.
He gets a deep, weary sigh in return. “We do that as… our night lives. But this? Us? Tim Drake-Wayne and Bruce Wayne? We don’t do that. I don’t want you to always fall upon this way of manipulation every time you need something. That’s how Janet became how she was.” Bruce looks at Tim, looking eyes with his son. The level of concern and fear in Bruce’s eyes floors Tim. All of that, for him, for his future. Bruce thinks about Tim’s well-being, frets over it.
And that’s a thousand times more than Janet and Jack ever did.
“I want you to be happy,” Bruce whispers. “I want you to be able to go into these galas like your brothers and be unashamedly yourself. I get networking, but you shouldn’t have to hide your brilliance, your charisma, or your kindness. Do I wish your brothers were a little more well-behaved during these events?” Bruce rolls his eyes, making Tim let out a small giggle. “Absolutely. But I will never take that away from them.” Bruce softens, giving Tim a gentle smile. “I don’t want it to be taken away from you.”
Tim swallows thickly. He doesn’t remember when the tears started threatening to fall, burning at his eyes, but he ends up letting them fall. If he was in front of anyone else, if he was in front of Jack and Janet, he would have held them back. He would have pretended that he didn’t have tears, as though his tear ducts dried up long ago. But he’s in front of Bruce and can be weak here.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quietly. “I didn’t even realize. I didn’t mean to worry you, B.”
Bruce shakes his head vehemently and opens up his arms invitingly. Tim wastes no time launching forward, throwing himself into Bruce’s lap and letting his dad wrap him up in an embrace. Here, Tim always feels protected from the world, and for the first time since the start of the night, he can’t feel the chill of Janet’s spirit lingering over his shoulder.
“It’s not something you need to apologize for,” Bruce soothes, and Tim listens to the rumble of Bruce’s voice as he presses his ear to Bruce’s chest. “I’m your father. I will always worry about you. And I only want the best for you. I’m not trying to replace your parents, Tim, and I don’t want you to hate your mother, but the person she was… I won’t let you become that. I can’t.”
“I’ll try to be more mindful,” Tim agrees because he doesn’t want that either. Once upon a time, Tim loved his mother. All he wanted was her attention, her love, her care. He never got that, and he thinks that if he did, it might’ve been too late. After so long with the Waynes, seeing what a real family is like, what it means to be loved unconditionally… he can respect his mother professionally. Still, he never wants to be like her personally.
“Thank you for looking out for me, Bruce,” Tim adds, closing his eyes. He knows they’ll have to get back to the gala soon, but for the moment, he thinks he’s allowed this.
Bruce must agree because he settles further into the couch and plants a chaste kiss in Tim’s hair. “You’re my son. I will always look out for you.”
And that sounded great to Tim.