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His name was Steven Frances Fellows Sr., a higher-up of Wayne Enterprises’ biotech division. He was wealthy but stingy, brilliant but a bully. And they’d just caught him verbally assaulting two flight attendants and physically assaulting his own assistant at the baggage claim for WE’s private jets.
He intervened, then stood and watched silently as Stevens swore into his phone and Tam spoke to airport security, plans for retribution already running through his head. Suspension, pay cuts, demotion. He was eighteen and still a major shareholder while he wished to be; he could speak to the right people and have it done, and sometimes, however much it wasn’t his personal style, it was necessary to remind them – the department heads, the office execs, those assholes who frequented the water cooler and thought it was funny to harass the interns – just how much weight he had to throw around, if he ever felt the need. To avoid incidents like this, at the least.
“So, what’re we doin’ to him, boss?”
He looks across the table, finds Tam eyeing him with anticipation. It makes him smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Liar.” She sits back in her seat, her eyes going to the bar behind which their food is being prepared.
Virginia Beach, VA. Did they have business here? No. Are they here, anyway? Ohhh, yeah. Why? Because one paranoid newbie pilot insisted on an emergency landing; danger, he insisted, in the form of rain and cumulonimbus clouds. Right.
“A suggestion to Mr. Wayne, if he doesn’t mind one: next time you screen potential pilots for WE’s private flights, make sure they aren’t actually afraid of flying.”
“Noted. You still insist on calling him ‘Mr. Wayne’?”
“You’ll have to forgive me for the slight discomfort I feel every time I consider referring to ‘The Batman’ by his first name, Tim.”
So, here they are, roughly three-fourths of the way between Points A (San Juan) and B (Gotham) at the tail end of a summer shower right on the water, more specifically at the pub recommended to them by their concierge. It’s not his ideal scene, what with all the noise and people, but there’s certainly a familiarity to it. He spies a young woman in a Wonder Woman t-shirt and is reminded distinctly of Bart. He was wearing the same shirt at the last Pizza Friday at Titans Tower. He smiles to himself and goes to cover it with a sip of his lemon water, only to notice Tam’s eyes back on him. She tilts her head, contemplative. “What?” he asks.
“You haven’t broken out in hives yet.” When his eyebrow lifts, she shrugs. “Our schedule’s just been majorly screwed over. I figured it’d be killing you by now.”
Normally, yeah, maybe. He likes his schedules like he likes his checklists and Post-It notes: firmly adhered to. They signify control, what little he admittedly has in the great twister that is so often his life, especially in the last several months. It should bother him to have that control wrested from him so unexpectedly, to have to make so many impromptu rearrangements to his plans. The crew estimated their next take-off to be sometime the following morning. If they board, however short the flight, they’ll be at least ten hours behind schedule, not counting the other work he wanted to do to make up for the week’s worth of cases he missed while out of country.
Yeah, he should be bothered, huh?
“Yes, the food’s here!” Tam exclaims with clasped hands as their waitress makes a beeline for their table. “What did you order again?” she asks, grinning once more. “Alfalfa sprouts?”
“Shut up” comes out like a reflex, as automatic as the widening of his smile as she giggles. On her side, the waitress presents a Philly Cheesesteak stuffed with grilled onions and a separate plate of crab cakes. On his side…
“One of these days,” Tam begins, taking her complementary fork and aiming it for his salad, “I’m gonna make you order something that can’t be shared with a rabbit.” She prods past a leafy green. “Are those actually alfalfa sprouts?”
“Get off my food.” He smacks her fork away with a chuckle. “And yes.” He can’t help but chuckle again as Tam barks a single, triumphant note of laughter. “Eat your crab cakes.”
“I’ll share them with you if you tell me what you’re gonna do to Fellows.”
“I don’t like crab.”
“Of course, you don’t. Tell me, anyway.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“You’re gonna get him fired, aren’t you?” Tam takes a bite of crab cake and chases it down with her limeade. “The look on your face after I called for security was the same one you had last month when McDowell tried to go over my dad’s head and lower the pay for those construction workers in Chinatown. I haven’t seen one file on my desk since then with his name on it.”
Tim chews, his mouth tugging upward. A cheer goes up in the pub’s neighboring room, where he suspects a billiards contest is ongoing. “You make me sound like I bagged him.”
“Strung him up and dangled him out his office window, maybe,” Tam suggests, her brow dancing with the warm lights mirrored in her eyes. Tim takes another bite of salad. Contemplates reminding her to avoid mentions of his ‘night work’, even in a setting such as this, where no individual conversation can really be heard unless you’re a part of it.
Tam gets a look about her, though, whenever anything Bat-related comes up. Interest and excitement, sure, but also a certain satisfaction. A joy that makes her smile extra toothy and her bubbliness even more contagious. Like just being in on the secret is enough to make her day a little brighter.
He likes making her day brighter, he’s found. And not just because it makes his a little bit brighter, too.
Maybe that’s why, when she leaves the table to use the bathroom (“You think about that answer while I’m gone, ninja boy.”), he pulls out his phone, makes a call, and in his head, obliges a few more rearrangements to their plans.
At least this time it’s by choice.
He drops it on her that night at the modest hotel they choose for the night.
“Wait, what?” Tam’s head pokes out of the bathroom. Her shower cap matches her robe. Cute.
“A rental car,” he repeats, looking back down at the travel brochure he found on the end table. He’s been flipping through it while waiting for his turn in the shower.
“Seriously?” The sound of shifting material, like she’s leaning further out the door. “You got one?”
“Phoned it in when you went to the bathroom after making fun of my eating habits.”
“But why? I thought we were just gonna get back on the jet once the pilot stopped wetting himself.”
“We still can.” He pauses on an advertisement for Sandbridge. “The beach looks nice.”
“What about our schedule?”
“Already screwed, like you said. What’s a few more hours and a little sightseeing?”
There’s silence. Then, “Okay, hold on.”
With that, Tam comes all the way out the bathroom and plops herself on the bed across from his own, a vision in pastel purple and polka-dots. He smirks. “How have your roommates not bugged your room with a video camera?”
“Cuz they’re not creeps. Or you,” she quips. “Is this a cover-up for something bird-bat-whatever-related? You’ve got some Titans team-up or a suit upgrade or a bad guy to pick up and drop off at Arkham?”
“No,” he replies. Those’re pretty good guesses, though.
“Then…” Tam signals ‘help me out’ with her hands. He shrugs.
“Why not?"
Tam blinks. “So, we’re ditching our flight…”
“If you want.”
“Ditching what’s left of our schedule…”
“For now.”
“And taking a road trip?”
“It’s a roughly six-hour drive from Virginia Beach to Gotham. Not all that much of a trip, but like I said: the beach looks nice.”
Tam scoots to the edge of her bed and thrusts her hand out. Tim smiles and leans forward, until his forehead makes solid contact with the center of her palm. Skin soft, warm from the shower.
It’s still new between them – casual proximity, casual contact. He tries not to enjoy it as much as he does.
“Is that me or you?” she asks, measuring the heat against her hand.
“You,” he replies.
“Then you don’t have a fever.”
He shakes his head under her palm. “No.”
“Have you taken your meds?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll count the pills.”
“There are twenty-four left.”
Tam sighs and takes her hand away. The air that takes its place feels cold rather than just cool; he blames the air conditioning. “You’re sure about this?”
He lifts a brow. “Worried I can’t drive?”
“Mildly skeptical that nothing ulterior is in the works.” She lifts her shoulders in a gesture of surrender. “I’ll keep the first-aid kit close just in case.”
“You still want to take the flight? I can cancel.”
“No. We’re good. We’ll do the car thing.” She rises to return to the bathroom; right before she disappears around the corner, she whips her head back in his direction. “But I’m picking the road snacks. I’ll be damned if I’m stuck eating bird seed for half a day.”
She barely dodges the brochure he throws at her.
They spend the next morning sending the necessary messages to the necessary people, exchange the same exasperated look when both Dick and Luke reply in the same cheeky manner. Lucius and Alfred remind them to be cautious, and amidst a light breakfast, Bruce sends Tim a private message ensuring he won’t be needed for patrol that night. “So, we’re in the clear?” Tam asks, her fork spearing a strawberry.
“We’re in the clear.”
Her eyes go bright, and the smile spontaneously comes to Tim’s lips. This was a good idea, he thinks, watching as she whips out the previous night’s weaponized brochure and starts checklisting destinations.
They’re late, admittedly, in finally picking up their rental. They arrive with one extra passenger, a giant stuffed starfish bought at the aquarium. “So, which one is ours?” Tam asks, her voice muffled by a huge purple arm. She starts when Tim steps forward and plucks (read: hauls) the thing out of her arms. In exchange, he tosses her a set of keys. “Find out,” he says.
It’s a nice car, for the record, one he’d love to play with under the hood given the chance. A convertible, silver and shiny in the late afternoon sunlight, with too many built-in toys for them to use even in the several hours they’ll be in it. Tam loves it enough that she somewhat waives her no-health-food rule; at their last stop before hitting the road, she lets him buy a bag of sunflower seeds. “Make sure they’re at least barbecue flavor,” she insists. When he comes out of the convenience store with a couple packs of reduced salt, she knocks her head against the steering wheel and almost drives off. He’s pretty sure the only reason she doesn’t is because he deliberately takes the starfish into the store with him.
“The only reason I’m not leaving your borderline-vegan butt in the dust,” she confirms, supervising as he straps the hulking thing back into its seat, “is because you bought her for me.”
He climbs into the passenger’s side with a smirk. “I appreciate it.”
Tam tosses him a brief glare. “Swear you only got her to use as collateral. Bat-bird-vigilante weirdo.”
He doesn’t answer beyond a glance and the loud crack of a sunflower seed between his teeth.
They’re definitely late; even without looking at the dashboard clock, he can tell. Between the aquarium, the nature trail, the window shopping and their stroll through the art district, not to mention meals, the sun is already in position to begin setting; if they’re heading toward Gotham now, it’ll be close to midnight by the time they get there.
For once, he finds himself too content to care.
Ten minutes in (pathetic, he knows), the wind in his face and the smooth rumble of the car underneath begin to make him drowsy. He deliberated the possibility of a nap, but was still on the fence; lucky for him, his body now seems to be deciding that it’s as good a time as any to catch up on some ever-needed rest. He dozes against his seat’s far shoulder, his sight narrowing to an image of Tam against the picturesque backdrop of the trees lining Shore Drive. Through his lashes, he tries to count the number of strands that catch the sunlight as her hair whips against her cheeks, then tries to keep a straight face when she smooths them away only for them to end up stuck to her lip-gloss. Tries not to imagine what she’d think if he reached over and helped her.
She glances at him at some point, looking expectant – that’s right, she was talking, trying to get him talking about Fellows again – and her eyes widen for a moment like he’s done something shocking. And then she smiles and her mouth moves, something about letting himself get “some sleep, ninja boy. Stop forcing yourself to stay awake.”
“You were talking,” he answers dazedly. Her image is starting to blur.
“And?”
“I’m listening.”
The wind catches her giggle and blows it away. Makes it sound extra sweet as it goes, or is that just him? “It’s not important,” she says.
“Talk, anyway.”
“Sleep, anyway, Red Wonder.” Her eyes and one hand on the wheel, Tam leans over and reaches for him. Stops when her hand hovers just over his eyes, blocking the sun. It reminds him of her checking his temp, and he smiles.
“Don’t crash.”
“Don’t argue with me.”
He leans forward until her fingers light upon his eyelids, then pushes at her hand with his head until she laughs again and swipes at him. “You’re such a brat!”
“Turn here.”
“What?”
He sits up, shaking away the drowsiness, and points to her side view, where Chesapeake Bay is a smattering of glitter in the distance. Tam looks at him. “Really?”
He shrugs. “We still haven’t seen the beach.”
They park in a mostly empty lot. There’s an event going on tonight near the resort, if he recalls correctly; most will be there, leaving the usual tourist havens quiet. They follow a flipflop-worn path down to the shore and settle themselves a few yards away from the tide.
“Tomorrow morning is going to suck,” Tam declares. She toes off her flats and buries her toes in the silken sand. “The first half of the day’ll be spent rearranging meetings. The second half: battling the tower of paperwork sitting on my desk.” She looks put out.
“Isn’t half that paperwork mine?” he asks. She shoots him a look.
“More than half, actually. Which means you will be helping me.”
“Mmm,” he intones. He lets his arms slide out from under him and lays back, one hand cushioning his head. “What if I get someone else to help you?”
The look intensifies. “Who?”
He looks up at her with a rising eyebrow. “Fellows?”
Tam’s eyes widen in disbelief. “No!” she exclaims, and shifts toward him. “Do Dad and Mr. Wayne know?”
“I mentioned the situation over the phone. As the one who actually witnessed what went down, they insisted I have the final say.”
“The power of a shareholder.” Tam lets out a low, impressed whistle. “You’re really going to demote him?”
“Tempting,” he admits. “At the very least, some of those documents on your desk tomorrow might detail some reallocated resources of his.”
“You’re taking his allowance away, aren’t you?”
“That’s the idea.” He looks up at her. “Unless you really want that help with paperwork.”
Tam grins. “You’d really make Fellows my secretary?”
“Say the word. Maybe give him a taste of his own medicine while you’re ordering him around.”
She sinks to the sand beside him with a laugh. “You just wanna get out of helping me yourself.”
He closes his eyes, long-suffering. “I hate paperwork.”
“Join the club.”
A touch of silence but for the waves, and then Tim turns his head. “You were okay with today, right?” When Tam looks at him in surprise, he continues. “I will help us catch up, seriously.”
Tam watches him for a moment; the light of the setting sun turns her skin bronze, her lip gloss gold. She grins, and he feels his face heat. “You are probably the only person I know,” she says, “who manages to feel guilty about taking a break and showing a girl a good time. You know that?”
He shrugs in admission. “So, you’re okay with how things turned out?”
“You let me drag you around all day and bought me a giant purple sea creature. I also saw you eat ‘bad’ carbs, which itself almost makes the work tomorrow worth it. Long story short: yes, ninja boy, I’m very okay with how things turned out today. Paperwork be damned.” Her eyes suddenly narrow. “The real question is if you’re okay.”
He takes a breath. Gathers his courage and reaches for her hand, only to bring it up to his face. Lays her palm against his forehead and lets her feel the warmth that always suffuses his face when he’s happy and too full of himself to admit it.
Tam’s grin softens. Her fingers brush themselves against his temple. “Is that me or you?”
Tim smiles. “Me.”