Bruce sat in the study reviewing the doctor's latest reports on Timothy's progress. Fortunately, the brain activity was there; the young man just wasn't waking up. There was no telling when he would. It had been a week—and what a week!
Bruce had gone from living in the manor with only Alfred for company, to having what amounted to a full house. After his kneecap had been shattered, Selina had actually returned home. Their marriage was still on the rocks, but they were trying to work things out now. Shortly after that, the whole fiasco with Harm and Secret had occurred. Few of them had made it out of that unscathed. Barbara was dead, Timothy was in a coma, and Dick was lucky to be alive.
Bruce sighed and rubbed his eyes. He'd almost lost his son... both his sons. His daughter, on the other hand... Martha had proved him wrong. She'd emerged from the battle with nary a scratch, and successfully taken down Harm, albeit with the aid of the metas. For that reason, she now wore the mantle of the bat, patrolling the streets of Gotham. Bruce still worried about her, he always would, but now was the time for unity in his family. There was no use fighting.
And so, Bruce found himself surrounded by his family: Alfred, Selina, Martha, Dick and Timothy, as well as his grandchildren, Jimmy and M.K., and Timothy's fiancée, Cissie King-Jones. Leslie and Jonathan Kent also visited frequently, both to monitor Timothy's medical progress, and to check up on Cissie.
A rather loud snore from the aging Persian on his lap broke Bruce out of his thoughts. He scratched the feline between the ears.
"Easy, Cat," he muttered before he was interrupted again by a commotion outside his study doors.
"Where is he?" Jack Drake came bursting through the doors, followed by a ruffled Alfred.
"My apologies, Master Bruce," Alfred began.
Bruce held up his hand. "No apology necessary, Alfred." He turned his attention to the fuming man in front of him. "Jack, what can I do for you?"
"I know he's here! I know my son is here! How come no one notified me? He should be in a hospital!"
"We tried to reach you, Jack," Bruce lied. "You're a difficult man to get a hold of."
"Why isn't he in a hospital?" Jack never broke eye contact with Bruce.
"I assure you, Timothy is receiving the best care possible, and as to why he is not in a hospital, I felt he would be more comfortable here than in a cold hospital where he would wake up alone."
"I want to see him. Now."
"Of course," Bruce smiled. "Alfred, please show Mr. Drake up to Timothy's room. I'm sure you'll find Timothy's accommodations satisfactory, Jack."
Jack didn't reply, but simply glared at the man who had stolen his son from him before he followed the butler out of the study.
Bruce's smile faded once Jack left. He stood up stiffly, grabbed his cane, and rather upset Cat, who had been content to sit on his lap. He followed Jack and Alfred out and up the stairs, keeping his distance, but ready to intervene should Jack get out of line.
***
Alfred dutifully led Jack Drake up to Timothy's room. As usual, he kept his opinions of the man to himself.
He knocked on the door before he opened it slightly. "Miss Cissie, there's someone here to see Master Timothy."
Jack did not like the sound of this. Who was this 'Cissie' person? There was a muffled response from the other side, then Alfred opened the door all the way.
Jack entered the room in a hurry. He saw his son, lying in a bed, paler than the sheets that covered him, and hooked up to tubes. He felt a lump in his throat.
"You must be Tim's dad," stated the young blonde woman who stood before him.
"And who the hell are you?" Jack snapped.
"Cissie King-Jones. Your son's fiancée."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "He's never mentioned you to me."
Cissie sat back down in her armchair and smoothed some of Tim's hair back. Jack noticed the sparkling diamond ring on her finger as she did so. "Tim doesn't tell you lots of things," she said simply.
Jack approached his son's bed. "Tim would have told me he was getting married."
"Would he? When's the last time you really spoke with him?"
"I talked to him just a couple of weeks ago!"
"To go over the details of a business transaction. You didn't bother to ask how he was doing, what he was up to… He assumed you didn't care."
"I care that some gold-digger is trying to get her hands on the family fortune."
Sharp blue eyes darted angrily at Jack. "I'm no gold-digger, Mr. Drake. Tim and I fell in love." She smiled softly at the dark haired man in the bed.
There was a moment of silence. Jack spoke first. "I'm having him moved into my care."
"You can't do that." Cissie's heart started pounding.
"I'm his father. I can."
"I'm his—"
"Not his wife. Not yet. I plan to keep it that way."
"He's already been moved once. The doctors say another move could hinder his progress," Cissie tried to remain calm.
"I don't care what the doctors say!" Jack lost his cool. "I will not have my son in the home of strangers when he needs me!"
"When he needs you?! You're a little late for that! He needed you when his mother died! Where were you then? How about when his girlfriend died when he was in high school? Oh yeah, that's right! Off in the Bahamas with your new wife!"
Jack winced. Janet's death was a sore subject for him, one that he'd never fully coped with, even after all these years. Not to be outdone, though, he continued. "Well, I'm here now! He needs me! Not some floozy gold-digger out to ruin him!"
"Is that any way to talk to the mother of your grandchild?" Cissie hissed.
That floored Jack. He stared at the woman a long while before finding his voice again. "Grandchild?"
Cissie nodded.
"Oh, I see," Jack smiled wryly. "You seduced my son, hoping you would get pregnant, because you knew he would do the honorable thing."
Cissie rolled her eyes. "For your information, Tim proposed to me before I was pregnant."
"Uh huh."
"You don't want to believe me? Fine. When Tim wakes up, he'll confirm everything I just told you." Cissie turned her attention back to her fiancé, and tried to ignore his father.
Jack regarded her for a moment. He didn't want to admit it, but her affection for his son seemed genuine. He took a moment to really look at Tim. When had he gotten so big? Jack was happy to be absent and believe his son was still a little boy; if Tim was still a little boy, that meant he still had Janet.
He looked back up at the young woman. She was very beautiful. He certainly couldn't fault his son for feeling an attraction for her. The mother of your grandchild... the words echoed in his head. He sat down in the armchair on the opposite side of the bed from her.
"How far along are you?" he asked.
Cissie glanced up at the older man before answering. "Nine weeks."
Jack nodded. "So, my boy's going to be a father."
Cissie smiled. "He is. He'll be a wonderful father, too." She looked at her fiancé and took his hand in her own.
Jack furrowed his brow. Lord knew he had failed miserably in the father department. Had he not, he would have been the first to know about the car crash that put his son in a coma. Instead he'd had to read about it in the paper.
Cissie glanced at the man across the bed. She hoped she hadn't been too hard on him. Although, really, he'd had it coming. Still...he was Tim's father. Bruce may have acted more like a father to Tim over the years, but there was no denying that this man would soon be her father-in-law.
Jack looked up when Cissie rose from her chair and came around the bed toward him, some kind of book in her hand. She bit her lip and opened the book.
"I had my first ultrasound the other day. I thought you might like to...you know."
Jack took the book gently from her hands and gazed at the grainy black and white picture.
Cissie pointed to a spot in the picture. "That's the baby."
Jack touched the picture and smiled. He flipped through the currently empty pages of what was obviously intended to be a baby book. "Janet made one of these for Tim."
"Really?" Cissie smiled. He nodded. "I'd like to see that sometime."
"Of course," Jack chuckled. "Can't have you joining the family until you've seen embarrassing baby pictures of Tim."
Cissie's smile widened to a grin. "Oh, I agree."
***
Dick hobbled toward the breakfast nook. He hated crutches. He was supposed to be flying through the air with the greatest of ease, not relying on a couple of sticks to get around. He sighed. Still a ways to go before his leg healed, and even longer before his heart would.
As he approached the kitchen doorway, he bumped into Alfred.
"Sorry, Alfred."
"Quite alright, Master Dick," the butler assured him. The elderly gentleman glanced over his shoulder. "Can I get you anything?"
Dick's brow furrowed. "No, thanks. Is everything alright?"
"I'm afraid the young master has not moved from his seat since breakfast."
Dick sighed. "Thanks, Alfred. I'll take it from here."
"Very well, sir. There are fresh cookies and milk on the table."
Dick grinned. "Of course."
Making his way over to the nook, Dick stopped and looked at his son.
Jimmy was so... small. He was still wearing his Aladdin pajamas, his red hair sticking out at all ends atop his head. He was gazing out the window. The milk and cookies on the table had yet to be touched. In the week since Babs had died, Jimmy had hardly spoken, apart from a mumbled "please" or "thank you," here and there. At least the boy hadn't forgotten his manners; still, everyone was very worried about him.
Dick rested his crutches on the wall and slid in across the table from Jimmy.
"Hey, sport," Dick grinned and grabbed a cookie off the platter. "It's not like you to turn down one of Alfred's world-famous chocolate chip cookies." He shoved the cookie in his mouth. "Mmmm." He poured himself a glass of milk and drank it. "You sure you don't want one?" He shoved the platter toward Jimmy.
The young redhead finally turned to look at his father. What Dick saw in his son's face made him suck in his breath. It was pure, unadulterated anger. Dick recognized it immediately; he'd been there himself, years ago. He immediately sobered.
"Jimmy, hey," he began. "I know what you're going through. Believe me, I do. And it's okay to be angry. I was angry too. Hey, I'm angry now. I know you miss your mom and," he felt the familiar lump in his throat, "and I will never be able to forgive myself for not being able to protect her…" Dick looked down, letting his hair fall down into his face to hide his emotions. He had to be strong now, for Jimmy.
When he trusted himself to face his son again, he saw the unshed tears in Jimmy's eyes. It was all he could do to not lose it again.
"Jimmy..." he reached out to smooth down some of his son's unkempt hair.
Jimmy jerked away from his father, yelling, "I hate you! I hate you! I wish it had been you that died!"
In an instant, the boy had darted away from the table, and run out of the room. Unable to chase after him, Dick yelled back, "So do I!" and threw the glass pitcher of milk at the wall.