It takes quite a bit of bus fare, which Jason is quite vocal about. Throughout the entirety of the walk to the bus stop, the wait, the ride to the neighborhood, the long walk up to the front door, and the wait until the doorbell is answered, Jason rants. Tim takes it all in stride, limiting his eye rolls and long suffering sighs. They are dressed to the nines, as Catherine described them before insisting on a few dozen photos. Jason had face palmed and Tim is still trying to figure out if it is something most mothers would have done.
The door opens and even with the inside in the process of being decorated, it stops Jason midsentence. Even with the old butler in the doorway obscuring the view, the two boys can see enough for Jason to marvel. Their whole apartment could fit in the front foyer alone. Mouth gaping open, Jason takes a step back and looks up to inspect the outside. "Holy crap, Tim!"
Tim shoots him a look. "Language. You can't talk that way here."
Jason returns it, but the butler breaks in before he has a chance to open his mouth. "Indeed our home is quite impressive, young sirs." The British accent throws him a second time. He shoots a second look at Tim, who rolls his eyes once more. "Now, if you don't mind, I do believe we are behind schedule. Come along."
Tim blushes and rubs the back of his neck. "Yes, sir. Sorry about that. The bus was a bit late." A bit is an understatement. He follows as the butler leads them into the house, and he has to constantly tug Jason along after him.
"Seriously, man," Jason stops once more to gape at the crystal chandelier and elbows Tim hard enough to leave a bruise. "You could've warned me! You call this a Manor, it's a freaking castle!"
"I could've warned you if I could've gotten a word in edgewise." Tim tugs him along, hard enough to ensure Jason will have matching bruises. "By the way, we're sure to make enough to cover bus fare both ways. And, you can stop looking at the place like it's the freakshow at the carnival."
"I never had enough money to see a carnival." Jason gripes, rubbing his arm when Tim finally lets him go.
The butler leads them to the kitchen and instructs them in their individual jobs. Neither Tim nor Jason notice him watching them closely as they linger over the trays of food, hungrily. Their fridge and cabinets are stocked thanks to the tire heist, but it's been a while since Tim has seen food of this quantity, let alone quality and homemade. Jason has never even dreamed of food like this, which is saying something since he's dreamt of feasts that put Henry VIII to shame.
It's not much longer before guests start arriving in dresses as ornate as the rooms they soon occupy. Jason's not even sure he has enough money to be in the same room as dresses like that. And, with all those diamonds being flaunted, his fingers ache and his hands shake, wanting nothing more than to relieve their dainty wrists and fingers of rocks that heavy.
Something about the whole thing makes his stomach twist and his throat go dry. It's all right there, right in front of him. He made a promise to Tim, but it would be so easy. And, if he were to be honest, dresses and diamonds like that were more worthy of the likes of his mother, someone who spent her life slaving away and paying since birth for having no money. And, with a job like his, it would be no problem to get close enough.
A tray is shoved into his hands and suddenly, his fingers stop itching, but he still licks his quickly drying lips. Because, there's no shadows to sneak around in or dark alleys to run into. This isn't the hard streets he's known since he was a kid. It's like he's on center stage about to perform, but nobody bothered to give him his lines. He's had no time to rehearse.
He catches his reflection in the empty tray. This isn't him. The tie is too tight and the suit is uncomfortable and he'd really rather be anywhere else but here. He tucks the tray under his arm to loosen the fabric.
Tim hits his hands out of the way, straightens his tie, smooths out his shirt, and pulls the tray out from his arm pit. "You can't do that." Tim tells him, not meeting his eye. He's getting tired of being told what he cannot do. Something's off about Tim, but he can't put his finger on it. "People have to eat off that tray. Here." He hands it back and starts arranging food on it carefully. "Don't take off the gloves. Anybody asks, you're the one who filled the tray." He looks up for a second and that's when Jason realizes it. .
His face in blank and he straightens his spine, shoulder's back, a miniature version of all the fancy gentlemen. He melts into the socialite masses like it's nothing. The suit fits Tim in a way it could never fit Jason. "It's easy." Tim tells him, voice as fake and distant as his eyes. It reminds him too much of Jack and, Jason shudders at the comparison. "You don't even have to speak. Just offer the tray," he mimics the servers he's seen at past events, "they might or might not take one. And then you go to the next group."
Jason swallows hard. "How much are they paying us again?"
"We'll be covered for a little bit. The Waynes pay well. Trust me. They're not stingy."
"Not like the Drakes." Jason mutters.
Tim pushes him out into the room. "Just get in there."
Jason glances down at the tray and back up at the waves of buzz coming from high society gossip. Of all the things Jason has done for money, never in a million years would he ever have guessed he'd wind up here. He glances back into the kitchen where Tim motions for him to go and looks nervously over to where the butler has disappeared. He understands being nervous over the old guy. He's not sure how, but he's pretty sure the butler can see and knows everything, even without being in the same room.
"Er," he watches as another server gracefully balances a tray of champagne glasses in one hand, other hand behind his back. He bends slightly. One takes a glass without as much as a glance in the server's direction. The other waves a dismissive hand. He's torn between being annoyed and grateful for being so easily ignored.
He tries to mimic the professional hold. The tray tips one way and another, he scrambles with it, sure it will all topple over. He'll drop the tray in front of everyone, ruin some of the food, all of which could be used to feed actually hungry people, and entirely lose out on a job, that if he's honest with himself they could really use. Not to mention the embarrassment. It happens in less than a minute. The snacks begin to slide and he can see the reporters and other media outlets close by. And, that's all he needs; embarrassment to be not only preserved but shown to the whole of Gotham.
"Hey, these are the custard tarts, aren't they?" Like magic the tray is balanced in his hand. He looks over to find Dick Grayson with a dazzling smile, though a little forced around the edges. He holds the other side of the tray and helps himself. "Man, these are the best." He lowers his voice. "Don't bother with the ladies in the corner. And, don't worry about the way you carry the tray. As long as the food gets to them they won't really notice, except maybe Alfred." He nods to the British Butler. "But, don't worry about him. There's more scandal from the crowd itself to keep them occupied rather than worrying if someone doesn't carry a tray right. Do your best and that's all that matters." There's sincerity in his voice that confuses Jason.
Everyone is fake here. Even Dick puts on an act. But there are these cracks in the masks he chooses to wear. He sees it with Tim, too. And, it doesn't make sense. He hates things this superficial. But, it's hard to hate Dick, and even harder to hate Tim. "What makes you think I need your help?" He snatches the tray away. "I've probably had more jobs than you."
"I just figured some pointers would help." Dick takes a step back, hands raised. "I remember what the first time was like." He turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd. Jason can still hear the ladies ogling and praising him. It isn't until he's sure that the Dickhead is too distracted to notice that he carefully holds the tray in two hands. What does the ward of a billionaire know anyway? He eats up all the attention. Frankly, Jason doesn't trust him as far as he can throw him.
It's something he learned early. Always be on the good side of the employers, but be ready with a trick up your sleeve in case. Just wants to help him, don't make him laugh.
He finishes off one tray, occasionally getting a glimpse of Tim. Jason has never realized quite how invisible the kid could be in a crowded room. He goes almost as unnoticed as the servers, if it were not for the rude snapping of fingers and demands for a fresh drink. Being called "boy" on more than one occasion made him grit his teeth. If not for the money, they would've had their expensive champagne dunked on them and he'd tell them exactly where they could shove their caviar.
Jason slams the tray down on the counter, the champagne glasses shaking and clinking. "This was your genius idea? I get shown more respect from lifting tires. And that last heist paid more than this."
"Careful with those." Tim hisses. "I'm pretty sure there's a break it you buy it policy and one of those glasses alone could probably cover rent. And your previous jobs are probably not something you want to announce to the whole party."
Jason lowers his voice, whining. "This is degrading."
Tim levels him with a look. "We have a deal. This is part of the agreement. And as you so loudly pointed out we already have the money from the last tire heist. What we make now is a cushion for the time being. If we save up carefully…"
"Don't tell me how to handle money." Jason snaps, tugging at his tie. "I've been handling money twice as long as you have had a trust fund."
"Then you know this is a good gig. The wages are decent."
"Not for making me wear a monkey suit."
"Quit messing with the tie." Tim bats his hands away to fix it.
"It's too tight," he whines.
"You're such a baby."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you bird brain?"
"Immensely." Tim flashes him a smile and heads back out with his camera ready.
Fortunately for Jason, who clearly has had enough, Alfred stands nearby and suggests a change of scenery. "After all, young sir, I require some assistance in the kitchen, if you would be so kind."
In the kitchen, Alfred has deemed him the official chef's assistant and taste tester. The former being he helps retrieve all needed ingredients and the latter being self explanatory. "Seriously," Jason eyes him and the offered spoon suspiciously.
The old English butler sniffed. "We must test the food before we put it out, of course. It must be up to standards."
Perhaps, Jason concedes to himself, the job isn't so bad after all, even if he has to wear a monkey suit.
"My how the mighty have fallen." Tim turns with a start to find some of his old classmates. The smirks they wear are smugger than he remembers. "If it isn't Drake. Tell us, how does it feel to go from having everything to having absolutely nothing." The group broke out in laughter.
Dick moves to intervene. His arm is quick around Tim's shoulders, but before he can open his mouth, Tim beats him to it. There's a dangerous glint to his eye and a small smile that is friendly at first look, but challenging around the edges. "Funny you should mention that." His tone is calm and controlled, as though nothing they could say would touch him. "Not as bad as having to repeat the same grade twice. At least you have enough money to bribe the teacher or was it the whole of the school board to let you pass the third time." The glass in the classmate's hand is close to shattering.
"Hey, Timmy, I was wondering if I could borrow you for a moment." Dick carefully steers him away from the group. He has to bite his lip to keep from laughing because the face of Tim's opponent is priceless. Though, he is curious about how he knows all that.
Tim shrugs. "Knowledge is power."
It doesn't quite answer his question. Dick starts to wonder how many secrets the kid has. He knows what it's like to have to keep secrets. He also knows the difficulty in having to deal with bullies and classmates alike. He really has to hand it to the kid, though. He takes it all in stride. It's like he's born for these types of events.
"Remind me not to piss you off." Dick laughs.
He steers the kid to where Bruce is currently being fawned over. He's playing the Brucie act well. Tim rolls his eyes at the Brucie laugh, though. Dick agrees with the sentiment. "Hey, Bruce," Dick manages to break him away from his long line of suitors. "Photo time. You've ducked out of it all night. You aren't getting away this time. Sorry ladies."
Some look exasperated while some feign amusement. It's enough to get Bruce to agree, if only to get away from them. Bruce puts down his drink, greets Tim, and poses with a sigh. "I don't understand your insistence, Dick. We already posed for multiple newspapers. Wasn't that suffering enough?"
"Quit complainging." Dick jabs him with an elbow. "And, geez, B, you could try to look like you're having a good time. This is different, right, Tim?"
Bruce raises an eyebrow at Tim. "I'm not really one for staged photos." He fiddles with his camera. Being in the presence of Bruce makes him extremely uncomfortable. "All the best photos aren't."
"Let's just get this over with." Bruce frowns, side-eyeing Dick.
Tim nods in agreement. "Say cheese!" It triggers something for Bruce. He looks struck at the realization and he suddenly is reexamining his ward's tiny new friend.
"Smile, Bruce, it won't kill you," Dick mutters through his smile.
So, Bruce does. His classic Brucie grin. Tim takes the picture, but he has a feeling it's not what Dick was looking for. He frowns down at it, wondering what he could do to make it look better. It doesn't look right. He wonders if the capes and masks and cowls would make it better, but he doubts it. For a moment he spot his own reflection in the view screen and frowns.
"Now, you can take one of me on the chandelier!" Dick proclaims.
"Dick," Bruce warns. But there's something warm about the way he looks at his ward. It isn't exactly a smile or anything close, but it's a fondness Tim has only seen with Catherine and Jason. Before he can help it, he lifts the camera.
The flash stops Bruce and Dick. They both look over at Tim and he blushes, mutters an apology, and quickly gets lost in the party. When he's a safe distance away and sure he's as invisible as possible, he spares a glance at it. And, that, he smiles, is the best photo of the night.
The night comes to a close, and people start to leave. The first is a very old couple. They make it about as far as their car and Tim beckons Jason over. "What?" Jason grumbles. Tim holds up a finger. Jason folds his arms and mutters. They can hear the car start up. The engine sounds old and neglected. It coughs and sputters. "Damn," Jason shakes his head. "That sounds terrible." He speaks of it like a doctor would a bad cough.
The couple reenters. The old man has worse obscenities, enough to make Jason blush. Everyone has something to say. There's talk of a tow truck or calling a mechanic. "A tow truck?" The old man hollers. "A mechanic? You know how much those will cost? You know how much they'll cheat us out of?"
"We've got money, you old coot!" His wife shrills. Jason has to stop himself from snickering. It's amusing and he wishes he had some popcorn to enjoy the show.
Tim elbows him and shoots him a cross look. "The man's a bit of a Scrooge when it comes to his bank account," he whispers. Then, Tim says louder so the whole room can hear him, "Jason's pretty good with cars."
There's much skepticism, even from Jason. "What?" He sputters, shooting daggers at Tim. What the hell is the kid thinking?
"A kid?" The old man grouches. "Work on my prized antique beauty?" He laughs at such an idea. A few people join in.
Jason's face turns red. Tim isn't sure if it is embarrassment or fury. Either way, he knows Jason is not only up for it but wanting to rub it in all of their faces. "He'll do it no charge."
"What do you have to lose?" Dick jumps in to help. Jason wants to snap at Dick to shut up.
The old man considers it. "Fine," he relented. "But, if you hurt her, I'll…"
Jason rolls up his sleeves. "Sure," he dismisses. He enjoys the reversal of roles. For the first time of the entire night, it feels like he holds the power. "Just get me my tools and lead the way."
Alfred fetches some tools and it becomes a spectacle. Everyone gathers around the car and Jason goes to work. He goes to town on the thing and for a while it seems the entire world melts away. There's nothing but him and the car. He throws some comments out, grumbling about all the money they probably wasted on mechanics that know nothing but cheat them anyway. The engine is despicable as are the state of a few other parts, but it's well enough to at least get them home.
He wipes his hand on a rag and that's that. It run smoother than it has in anyone's working memory and the crowd marvels. Tim helps himself to a few photos. The old man is impressed, as is Bruce who is standing off to the side. And, the old man offers him a job, because after all maybe Jason could make sense of the other cars in his vintage car collection. Jason instantly accepts, if not for having a steady customer, than for the opportunity to work with cars like those.
"This was all part of your evil plan, wasn't it, bird brain?" Jason mutters under his breath to Tim who is grinning proudly as though he was the one to get the car running.
"If you stopped griping about the tie, I might have been able to give you a heads up."
"How'd you know?"
Tim simply grins wider at him. "I figured if you were that good at taking cars apart, you would probably know a thing or two about putting them together. And, they go through this almost every gala."
Everyone else leaves and it's just them, the Waynes, Alfred, and the final employees taking down the decorations. Even without them, the place is a sight. Jason can't help but stare. Alfred shoves containers into both their hands. "What's this?" Jason demands. Tim looks just as confused.
"There is far too much food and I'm afraid we've maxed out the space in our fridge. After all, young sirs, you did seem to enjoy those tarts. Consider it thanks for all of your help."
They blink up at the British butler. "And, I do believe it is much too late for you to be wandering the streets alone."
"We'll be fine." Jason tells him. Tim nods. Alfred raises an eyebrow and they have a feeling it was not so much a suggestion as much as a statement. "We'll just grab our coats." Jason goes to grab them while Tim thanks Alfred.
"Before you go," Bruce stops them and digs out his wallet. "Quite impressive work you did on the car, Jason." Jason nods and Tim shifts uncomfortably. "I wonder where you learned it."
"I picked a few things up." Jason mutters, hands shoved in his pockets. He feels a bit more comfortable with his sleeves rolled up, grease still staining his hands, and the tie hanging around his neck. It also helps that most have left for the night at Bruce and Dick look about the same, minus the grease on the hands.
Bruce hums in acknowledgement. "I'm sure you did." He pulls out a stack of bills and hands it to Jason, then turns to Tim. "And, you seem to enjoy photography."
Tim's throat goes dry, but he manages to nod. He clutches the camera to him tightly and tries to convince himself there's no way the billionaire knows. He wants to smack himself for being so stupid. He's going up against the world's greatest detective. What did he think was going to happen?
"He's talented, too!" Dick pipes up. And, oh, how that is not helping his case in the least.
"I look forward to seeing the photos from tonight then." Bruce says amiably as he hands more money to Tim. "Thank you for your help tonight. Tell your parents I said hi and that I look forward to that meeting with you father." Tim and Jason exchanged a confused look. "Have a good night."