AN: Nothing like five days in the ER with a loved one to get you writing. What is with hospitals being so cold? And why are the chairs so uncomfortable? Anyway, I hope the quality is alright. I didn't have much sleep over the five days I was writing this. I hope you enjoy!


"You sure we should be letting an old man drive alone?" Despite the smile intended to be taken as a jibe, there was sincerity behind his eyes. He has grown to like Alfred for the small amount of time he helped him in the kitchen. Though, he still scares him a bit. It is the omnipotent element. He still can't get over this fancy of a car in this side of town. Doesn't he know the streets are crawling with eager and shameless criminals?

"I assure you my eyesight is 20/20, young sir." Alfred replies haughtily as though to suggest anything contrary is absurd. "And my driving is impeccable."

Tim absently flips through his photos, trying to figure out if Bruce Wayne really know or if he is just reading too much into it. He isn't a bad liar. And, honestly, there isn't any lying anyway. The lying begins when accusations start to fly. The question now is if it would.

"After all," Alfred continues, eyes glue to Tim. "No one would dare steal from the likes of me."

Both Tim and Jason gulp. Tim wonders what Jason has to fear. He can't have figured out the connection. "You read my record?" Jason's eyes grow big and he looks away.

"Proper hiring procedure." Alfred explains. His eyes flicker to Jason riding shot gun. "While I do not condone such acts," Tim marvels at how red Jason's face becomes and how far down he ducks it, "One can admire a talent for automobiles when applied honestly." Jason peeks up and Tim swears he sees the hints of a proud grin.

It makes him stop and wonder how often, if ever, Jason is praised for something like a talent or gift. He peers down at his camera. It is a photo he snapped of them earlier. The old butler looks fond more than anything. That's when he decides he'll make some extra copies free of cost.

"If you knew why would you hire me?" Jason asks. "Bird brain over here, sure." He jabs his thumb in Tim's direction. "But me?"

"Master Richard insisted." Alfred tells them truthfully. "He was very excited about your photography idea, Timothy, and he saw something in you Jason. Now, I must say, I do as well."

He pulls up to their crumbling apartment. It pales severely in comparison to the car. "Shall I walk you up?"

"No! No, need." Jason answers quickly.

"If you insist." Alfred waits until they are up the stairs before he drives away. Tim gives Jason a questioning look.

"What?" He snaps. The now wrinkled suit and tie that hangs loose around his neck feels even more out of place. Tim, he realizes, somehow still seems to fit. He wipes his sweaty hands on his pant leg. How can he explain it feels like a lie and how terrified he is their apartment will shatter whatever image, however fragile it might be, that the old man has of him.

Those thoughts are interrupted by a bombardment of shouts radiating through the door. Tim drops his hand and takes a step back. He looks about ready to run. Jason pushes him out of the way and marches inside.

"It was supposed to be for his birthday." Catherine shouts.

Tim pales, still frozen in the doorway. He wants to tell them it is fine, but his voice gets lost in the yelling. What he says rarely makes a difference anyway.

"And it was. It was a birthday present. We went for his birthday…" Jack seems affronted by the accusation.

"Until you made it about you and that Bruce Wayne, anything but him! You weren't even there half the time!"

"He had fun! You were the one who suggested some time with him!"

"Doing something he actually likes, I meant! Did you ever try that? Did it ever even cross your mind?"

"What? You expect me to do something as ridiculous as…" He waves a vague and an all encompassing hand.

Tim isn't sure what hurt more. His father thinking whatever he might be interested in is ridiculous or not even knowing what he is interested in.

Jason moves to break between the two of them and protect his mother. Remembering how well that worked before, Tim slams the door. Both Catherine and Jack look toward the two boys, one fuming and the other flushed. They blink in surprise. Catherine turns to check the time on the microwave as Jack checks his watch.

"Well," Jack clears his throat. "I'm late." For what, is the unasked question in the silence. Jason is sure it has to dowith blowing money they could use.

"Don't start," Catherine warns her son. Jason bites his tongue. It's clear his mother already had quite the night. Unfortunately for Tim, Jason can never keep his mouth closed about topics like that for long. He's not looking forward to the rant that is sure to take the place of "good night." Tim's just frustrated that no matter what happens, it ends the same. Jack walks out and Tim's left on the opposite side of the door.

"Want to taste something delicious?" Tim offers a container of the some of the leftovers. It's some type of mini quiche. Distraction is key. Jason, for all his complaining, had a good night, all in all. Tim would like to keep it that way. And, Catherine would gladly accept any opportunity to play doting mother. "Jason helped make them!"

She examines the perfect tart and a smile grows with each new discovery; appearance, scent, and especially taste. "Oh, baby, that's wonderful! Quite the culinary expert!"

Tim has never seen Jason grin so much in one night. "Try this one, too! You'll like this one best!" Jason eagerly opens another container and Catherine happily obliges. Neither notice the flash of the camera.

There was once Tim remembers something similar with Janet. It's but a faint memory and he knows it includes fossils. He thinks the roles might have been reversed. He wishes it was more tangible.

And, as Jason treats his mother to a feast he feels worthy of her, Tim can't help but stare at the closed door.

...

The room smells of chemicals. It is just the two of them in the school's photography club makeshift dark room. Turns out the kid has some pull with teachers. They find him intelligent and charming. Jason would like to argue that point but Tim did manage to convince him to step foot in the school. A feat in itself where most are concerned. Since the day he dropped out he avoided the place like the plague. And, though he especially doesn't like the idea of leaving his mother alone in the house, at least she and the kid's old man still aren't speaking terms yet. He is sure that will change soon with him and Tim out of the way.

"Think you could speed this up a bit?" He drummed his fingers on the desk. The look it earns him is incredibly satisfying.

"I offer quality, Jason." Tim hangs up another photo, examining his work carefully. "And quality takes time."

"Perfectionist," Jason groans. Though, depending on who you ask he's not one to talk. Tim could have at least given him warning and a decent book. Despite his complaining and eagerness to return home, he has to admit the whole process is pretty cool. Jack doesn't know what he's talking about. But, he considers while he watches Tim for a moment that is the problem. Jack doesn't know or want to know the first thing about his own son. He understood the difficulty Catherine has with the very idea. It is the same problem he has with it and he is his mother's son. Still, there is this feeling of separation, for Jason at least. Tim isn't her son. If only for her sake, she doesn't need the stress. He covers that area enough for the both of them. Jack and Tim are the last thing she needs.

"You know," Tim ventures hesitantly, eyes never leaving his work, "This school also has an auto club. It's an elective so it counts as credits."

"You don't say," Jason kicks his feet up on a desk and settles in. They're probably going to be here for a while.

"And the teacher for it is decent. There are a few decent teachers here, too."

Jason scoffs. "I know what you're doing," he warns instead. Like hell will he be manipulated by the kid again, even if it works out for him in the end. He hates feeling like the pawn in someone else's game of chess. So few things in his life are in his control. It will take a great deal for him to relinquish what little he has.

Tim shrugs, "I'm just saying there are some here who honestly care."

"What makes you think I want some fresh from college full of idealism half-brain on a save-all-the-poor kids crusade to stick their nose in my business?"

"Speaking from experience?" Tim frowns at him.

Jason laughs humorously. "You clearly forgot from all my records you hacked into that I went here. And no apple-eating ruler-bearing teacher ever had a clue."

"Have you ever tried?" Tim asked.

"You go around chatting your teachers up about all your problems?" Jason raises an eyebrow. It is intended and taken as a challenge, but Jason can't deny a little curiosity as well. He doesn't think the kid would willingly talk about much. Tim looks away. "That's what I thought. Pot meets kettle."

That is supposed to be the end of it. Jason thinks he makes it clear that the conversation is over. But, Tim has other thoughts on the matter. Jason suddenly reevaluates his previous description of "intelligent."

"It is part of the deal," Tim glares at him. Jason sighs heavily. "I held up my end of the bargain. I've got us solid with finances for a little while at least." It feels like bragging, and it burns for Jason, but he knows better. It is a fact, like stating the sky is blue. Either way, he can't go back on a deal. He might believe in fighting dirty and even twisting words, but Jason Peter Todd is a man of his word.

"Find me a decent school. One not run down and with a library that actually has more of the Bronte sisters than Wuthering Heights."

Tim looks surprised and blinks at Jason. "Seriously?"

"What?" Jason asks affronted. "I read. And contrary to common belief Jane Eyre trumps all other Brontes. Little Women is a close second."

"I mean you'll go? Without a fight?"

"Yeah, sure." Jason agrees. "But I reserve the right to complain."

"When don't you?" Tim mutters. He says louder for Jason to hear, "Didn't peg you as invested in your education."

Jason sits up with a scowl at him. There is so much he wants to say. But he doesn't have to defend his decision to some rich kid who only got a taste of understanding. "Wasn't worth it in a school like this, you arrogant asshole. You know where an education here will get you? Behind bars, working a drive thru, or dead. We all weren't lucky enough to have daddy's money get us into prestigious boarding school."

"Right." Tim finishes up quietly, hiding his reddening face. "Sorry."

...

Jason is still a bit sore about Tim's earlier comments. This results in a quiet bus ride across town. He's itching to get home. His mother hasn't been alone that long since she got better. He likes to think his presence helps.

He has a plan. Toss the photos at the Wayne's, grab the money, and get an instance bus. One that doesn't stop every other block. Of course, it doesn't go that way. Why would it? When does Jason Todd ever have that kind of luck?

First of the many obstacles is good old Alfred and his darn British formalities. Jason is sure a lack of manners will result in being struck down by lightening, or worse, the look of disapproval. He isn't sure why it carries the weight it did for him. Other than his mother, he doesn't care what someone else thinks.

"Master Jason. Master Timothy. A pleasure to see you both. Come on in." He held the door open wide and let them pass.

He wants to tell them they are just dropping off a delivery and they really should be on their way. But, he finds himself in the foyer, gaping at the crystal chandelier. Tim seems all too eager to step foot in the manor again. The little nerd isn't kidding when he says he's a fan.

On the other hand, Jason could understand the sentiment. Every extra moment spent here prolongs the inevitable return back home. It is a moment in warmth and that smells of a busy oven and a little escape at the cost of bus fare and a few blocks walk. He needs to get home to his mom, but the last thing the kid needs is to go home to another argument about him. Not that he will ever voice it. As much as Tim's eyes light up, he remains professional and business-like. That's when Dick decides to make his grand entrance. Sliding down the banister with a laugh and a matching grin to follow, he sticks a perfect landing at the bottom. "Timmy! Jay! Long time no see!" Both pulled faces at the nicknames and simultaneously made a mental note to use them against each other.

Alfred shot him a disapproving look. "The stairs are there for a reason, young master." Both Tim and Jason flinch at the reprimand. Dick merely flashes an innocent grin, but has the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry, Alf." He shrugs. "But you know what they say! You can take the kid out of the circus, but you can't take the circus out of the kid." Alfred is thoroughly unamused. "I'll stick with the stairs next time." Dick promises.

"See that you do." Alfred leads them further into the house. "And do know I mean walking on your feet, not your hands."

"Aw! But that's half the fun!" Dick protests.

"Where's Bruce?" Not that the little spat isn't fun, but he really would appreciate getting the show on the road.

Tim elbows him sharply. "I mean Mr. Wayne?" He forgot. This is all business. Tim simply rolls his eyes and exaggerates a shrug.

"He had something to take care of at the company. Emergency meeting or something." Dick explains, helping himself to a tray of cooling cookies. Alfred hits his greedy hands out of the way and Dick feigns a wounded look. The tray is held out expectantly to the two guests. And no one can say no Alfred or his cookies.

"We wouldn't want to intrude." Tim practices his politeness while shoving the cookie in his mouth like he hasn't eaten in a week. Crumbs litter his shirt and the counter. He rubs his mouth on his sleeve.

"Do use a napkin, sir." He pushes one toward his youngest guest. Sheepishly, he obliges.

Jason fiddles with his own cookie. "We can come back." Please, let us go already, he thinks.

"He should be back soon," Dick told them. "No point in leaving only to come back again. I mean, you're already here and Bruce is really looking forward to those photos." Tim pauses mid chew. Did Dick know, too? The swirl of questions and self doubt returns only to be shoved to the back of his mind by a well placed elbow to the gut from Jason. After all, what possible evidence could Batman have on them?

"You up for a game while we wait?" Dick offers. That's when the two of them feast their eyes on a high-end, yet-to-be released game consol.

"Behold the god of all game consoles," Tim declares in awe.

"Am I drooling? I think I'm drooling!" Jason voices agreement.

"And look how shiny!" Tim caresses the machine. "I can see myself! Beautiful, beautiful machine!"

What could one game hurt? And, they are already there. It doesn't make sense to waste more bus fare.

One game turned into five or six. They lost track of time, laughing and shouting barbs at one another. At one point Alfred even pauses in washing the dishes to observe the three of them. They try to cheat, find short cuts, sabotage each other. Yet, even in the cries of injustice and frustration, they wear matching grins. In their own way, each boy has been forced to grow up too soon. Yet for this small amount of time they could be the kids they truly are.

By the time Bruce comes home- yes, Alfred, he knows he's late. You can stop looking at him that way- shoes and even socks are shed. Jason curls up in blankets, feet over the arm of the couch. Tim lays upside down, legs shooting straight up in the air against the back rest and head full of a messy mop of hair hanging where feet normally went. Dick perches on the back of the couch as if ready to spring from the excitement.

Dick pauses the game much to the protest of their two guests. "Hey, Bruce! Meeting run late?"

Both boys turn with a start. They quickly relinquish the controllers and Alfred is saddened to see how quickly the can transform back. Tim gives Dick a sympathetic look. Jason's attention is more transfixed to the clock. Suddenly, the world rests on all three sets of shoulders once more.

Bruce shakes his head. "A bit." Somehow Tim thinks they are communicating more than they are actually saying. Bat language, he thinks with a grin.

Jason's heart is beating through his ears. How could he be so foolish and irresponsible as to leave his mother alone longer than need be? If something happens, if there is a back slide, he doesn't know if she could ever forgive him. He doesn't think he would ever forgive himself. He is her lifeline. "Right. Well, now that you're here we should give you the photos and be on our way." Tim looks crestfallen, but they've indulged enough. What was that Greek myth with the lotus flowers? It is back to the real world.

"Of course. Sorry to keep you waiting." Bruce tears open one of the envelopes and appraises the work. "Fine work." Bruce praises and Tim practically gleams. Jason rolls his eyes.

"You truly captured some special moment," Alfred explores the second envelope. He stops at the photo of him and Jason cooking in the kitchen. Even in cooking, Alfred was neat which contrasted greatly to the swirl of chaos and creativity that was purely Jason. Eggs were laid in neat rows by flour that cover counter, cookie sheets, and arms.

"Hey, Bruce! Look at this one!" Dick thrusts the photo where Tim caught them off guard. Bruce stares at it fondly, the way Catherine sometimes looks at the photos he captures of her and Jason. Without a doubt, there is talent to be able to capture a moment like that. It hurts a bit, enough to want to buy more time before returning home. His fingers itch and he reaches by his neck, but his camera is out of film.

Even in the first envelope, photos full of nothing but the most superficial and fake, look sincere and genuine.

"There's more photos than I expected." Bruce can't take his eyes off the one of him and Dick.

"The second envelope are free of charge." All three of the Wayne household blink in surprise. Jason isn't thrilled by this idea in the least.

"You worked hard on these." Bruce held out the last of the money, plus a little more. Tim shakes his head about to argue that it is a gift, but Bruce insists. "Consider it a tip."

Jason snatches the money before anyone can say anything else on the matter. "Not that it hasn't been fun, but we got to go. Thanks again." He starts pushing Tim toward the door.

Bruce exchanges a look with Dick. "One more thing." Bruce stops them in their tracks.

"Of course!" Jason throws his hands in the air. They are so close. What else could possibly conspire to keep him from home? Tim becomes rigid. He can't out them without outing themselves, he tries to convince himself. Even if there is the possibility of Bruce knowing, he can't say anything.

"I won't take up much more of your time." Dick gestures to him. He walks over and hands them both yet another envelope.

"What's this?" Jason shoots him a suspicious look. Bruce looks almost proud about that.

Our arrest warrants, Tim thinks with a gulp.

Both open with caution. Another look of approval. Inside is an acceptance letter to Gotham Academy, one of the most prestigious schools in all of Gotham. "What's this?" Jason holds it away from him with two fingers. "You think this is a joke or something?"

"I think," Bruce remains calm in the face of Jason's growing anger, "you both show a lot of promise and talent. Gotham Academy has the resources to help harness it." Jason shoots Tim a withering look. Tim offers an unconvincing shrug.

"We don't want your charity." Jason snaps.

"Oh, it's not charity." The look in his eyes is not Brucie, but Batman. "You have to work hard to maintain your scholarships. You can't receive a C or lower. Nor a suspension. And, maybe it could offer a brighter future than your past business ventures." Tim chews his lip. But, the risk is worth the result.

Jason is going to decline and offer harangues about that final statement. What did the crowned prince of Gotham know anyway? It is on the tip of his tongue and written all over his face. Tim elbows him once more. "You promised." Jason grits his teeth. There's no getting out of it this time.

"Fine." Well played, Birdbrain, well played. But, never again, he swore to himself. Getting involved with Tim is inviting yourself into a sticky web. He hates being manipulated. He wonders if Bruce and Alfred and Dick ever realize how he plays them, too.

And, now he's stuck going to school with the richest of Gotham's elite and forced to wear yet another tie.