Disclaimer and notes in part one. This is kind of a transition scene to get us to the next showdown. And yes, I am going to say that a bullet to the stomach does not heal over night and Tim's is not, but I'm taking some liberties with the idea that a) Tim probably can stand more pain than the average person and may not be aware of some of it b) Alfred and Bruce know how to treat and stitch up a bullet wound to get a person back on their feet and c) it was not that bad of a bullet wound as bullet wounds come. So, that is going to explain Tim's probably better than average recovery time which mainly comes into play in the next chapter, though a bit here. Oh, and don't worry, I haven't forgotten about that knee.
Enjoy!
Masquerade
Part twelve
When morning came, Tim woke and promised himself that he would not fall back asleep until he had answers to all the questions that still plagued him. He already felt that his thoughts were coming in clearer and, no doubt, Alfred was working to carefully monitor the amount of drugs that Tim was given. It wasn't that Bruce was against drugs, he just didn't like them and constantly made certain to extract all use of narcotics as soon as possible while not causing a great deal of pain. That was fine by the teenager who, even after all his injuries, could never claim any sort of dependence on drugs. Well, except some aspirin. And coffee if caffeine was considered a drug. But, truly, that was all and those hardly counted.
Tim enjoyed this newfound sense of clarity even if the pain was slightly greater than last night. Nothing could ever compare to the agony he had suffered while being held captive so he would deal and made a mental note to not move too swiftly for a few more days.
Wiggling slightly to find a more comfortable position, Tim began to form all the questions that swam in his mind last night into a coherent order. First, ask how I am then move into what happened and finally ask about dad. Tim had a feeling something with his father had happened and he needed to know what. He worried that if his dad had been called and brought to the Manor that he and Bruce had some sort of argument. After everything that had gone down with Robin, those two men would never be able to be within five feet of one another without some sort of explosion, Tim knew. But, a part of the teenager also held out hope that the two would be civil to one another at least until Tim gained consciousness.
Another part of Tim wondered if his father even knew where he was. Obviously Jack Drake was involved in his kidnapping in some way or another, but that didn't necessarily mean Jack knew about it. As Robin, Tim had found many parents, husbands, wives and other relatives who, in some way, acted a cause for a loved one's kidnapping who never knew. Tim thought that if his father knew where he was, surely he would have come. As the young man's thoughts traveled far and wide, he heard the soft steps of someone coming nearer and watched as Alfred entered.
"Ah, glad to see you are awake, young sir." The butler began to straighten some of the sheets and Tim couldn't help but smile at his paternal instinct. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," he answered. "Still tired and sore," he added knowing Alfred would not have been content with the single-word answer.
"I assume you'll be both of those things for quite some more time."
Tim found his opening. "How am I doing?"
The Englishman, even though he knew the answer by heart, grabbed the medical clipboard and scanned it over once before answering. "The bullet was successfully removed and appears to be healing find with no sign of infection which, I must say, makes you quite a lucky young man."
Looking down at his heavily bandage stomach, Tim thought I don't feel lucky, but said: "If I had been really lucky I wouldn't have been shot."
"Indeed," was all Alfred said.
"And my leg?" Tim asked. In reality, the teenager felt that he didn't want to know the answer to the question, dreading the outcome. He had seen what the break - shattering - had looked like and even to his untrained eye, it had looked bad. Bad enough, he knew, to cause permanent damage. Alfred looked back down at the sheet and gave a mental sigh. There was no point in delaying it anymore.
"The hit connected below the knee cap so it avoided the joint which, although heavily bruised, is whole."
Tim felt relief rush through him. Having the knee joint intact was nothing short of a miracle for he was certain the men had not cared where the hit connected. If the hammer had connected with the joint, no doubt shattering it instantly, Tim knew he would be lucky to have gained even marginal mobility of his leg. But now he felt hope rise in him and a wave of happiness passed through him that almost made tears fall. Yet, as quickly as this wave came, it was gone as he caught that look in Alfred's eye. The one that said there was still more and hopes should not be raised so easily.
"What is it?" The young man question, with fear growing in his stomach.
Alfred put the chart he had been reading down and looked directly into Tim's blue eyes. "Because of the intensity of the hit the bone is in many pieces so that, on their own, they won't be able to mend. Surgery will have to be done."
"But then everything will be fine, right?" Tim questioned with desperation coloring his voice.
"It depends on how the surgery goes. Your leg could heal perfectly fine in a few months. Or it could never mend completely."
The young man swallowed and nodded. "So, I may not be able to use my leg." Any elation he had felt earlier drained out of him completely. After the luck with the bullet wound and his knee cap, the young man knew to expect that his leg would be fine on its own was too much. Somehow being in the Bat Family just meant your luck was never that good.
Alfred watched the young man's eyes drop down to stare at his heavily bandaged leg. "Even if it did not heal completely as it had been, your leg would just would work nearly as well as it use to, but be much weaker."
"It would be useless," Tim angrily stated.
The butler moved to stand next to Tim's side and he put a gentle hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Now, Master Timothy, there is no need to assume the worse right now. The damage done is bad, but not beyond repair. Doctor Tompkins is the best there is and she will do everything in her power to fix your leg properly." The young man took a deep breath attempting to absorb Alfred's high spirits.
"Thanks," Tim said with a smile. The sense of unease and uncertainly he felt towards his leg still remained, but he did his best to smash it deep inside of him. There would be time to consider the possibilities of his future later. He was alive and that was something. And, Tim knew that there was little that could be done right now and the best thing that he could do was to hope for the best. Even if some part of him expected the worst.
"You are welcomed, sir."
Alfred moved and began to work on Tim's IV. The teenager watched him and then, without a second to re-think the question, Tim blurted out:
"What is going on?"
The butler turned and looked back at Tim. "I beg your pardon?"
The young man made a gesture with his hand over his body. "All of this. Why did it happen?" He paused and noticed Alfred looked like Dick had the night before; like he was going to offer Tim some excuse or unfulfilling answer. Cutting the butler off before he could try to placate Tim, the teenager spoke, "I know this has something to do with my dad and I was ransom." A flash of surprised crossed the butler's features and Tim felt a sense of victory rise in him.
It seems I'm on the right track, he thought to himself before speaking again. "The guys who took me, they mentioned my dad and money and, well, I can put two and two together." He paused and swallowed and then continued. "But, even so, through all that happened, I only knew one thing: I had to get out of that situation so I didn't press to figure out why things were happening. And now that I'm out of it, I need to know what all this had been about. Tim Drake leads a rather normal life; there isn't a reason for him to be put into the situation I was. There was something at play here and I need to know what it is."
Alfred looked at the young man with a sense of pride. He was so gifted and the butler was given another reason why Bruce had chosen this lad to be Robin. The way his mind worked was astonishing and never ceased to amaze Alfred.
Even with his growing sense of price, Alfred knew it was not his place and so he gave Tim a warm smile and said, "It is not for me to tell, Master Timothy."
The teenager closed his eyes and turned his head away from Alfred. He took a calming breath, attempting to keep his anger in control. It wasn't Alfred's fault this had happened and, the teenager knew that the butler was trying to keep his place and respect, well, someone. But Tim had to know.
He spoke in a soft voice that Alfred could barely make out. "I wanted to find out what was going on," he began. "But knew that my dad would rather I get out and then leave the detective work to Bruce. So, I did that and I ran." Tim turned back to Alfred who was watching him intently. "But, well, I didn't get away. They were prepared, Alfred. And organized. As Tim Drake I didn't stand a chance and I couldn't be Robin because they had Tim Drake. I was trapped."
The butler put a gentle hand on Tim's forehead and brushed the spiky hair away from the young man's face. "I am sorry, but it still isn't my place."
"I was the one who was kidnapped, Alfred. Don't you think I deserve to know what's going on?"
"More than anyone, young sir, but from me it would mean nothing."
"Then from who!" He cried at the butler.
Alfred looked at the near-panic expression on his young charge's face and found himself moving towards the desk without a thought. Tim was right; he did have a right to know and Alfred had the ability to give him such knowledge. Knowing Bruce would be unhappy, but also knowing that he could not, with a clear conscious, leave Tim alone with no answer, the Englishman picked up the letter with the quickly scribbled 'Tim' written on it. The seal had been opened, but re-sealed with no notice. Alfred turned back and put the letter into the young man's hands.
"You deserve to know the truth from your father," the butler said before turning and walking away leaving Tim to stare at the white envelope. Feeling dread rise in him, the teenager opened the letter and began to read.
Dear Timothy,
I know if you're reading this letter than you are on the road to recovery. I hope it is an easy road or, at least, as easy at it can be. I know you're in good hands, perhaps the best. You are strong and I know before long you'll be back on your feet.
I am sorry that I cannot be with you as you head down this path of recovery, but I know, in my heart of hearts, that this is for the best. You need to be with your family right now.
Your true family.
You must be wondering what happened and I do not know if Bruce has told you the truth or not. I assume he has, but if not, I owe you an explanation. Like yourself, I've kept my secrets from you and Dana. I have a problem with gambling that began well before our financial troubles, but intensified then. I know that I shouldn't offer excuses, but I started gambling to save this family. Or so I thought. I thought I could work us out of the hole and make our lives what it once had been. Before I knew it I was in over my head and had a debt I could not pay. Mike Gardenee, my bookie, needed to be re-paid and I couldn't do that so he took you from me as ransom. Please believe that I never thought he would harm you or Dana or else I would have quit in a heartbeat. After you were taken, I came to Bruce for help in finding you.
I cannot say anything to make what I did right again. You were hurt worse than anything I've ever seen. Every time I looked at your prone figure all I thought was 'this is my fault.' And it is. I had a problem, one I thought I didn't need help with, and it nearly cost you your life.
And it cost me you.
While I sat by your side, I realized something that, I think, I knew all along. I am not your father. Of course, biologically I am, but in all other areas, I am not. I have never known what your favorite color was, nor your favorite candy or even your favorite movie. I've never taken you to a ballgame or camping. I've never listened, truly listened, to what you had to say and, if I had, I realize that we may not be where we are today- in two separate worlds that, inevitable, collided together.
I love you as only a father can, and I wish that I could repair all the damage that I've done and make up for all those times I wasn't there. Well, in a way, I tried to do that already and it only made things worse. So, I am doing the one thing I can do.
I am letting you go.
I will always love you, Timothy. I did from the moment you first opened those huge blue eyes of yours and I saw them brimming with intelligence. Be safe, my son. Be safe and happy. I know Bruce, Dick and Alfred will be, as they already are, the family that you never had and I hope that is it not too late to be enough. They love you with their entire beings and will accept you into their home. If you choose to be Robin again, something that I gladly relinquish to your control where it always should have been, I want you to be careful. It is a dangerous city and, no matter how prepared you are, I fear things can go wrong. Promise me you'll be safe.
I wish you a long and happy life and will think of you often.
Jack Drake
trueTim let the letter fall from numb fingers to finally rest on his lap. A strange sense of emptiness came over him and he could do nothing but stare at the still letter in shock and pain. Why? He questioned as his eyes furiously scanned the letter a second time. What had he done wrong? Why had his father left him? With rage and despair, Tim grabbed the letter and tore it apart until all that existed were slivers of paper that had fluttered on the bed and floor.
Staring at the almost confetti-like decoration resting on his legs, Tim wasn't aware he was crying until the first drops hit the blanket. Balling his hands into fists, he released the tension he felt building in him as sobs that racked his small frame. All the while he cried one question echoed in his mind: what had he done wrong?
-------
Nighttime came and with it the activity in the Cave began. Since reading the letter hours before, Tim had feigned sleep whenever someone came down to check on him. Whether or not Alfred or Bruce bought it was beyond him, but he didn't care. He wasn't so hopeful as to think that Bruce didn't know what was in the letter and the last thing the teenager wanted to do was talk about what his father had said and done.
Everything made no sense to the young man. He had done what his father wanted, he had stopped being Robin and been a normal teenager for the first time ever. And yet, Jack left him in the end. When Tim needed him the most, his father had up and left. Tim wasn't sure if he was more hurt or angry about it all.
The teenager knew he'd made things difficult for his father these past years. The lying, the sneaking out, the running away, the…well…so many other things, had caused a rift between father and son. And Tim knew that even though he'd stopped his nighttime activities he still had not been the easiest person to get along with and most certainly had not opened up any more to his dad. But, he had been trying, truly. Many nights Tim spent just thinking about how to approach his father and begin to fix all the wounds that had been opened and, even more importantly, the aim was not to try and convince Jack to let him be Robin again. Granted, if the two of them had been able to fix things and getting the costume back was a reward of such mending, well Tim wouldn't have argued, but he never wanted to lie to his father again even about intentions.
And yes, they hadn't fixed things, but everything was aligning for such a possibility and now… now that was shattered. Jack had lied to Tim and Dana. He'd lead another life that neither knew about and, in the end, this other life had taken control of theirs. Tim couldn't help the thought that constantly flash in his brain: he had been kidnapped because of his father. The teenager wanted nothing more than to misplace blame and not believe the guilt his father held, but he found he could not. Whether it was due to his own anger and hurt, he didn't know, but the fact remained a large part of Tim blamed his father for his current predicament.
Worse still, was the fact that Jack, instead of trying to fix things, ran away leaving his son alone. Sure Jack felt Tim would be in better hands, but the teenager felt that was his own choice to make and not his father's. Jack removed any choice Tim had of offering forgiveness or understanding to his father because Jack was consumed with enough guilt that he felt judgment by his son already had been passed.
Tim heard the footsteps enter the Cave from the Manor and knew his fake sleeping wouldn't hold up any longer. Sighing, the teenager opened his eyes and wasn't the least bit surprised to see Alfred standing before him.
"Hello, young sir. How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Tim answered in a flat voice.
The butler nodded and began to look at the various machines and charts laying around. He talked as he worked. "You'll be happy to know that the stitches are holding up quite well and with the strong brace on your leg, I would say soon you'll be able to walk around the Cave a bit."
The teenager looked at the older man with surprised. Alfred rarely let anyone who had been injured do anything until they go the clean bill of health from Leslie. Granted, Bruce rarely listened and was out and about before any sane person would even think of sitting up let alone fighting crime, but the younger vigilantes they knew who was really in charge and would wait for Leslie. For Alfred to be allowing Tim even the slight bit of freedom meant the butler knew how hard things were going for the young man. Tim wasn't certain if he should be grateful or feel slightly insulted. He chose to say nothing, but nodded in case Alfred was waiting for a response.
The older man finished everything and looked back at Tim with a smile. "Master Bruce has already left for the evening, but it does not look like anything pressing will keep him out for long. Can I get you anything?"
"What about Gardenee?" Tim blurted without thought.
"He has been taken care of and is presently in Gotham Penitentiary," the butler said matter-of-factly.
"Okay," Tim said not sure what else he could say. "I'm fine," he added letting Alfred know he could come and go as he pleased. The butler stayed for a moment longer before saying a soft, 'very well' and leaving. Alfred had been around the Family long enough to know that if someone chose not to speak when given the chance, pressing would do little good. As hard as it was for the older man to leave Tim, he knew he would do no good if he remained. The teenager would talk when he wanted to.
As Alfred was leaving Tim's eyes happened to fall on a pair of crutches he had not noticed early and wagered they had been brought down sometime during the afternoon while he 'slept.' Staring at them, the teenager felt his mouth run dry and suddenly knew what he had to do.
Tomorrow he would visit his father come hell or high water.
TBC…