"Char," Tim says warningly as soon as he hears the tell-tale pitter-patter of little feet stop in a suspicious way. "You'd better not be where I think you are."

The little boy had been playing with his toy cars contentedly just a few minutes ago, giving Tim a bit of time to himself. Well, as much to himself as he ever gets. The Gilded Cage was slowly becoming a little more gilded recently as Tim reluctantly asked for things, mostly for Char, but some for himself. So Tim had settled in with a nice hard sci-fi novel, taking that bit of time to try to rest.

Now, Tim is regretting taking that time.

"Char," Tim says again, looking up from his book.

Sure enough, Char is standing by the curtain in front of the cloning chambers. That curtain is swaying oddly with a little swishing sound, clear evidence of Char attempting yet again to get a better look at the cloning chambers.

"Don't make me go over there," Tim says in warning. "I don't want you messing around with those, especially not when they're active. Come here, you."

Char turns back to the still-swaying curtain with a longing glance.

"Char, come here," Tim says, intentionally softening his voice. "We can do some story time now if you want. Do you want a book?"

Char spins around so fast he almost topples over, but he steadies himself with one pudgy hand on the nearby wall. Quickly, Char makes his way over to the rocking chair Tim is seated in.

"Thank you," Tim says. "Good job listening, buddy."

"Book?" Char asks in that half-lisping toddler way of his.

Tim nods, setting his own book on the floor beside the rocking chair. "Sure, book. Go get one."

Char heads over to the bookshelf. He stands in front of the bookshelf for a moment, rocking back and forth on his little feet. He shoves one thumb thoughtfully into his mouth.

"Not your thumb, Char," Tim says. "Do you want a snack?"

Char nods, taking his thumb out of his mouth and bending closer to the bookshelf.

"I'll get a snack, you get a book," Tim says, standing from the rocking chair. He heads for the storage containers by the table. It doesn't take long to sort through the food there: softened granola bars, some sliced raw vegetables and hummus to dip them in, crackers and chunks of different cheeses, a few bananas…

"How about some banana bits?" Tim asks, looking back at Char.

Char doesn't answer. He's poking between the books still, completely absorbed. Or maybe just ignoring Tim.

Tim smiles a little. "How about some roast duck?"

Jerking his head up and back, Char looks at Tim with curiosity. He babbles a little. It sounds vaguely like "some roast duck?"

"Ah, sorry, turns out we're all out," Tim says cheerfully. "Bananas it is!"

Char makes a "pfft" sound through pressed-together lips. Looking slightly disappointed despite having no reason to know what roast duck is or if it'd be any good, he turns back to the books again.

By the time Tim cuts up a banana into bite-sized bits in a bowl and gets back to the rocking chair, Char has a book in one hand. Char's other hand is in his mouth again.

Tim bends down and pulls Char's hand away from his mouth, saying, "Nope, that's not what your thumb's for."

Char pouts, which is admittedly adorable.

"Right," Tim says, using a bit of his own shirt to dry off Char's spit-sticky hand. "How mean of me, not letting you gnaw your thumb until the skin gets all irritated again."

Once Char's hand is dry, Tim sits in the rocking chair.

Before Tim can even pat his thigh to encourage Char to come on up, Char is already scrambling into Tim's lap. Char holds up the book he's chosen and-

"You want this one?" Tim asks around the lump in his throat. It doesn't get any easier. He almost regrets making the stapled-together "book" Char is holding.

Except, no, Tim doesn't regret it. It wouldn't be fair to Char to not get to know the Wayne family just because it makes Tim grieve not getting to see them.

"Uh," Char says in his best imitation of "uh-huh" that he can do, nodding his head. "Dada, book?"

"Okay, but only once this time, okay?" Tim says. "Dad is pretty tired, and you should be too. It feels like naptime."

"Uh," Char says agreeably. He leans back into Tim's chest.

"'Our family,'" Tim reads from the homemade cover.

Char traces a reverent finger over the barely-better-than-stick-figures drawings on the cover. (Tim isn't exactly an artist. Sue him.)

Tim lets the little boy take a minute to trace each imitated person: Damian, Cass, Jason, Bruce, Barbara, Alfred, Stephanie, Dick. Then Tim opens the cover and begins to read.

By the time he says "the end," Tim's fighting back a yawn.

Char, on the other hand, seems wide awake, bouncing a little in Tim's lap. Bits of banana are smeared around Char's lips. "More book?"

"Not this time," Tim says, promptly losing his fight with his yawn. He swipes at Char's mouth and gets most of the banana bits smeared on his shirt sleeve for his effort.

"More book?" Char says again, tugging at the homemade book in Tim's hands and trying to turn it to the front cover.

"More like more sleep," Tim says. He closes the book and tucks it face-down under one arm. "It's time for a nap."

"More book," Char says in a whine, trying to pull the book back out again.

"Dad said no, Char," Tim says firmly. "It's naptime."

Char sighs the most petulant sigh Tim's ever heard from anyone, let alone a toddler approximately equivalent to under two years old.

"Naptime," Tim says again. "Come on."

Tim stands up, settling Char on his hip with his arm not still holding the homemade book. Tim sets the book carefully on the bookshelf, then he heads for the bed corner. He sits on his bed and settles Char on his lap, looking over at the crib next to him. "Nap in your bed or nap with me?"

Char pats Tim's chest firmly.

"Okay then. But you're not getting out of bed without waking me up, okay?" Tim says.

Char nods.

"Good," Tim says. He reclines, tucking Char in next to him. Tim's barely gotten his head on his pillow and gotten the covers over both them before his eyes are fluttering shut.

And then, what feels like only seconds later, his eyes pop open at a distinct set of sounds: pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter, stop. Swish.

Tim bolts up in bed. He looks down beside himself. Sure enough, Char is not sleeping next to him.

Tim swings himself up to the side of the bed. He looks over at the cloning chambers corner. Sure enough, the curtain is swung open and Char is standing in the corner, looking up at the three cloning chambers.

Tim can't see Char's face, but Tim's sure Char looks absolutely awed, probably equally so at the two active cloning chambers with their almost-ready clones and the one cloning chamber not currently in use. Char has looked and seemingly felt awed every time he's gotten a glimpse at the cloning chambers.

Tim, on the other hand, does not feel awed, and he's sure he doesn't look like it. He stands up and hurries toward the cloning chambers.

Char spins around, a look of awe quickly fading into a look of guilt, then a look of false pure innocence.

Only one tactic will do here. Tim knows exactly what to say to make Char face up to what he's done. It's full-name rebuke time.

"Richard Bruce Wayne!"


AN: …:D