A/N: This is a crosspost from AO3, where I post under the same name.
This fic is for the Batfam Big Bang, hosted on tumblr. Please go to my AO3 posting of this story for the links to Ela's art.
Somehow... we made it... Thank god for posting delays because I rewrote this twice until I was satisfied x So far I have most of this planned, and I've made fair headway on chapter two, but no promises as to when this will be finished, except that it will... eventually xx.
Thanks so much to everyone who's helped and Ela for the stunning art!
Title from Arcade Fire's Put Your Money on Me, which is also the theme song to this fic, alongside Pale Honey's cover of Lay All Your Love on Me.
If you had told Steph six years ago she'd be working for the Waynes of the Wayne Enterprises with a huge salary and full benefits, she'd have laughed you out of the room. A warehouse job, sure, or employed by one of their franchises, totally believable. But a bodyguard, trusted to protect one of Bruce Wayne's own children? Not on your life.
Steph was just a kid from the rougher side of town. Sure, she knew she was smart, and talented, and deserved much more than her lot on life, but she'd never thought she'd actually get there, well on her way to achieving her dream. She'd expected a long future working in dive bars and as security detail for less-than-savoury characters, afraid her past would colour her prospects.
Steph had been surprised when she got the job offer, despite her confidence in her own skills. She knew she was good at security, hell, she'd been successfully working in the field for years without a complaint; she knew she was good. Didn't stop the instinctual panic at Bruce Wayne of all people offering her a contract.
She'd applied to the job on a whim out of desperation, a nameless agency offering more information once shortlisted, and figured that in the worst case scenario she'd be fighting her way out of a trafficking den.
But, somehow, it was legit. She arrived at a small office in the business district, and after a quick read-through of her CV and a few questions, she was given the go ahead to move onto the next stage. Steph had aced the proficiency trials needed to even make it to the interview, and though Bruce Wayne was loud and brash with a strong handshake to match—Steph, not one to be outdone, had matched him in strength—he'd been polite and taken her seriously, not something she expected.
Steph was young, blonde, and a woman; she was used to men dismissing her at first sight. A lot of the time it worked in her favour—it made it easier to defend her clients when the ones after them thought Steph wasn't up to the job. It did mean, though, that Steph had convinced herself she'd never get the job, and was blindsided when she did.
Steph shivered on the steps leading up to the front doors of Wayne Tower, almost unable to bring herself to climb them.
"I so regret this," she muttered under her breath, twitching as whispers of air from the passing office workers brushed against her newly tailored suit.
Steph felt out of place, clad in a silky-smooth shirt beneath the kevlar-reinforced suit she'd been fitted for weeks previously that all security was required to wear. It, and all the others she'd been supplied (they'd given her three suits! Three!) fit like a second skin, the fabric suspiciously light despite all the wealth near dripping from the material.
Another passerby brushed passed her, and Steph knew she had to move before she twitched out of her skin and had a nervous breakdown without even entering the building. She mustered her courage and powered up the steps, making her way through the glass doors and passing the main desk to the security elevators at the rear of the floor. She swiped her card, the doors opening silently onto a glass-and-chrome interior.
Steph slowly breathed in and out, entering the code for the penthouse and scanning her thumb on the reader. Hopefully by the time she made it to her floor she'd appear a little more calm.
The elevator arrived at the top level in record time, and Steph walked out onto an ordinary office floor, albeit one with much more mahogany and tasteful art pieces more likely to be genuine than replica.
Following the instructions she'd been given, she headed down a wide corridor, noting all the details she'd seen when reading the floor blueprints. She'd been given special access on her first visit to the tower, to help her prepare for her job, and Steph was glad none of the knowledge had vanished with her nerves.
The open hallway led her to a wide door in a frosted glass wall, and Steph rapped sharply on the door twice then let herself in, opening the door to meet the eyes of a pretty young woman perched on a desk.
She looked to be around Steph's age, with warm brown skin and black hair pulled into a neat bun, dressed in a sleek navy pantsuit. She'd been tapping at her phone, a deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face until she realised it was Steph who'd entered the office.
Tamara Fox hopped off the desk and crossed the floor, her pumps making satisfying little taps on the carpet as she made her way over. Tam grasped her hand in a surprisingly strong grip, looking up at Steph with a twist to her lips that spoke of embarrassment at Steph catching her off-guard. Steph smiled back, hoping it showed she didn't mind, and tried to ignore the nervous sweat beading on her nape at Tam's proximity.
Tam's grin brightened. "Hi! Stephanie, right? Or— you said Steph before, can I call you Steph? I'm Tam, Tim's PA; we met at your orientation!" she said.
Steph relaxed at the familiarity. "Yeah, Tam, hi! Nice to meet you properly! We really didn't get much of a chance to speak properly then," she said, nerves further settled when Tam squeezed her hand.
"We didn't!" agreed Tam.
They stared at each other in silence for a long, awkward moment, before Steph cracked and let out a snort. Tam giggled, and soon they were hunched over their joined hands laughing helplessly. It scared away the last of Steph's nerves, and abruptly she felt a lot more comfortable in her own skin, anxiety drowned out with the residual buzz of amusement.
Laughter settled, Tam wiped the tears from her eyes, careful of her makeup. "You know," she started, "I have to say I'm so glad it was you who was hired. I mean, you're pretty close to Tim and I in age, which is great, and, well..." she bit her lip, front teeth digging into the nude shine of her lip gloss, "Tim and the other girls are great and all, but I've missed hanging out with someone my age at work who isn't either family or like, my own boss," she said with a small smile, reaching out to squeeze Steph's hand between both of her own.
Steph's heart fluttered at the contact, and she smiled back. "I'm glad too! I wasn't really sure what to expect with this job, to be honest," Steph admitted. "I thought this would mostly be all upper-crust, me standing silently back until someone's threatened. Which is fine, and all, but..." she grimaced.
Tam's lips twisted wryly. "I get what you mean. The richer they get, the less they see those they consider below them as human, right? The Waynes aren't like that at all, though, Tim is super nice, I promise!" she said.
For all Steph knew, it could've been a baseless platitude, but Tam looked like she genuinely believed what she was saying. Steph shrugged mentally; if Tim was as nice as Tam said, great. If he wasn't, no biggie—Steph had absolutely worked for worse people.
"Anyway," continued Tam, "I'm just happy you're here!" She squeezed Steph's hand again, eyes crescents above her dimpled cheeks with the force of her smile. A warmth flickered within Steph, but before she could consider what it meant Tam pulled her over behind the desk.
"Before I take you to meet Tim, you'll need this." She tapped a quick pattern onto an innocuous wall panel, and with a quick scan of her thumb the panel hissed open, revealing a small draw of random technological knick-knacks.
"Here," Tam said, handing over a new earpiece. Steph wedged out her W.E. issued earpiece and replaced it with the one she'd been handed. It fit snuggly and almost imperceptibly, and with a light press it ran through a quick list of user instructions.
Tam went on, "The one you were given is perfectly fine, obviously, but we prefer personal security to use our own design. There's a direct line to our own systems, and an emergency beacon as well. My dad made sure this was custom fitted for you, too."
Bespoke technology from Lucius Fox? Steph didn't know much about the man, but rumours said he was the one who effectively ran the company, and was the reason W.E. R&D was as innovative as it was. "I don't want to ask how much this costs, do I?" said Steph.
"Nope!" chirped Tam, and guided Steph over to the door at the far end of the office. "Tim is right through here. He's a little bit on edge after all the attempts on his life, so, um, if he's a little short with you that may be why."
Steph let out a tiny little huff of laughter. "Thanks for the warning, Tam," she said, reaching for the door.
"Oh, one final thing—" Tam halted Steph with a tough to her wrist— "Bruce kiiind of didn't tell Tim he was hiring you until today."
Steph winced. The only thing worse than rich clients was angry rich clients. Steph shared a final commiseratory glance with Tam before she reached for the door handle.
Stepping through, Steph was hit once more with a barrage of understated opulence.
The office was large, all glass and dark mahogany furniture with floor to ceiling windows that had her wondering how much bulletproof glass that size cost. It was mostly neat and tidy, but enough personal effects were scattered about it was clearly not the office of your typical businessman. A skateboard was propped up against a buttery leather sofa, not far from a collection of crunched soda cans piled in a recycling trash can. An assortment of colourful blankets were draped across various pieces of furniture, and many looked to be handmade. Tasteful paintings lined the walls, a few Steph recognised as landscapes of Wayne Manor, though they didn't look to be from any artist Steph recognised. They must be originals. And if that wasn't enough to convince Steph of the sheer wealth dripping from the walls, one more thing nailed it home.
That was her charge.
Tim Drake-Wayne was shorter than expected. He was wearing a simple suit with an artfully rumpled oversized coat that served to make him look even smaller, but even from a distance they both spoke of bespoke craftsmanship. Steph had enough experience making and modifying her own clothes to recognise that his outfit probably cost more than a years' worth of wages, and his leather shoes, though scuffed, looked artfully made. His hair fell in an artful swoop, albeit long enough it slumped over his eyes, and his nails were immaculately manicured where they clutched a sweating cup of bubble tea and a battered phone case covered in smudged stickers.
Steph fought the urge to question where in the world he got his nails done. Tim Drake-Wayne looked up from his phone and blinked in surprise. "Oh! You're, um," he looked her up and down, eyes hovering at her height a little bit above his own.
Steph raised an eyebrow. "Not who you were expecting?" she said, voice dry.
"...Not as old as I expected," he said weakly. "Uh, Stephanie Brown, right?" he continued, rushing over to offer her his hand.
Steph shook it promptly, and almost dropped his hand out of bafflement from his weirdly loose grip.
"You can call me Tim," he offered after a pause that lasted a beat too long.
"And you can call me Steph," she returned.
They stared at each other for a moment in a perfect mirror to Steph's earlier meeting with Tam. Steph smirked and broke the handshake, and Tim tugged awkwardly on his bangs.
Steph watched Tim shuffle his feet and avoid eye contact, and Tam mentioning wanting more people her age at work she could relax around flashed in her mind.
Maybe Steph could throw him a bone.
"So, since we're supposed to be getting to know each other better, what do you actually do here?" asked Steph, breaking the silence. "They're yet to tell me."
After a brief glance to Tim for permission, she wandered over to one of the paintings on the wall, scanning it for a signature.
In the corner of her eye, Tim scratched at the back of his head, further mussing his dishevelled hair. "Ah, well. Not much?" he said hesitantly. "I sign things if Bruce isn't around, but really I'm here to manage some of our outreach programs. It's not like I couldn't do that from home, though..." he muttered.
Steph let out a hum, eying a swirling signature that maybe started with a D. "So, nepotism?" she joked.
Immediately, Steph blanched, a wash of panic cutting straight to the bone. Not fifteen minutes since they'd met, and Steph was joking around like Tim was an old friend. What was it about him that had her dropping her guard so fast? Flustered, Steph was about to blurt out an apology when Tim let out a bark of laughter, draining Steph's panic.
"I won't deny that." Tim almost looked contrite, thought it was Steph who'd overstepped.
He ambled over, and joined her at the row of paintings. After a pause, he let out a sigh. "Bruce may have stressed how important it was for me to have a bodyguard, but really, most of these attacks are nothing I can't handle myself. You also grew up in Gotham, right? You get it."
Steph forced down a slight flare of frustration. "I do get it, but there's a difference between getting yourself out of a situation with your yearly hostage training versus what I'm able to do as someone who's been in this business since before you finished high school."
Tim groaned. "Yeah, but, I feel bad. They've hired you to basically become my glorified chauffeur." He rubbed at his temple. "Plus, I dropped out when I was sixteen," he added.
Huh. Tim Drake-Wayne was a high school drop out?
"Look," said Steph, "I get that you're reluctant, especially since I was hired without you knowing, but if you would at least give me a chance to do my job, I'd appreciate it." Taking a chance, Steph glanced over Tim's slim form and slowly raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Your apparent incredible martial arts skills notwithstanding."
Tim snorted and rolled his eyes. "At least they hired someone with a personality," he said wryly.
Steph withheld a tiny, pleased grin, but before she could quip back, Tim spun in a dramatic flair and strode back over to the door. "Are you coming with?" he called when Steph didn't immediately follow. "We're taking your car for a test drive."
Remember, Steph thought to herself as she caught up with her charge, he's not your friend. This could be your last chance; stay professional.
She could only hope she didn't forget.
Stuck in traffic, Steph watched as wafts of white cloud slowly crossed patches of pale blue sky, smudging into the grey mass of ever-present haze that littered the Gotham skyline.
She rubbed her hands together for warmth, wishing she'd had the foresight to leave her new pair of supple leather gloves in the glovebox. Mornings like this meant she could barely wait for the switch into her company car, complete with its heated seats and glazed windows to keep in any warmth from the frosty winter that was almost upon the city. It felt a little wasteful, driving maybe fifteen minutes only to leave her car in a private parking garage, but it was better than the alternative of leaving a shiny Audi outside her crummy little apartment all night. Extra attention was never something you wanted in Gotham.
The waning fall did little to differentiate the day by day, but Steph's new routine was far from mundane, and a welcome change from the uncertainty of where she'd be getting her next pay check.
A six am start, just enough time to shower and get breakfast and dress in one of her numerous work suits, a drive to the garage to exchange her car, then downtown to collect Tim from his apartment.
Parking smoothly right by the door, Steph strode through the lobby with a wave of her security pass. She nodded to the doorman, her gaze making a passing sweep of the lobby floor. Of all the places Tim could be threatened, his apartment was the least likely, but it didn't hurt to be prepared. Heading up in the elevator to Tim's floor, a quick glance at her watch showed it was seven twenty eight; right on time.
Tim's door was the only one on his level. At seven thirty on the dot, Steph rapped on the door three times, and waiting for the distinctive sound of Tim muttering and banging around to come through the polished wood door. Soon he was throwing the door open, and Steph caught it before it hit the wall with a bang.
"Morning," Steph greeted cheerfully. "Sleep well?"
Tim was rumpled, dark smudges beneath his puffy eyes and a touch of stubble on his chin. He threw Steph a glare, as if her attitude was an offense. "Morning," he mumbled back eventually.
Once they made it to her car, Steph opened the door, rolling her eyes fondly as Tim fell on the cup in the backseat almost immediately.
"Yesss," he hissed. "Steph, you're the best, oh my god." He'd already stabbed the straw through the plastic seal, and took a long slurp of the 150% sugar bubble tea concoction she'd picked up for him. "Have I said that you deserve a raise? I'm giving you a raise."
Steph chuckled as she buckled her seatbelt. "I won't complain if you do. I've been doing a lot that isn't in my job description, you know."
"That's 'cause you're the best," Tim sighed, melting into the warmed leather seat with his drink clutched between both hands.
Steph blinked, caught off-guard. Though adding an extra five minutes to pick up a drink Tim had pleaded for wasn't exactly a hardship when she was compensated for her time, a warmth still rose in her cheeks. She cleared her throat and moved on, ignoring Tim's pleased grin at her reaction in the rear view mirror.
"By the way, did you even sleep last night?" Steph asked, voice composed even as she angrily gestured at a driver that cut her off. "Usually you aren't so desperate for caffeine this early in the morning."
Steph had expected someone like Tim to be a fiend for coffee, but he barely seemed to drink the stuff, preferring Zesti or bubble tea with enough sugar and jellies that Steph feared for his teeth.
Tim let out a groan, his head dropping back onto the headrest with a muffled whump. "I meant to, but Dick dropped by, and we haven't had time to hang out in ages since he's been so busy with work, with it being competition season and all, so I stayed up until he went back to the Manor."
"Must've been nice," said Steph. "The Blüd isn't far, but traffic out there is such a nightmare it almost isn't worth making the drive."
Tim sat up from his slump. "Right? Anyway, Dick has no concept of a regular sleeping schedule since he can sleep in until two most of the time, so by the time he remembered I need actual sleep it was too late to make a difference," he said, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated pout.
"You could've reminded him," Steph pointed out with a grin, chuckling at Tim's grumble in response.
Steph loved her mom, and they were as close as a mother and daughter could be, but she did get envious at times when Tim spoke about his siblings; it sounded nice, having people close to your heart who would show up at any time to hang out. The closest Steph got to a relationship like that was with her roommate, Kara, who was basically family to Steph by now, or when it came to dropping by unannounced, her uncle — and the less said about him the better.
They fell into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of Gotham's alternative radio station playing quietly.
"Noticed there's someone new in the building," said Steph into the quiet. "Anything I should know about?"
"Oh, yeah," said Tim absentmindedly, gnawing at his straw, "she's just someone Jason knows. She lived closer to his side of town, but I guess her landlord tried to evict her for some reason? Anyway, since she couldn't find anywhere to rent he let me know about it, so we got her set up with a room until she finds somewhere more convenient."
Steph paused, glancing back at Tim to make sure she heard right. "Are there many vacancies in your building?"
Tim hummed. His straw squeaked against the plastic film of the lid. "I guess? One or two, maybe, I try to keep some open just in case but I haven't checked in a while. If there wasn't room with me we could've found her somewhere else, though."
Huh. Huh. She'd been working with the Waynes for weeks, and she knew all about their outreach programs by now, especially the one that Tim was in charge of, Neon Knights. But tangible community support on the ground? That was entirely unheard of when it came to the rich.
Steph mulled over her words before speaking. "Do you guys often help people who are struggling get housing?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah," Tim laughed. "I mean, I own the building, I'd let people stay for free if I could. Did you know Gotham has some insane legislation when it comes to that, though? Bruce throws as much money at the problem as he can, but without change at the legislative level there's only so much we can do. Direct action is the least of it." He dropped his empty cup in the drink tray, then pulled out his phone and started flicking his thumb across the screen.
"Huh," said Steph. "Makes sense."
Steph was still lost in thought. The Wayne family was rich, but she'd thought their good will started and ended at charity auctions and big donations to new civic centres. Seemed there was more to them than what often felt like empty gestures that didn't amount to much.
Steph was so out of it she almost missed a turn, spinning the wheel at the last second. A glance in the rear-view mirror showed Tim didn't seem to have noticed, still frowning down at his phone.
Steph gave herself a quick shake. She had a job to do; she could dwell on how she'd underestimated Tim and his family on her break.
As Tim's position was mostly based around W.E.'s outreach programs, he technically only worked three half days a week. When he wasn't hanging around with Lucius and his father, Tim was bugging the R&D department interns, and the rest of the time was spent meeting with locals and announcing the company's newest ideas and charity programs, which meant Steph spent a lot of time scouting event stages and glaring at paparazzi.
"You know," said Tim with a shiver, "I'd almost prefer to be stuck in an office. Why did we make this outdoors? Who planned this?"
His teeth were chattering as he hunched on his plastic chair behind the speaker's podium, and he'd wrapped a bulky hand-knit scarf around his neck, but even with his woollen coat the chill would always make it in.
Steph wasn't faring much better. Her core was nicely insulated, but the harsh wind cut against her exposed neck, sending spikes of chilling cold down her spine. She considered herself to be very hardy, but she had to fight down a grimace.
Fortunately, the sound stage had been set up, and the crowd had started to filter in; the event would begin soon. Someone had the foresight to arrange for portable tents with clear plastic siding, but Gotham's gloomy weather proved just as inhospitable as always.
Steph almost wanted something to happen so she could bundle Tim and herself up in the car with its heated seats.
Steph tuned out the speakers, and eyed the crowd. Tim had opted to allow questions, something about inviting community discussion, but so far it had mostly proved as an opportunity for the gossip vultures to get Tim when he was least prepared.
Finally, it came time for Tim's speech, and with it, numerous irrelevant questions that could be answered with a proper read of the pamphlet that had been left on every seat. Tim was tense, clearly just as frustrated as Steph felt watching, but if he wanted to keep W.E. accountable he didn't have much of a choice.
"Mr. Wayne," cut in a sharp voice, "you've made no mention of who exactly this centre is catering for. Do you feel the building of yet another charitable social project is nothing but a drain on Gotham City when its resources could be directed elsewhere?"
Vicki Vale looked smug, as though she'd managed a proper gotcha moment. With how much she'd harangued Tim, Steph allowed herself a brief respite from her blank look of disengagement and narrowed her eyes at the other women. She nearly smirked with a vicious satisfaction when Vicki fumbled her recorder when she met Steph's gaze.
"Respectfully, Ms. Vale," Tim said calmly, "this is only the announcement for the construction of a community centre. Wayne Enterprises will fund its building and operation costs, but we won't have any involvement with the actual programs on offer once it's complete."
Any other reporter would've taken the dismissal for what it was, but Vicki dug in. "You said in the past W.E. would be funding more youth programs, specifically for queer teens. Does this have any relation to the man you've been spotted around Gotham with, recently?"
Even with only a quarter of Tim's face in view, Steph could see his expression had gone brittle. Making a split second decision, Steph pressed her finger to her earpiece and nodded as though she'd gotten an order, then stepped forward and tugged Tim behind her. "No more questions for today," she said into the mic, and herded Tim offstage.
"I— you really didn't have to do that," said Tim once they were safely ensconced back in the heated car. Huddled in his coat, his ears still pink, he looked smaller than usual.
"Didn't I?" Steph twisted in her seat to meet Tim's eyes. "You looked uncomfortable, and that was a personal question. My job is to protect you, and that includes from probing questions," she said.
A tiny smile inched its way across Tim's lips. "Thank you," he said quietly.
Steph gave him a smile of her own, and turned back to start the car.
It was a rare day in Gotham when the clouds parted to share a glimpse of blue sky, and with Tim tucked away safe in his office Steph hadn't missed the chance to step out for lunch and enjoy the sun.
She returned from her lunch break at the café down the street to a quiet office. A peek behind the desk confirmed Tam was away, too, and hadn't commandeered the space for an afternoon nap, either. Puzzled, Steph continued on through the office until she reached the hidden room tucked away at the back of the walk-in closet. She hadn't expected a goddamn closet to be essential to an office worker, but apparently the Waynes did things differently.
Although, she had to admit, a change of clothes came in handy the other day when she'd needed to shove Tim up against an alley wall to prevent him being hit by a speeding car, shredding his elbow in the process. As the GCPD squealed after the rogue car, she'd quickly pulled Tim back inside the Tower and patched him up herself after he denied a visit to a clinic to be safe. By the time Tam was back from a meeting with the interns, there was nary a clue Tim had once more avoided losing his life by the skin of his teeth, save for the ruined shirt and jacket scrunched up in the bin.
Today, the hidden door was cracked ajar, a thin sliver of light winking through. Steph could hear Tim's voice, and instead of announcing her approach, she stopped to listen.
"You're insane," she heard Tim bark, frustration colouring his tone. "I don't have time for this!"
There was a pause, then, "You couldn't have asked anyone else?"
Steph inched forward, until she could see through the gap. Tim was hunched over the folding table kept in the room, a screwdriver in hand as he prodded at a small bundle of wires and metal plating. He muttered angrily to himself, head tilted towards the phone pinned to his ear by his shoulder.
Tim hissed, "I don't care, if you need it tonight, I—"
Tim stilled, the set of his body so different from his usual lax stance that a chill almost ran down Steph's spine. Sensing she was about to be caught, Steph scuffed her feet and strode through the doorway, knocking loudly on the frame as she passed. "Tim, what are you doing locked up in here?" she asked, feigning nonchalance. "I was wondering where you were."
In an instant, Tim had changed posture, shoulders folded in and feet tucked beneath the chair. He looked flustered, like he'd been caught misbehaving, but his face was back to its usual softness, none of the tension remaining in the set of his jaw. "Steph!" he called. "...Did you hear any of that?"
Steph scowled, as if she'd only caught him attempting to shirk her guard. "Hear any of what, you yelling on the phone? If you're antagonising the Gazette reporters again, you know I'm the one that has to deal with them now, right?"
"No, no," said Tim with an airy laugh. "It's just Damian. He called to say he has a science project due tomorrow that he forgot about, and thought I could put something together for him. As if I know anything about building robots, jeez." With a roll of his eyes, he flapped his hand at the piles of nuts and bolts and assorted tools. Whatever the isolated pieces had been together, Steph had no clue, but she was sure it wasn't a sixteen year old's science project on robots.
Steph let out a deep sigh. "Whatever. Tam's still out, so you have time to fill out those forms before she gets back. Maybe you can help your brother with his science project later," she said, throwing a deeply unimpressed look at the scattered wires and gadgetry.
Tim laughed as he rose from the chair, and walked ahead of Steph back through the closet to the office.
Steph watched Tim closely from behind. There was nothing about him that betrayed his earlier change in manner at all. After a moment's thought, Steph brushed it aside.
It wasn't worth the risk to her paycheck.
"Hey," said Tim. He tilted his head back over his chair, balancing precariously on two wheels. "Will you take me somewhere?"
Steph looked up from her place by the wall and crossed her arms, contemplating the question. "Depends. If it's the cinema, no. You embarrassed me enough last time."
Last time being Tim having Steph help him skip out a meeting to watch a movie instead, something a friend insisted he see. It started out well enough, some feel-good kid's cartoon, but Tim began bawling inexplicably halfway through. The husband's death scene was a tearjerker for sure, but she didn't expect it to get to him as much as it had. After Steph spent five minutes rubbing his back and failing to calm him down, they'd fled to the lobby, where Steph snapped at a worker who asked them to leave.
Well, maybe it was Steph who'd embarrassed herself, but she maintained that asking someone who was crying to leave because they were disturbing the customers instead of asking if they were okay deserved one harsh word at the very least.
In the end, she drove Tim home and had Tam text for one of his siblings. Tim hadn't explained, and Steph thought it was better not to ask.
Tim's cheeks pinked. "Uh, no. I thought I asked you to forget about that? Anyway, no, it's a gym. If we leave now we'll make it," he said, squinting down at his phone.
It took all of Steph's strength not to double take. "You want to go to a gym?" she said, disbelieving. Tim hadn't stepped foot in a gym once since she started her job, and there was no gym equipment in his apartment; she'd checked.
"Har, har," deadpanned Tim. "Cass moved her flight up, so this'll be my last chance to catch her before she leaves."
As the elevator doors closed, Tim nudged Steph with his elbow. "You know, this would have gone much quicker if you let me drive instead," he said.
"Absolutely not," said Steph immediately.
The nudging turned to poking. "Please? I am dying to drive myself somewhere for once. What if I forget how and the one time I'm behind the wheel I get into a huge accident? Then it'll be your fault."
"Still no."
Tim groaned, dropping his head onto Steph's shoulder, looking up at her through his bangs. "I have taken defensive driving, you know."
The attempt at being cute would have worked had Steph not built up significant exposure to the tactic. She smirked, nudging him back with her shoulder. "And I signed a contract in front of your father. I won't embarrass myself."
Another attempt at getting in the driver's seat averted, Tim pouted the rest of the way to the car and in the back seat until he lost interest.
He brightened once they arrived, eagerly looking about and craning his neck for the sight of his sister.
Steph glanced idly about once she'd finished her security sweep. She'd never bothered with a gym membership, deeming it too expensive when dollar store weights and free YouTube tutorials existed. But, from the little she'd heard from Tim, Cassandra Wayne wasn't the type to skimp on a workout.
Out of all his siblings, Cassandra was the one she'd heard about the least. He mentioned her often, but aside from a love of martial arts and a tendency to speed, Tim was just as secretive about Cass as the woman was herself.
Steph was still lost in her thoughts when Tim perked up once they made it to the back corner of the gym, waving madly at a woman in the corner.
She looked unassuming where she was crouched over by the weights rack, black hair obscuring her face. When she stood, scrubbing at her face with a towel around her neck, the fall of her hair parted and Steph got a glimpse of her face for the first time.
Steph almost stumbled, biting back on the instinct to squawk that's your sister?
This was the singularly hottest women she'd seen in her life.
Cassandra Wayne was still breathing heavily, golden skin glistening with sweat, stray hairs catching on her cheekbones and temples. She was slender, but there was undeniable strength in the lines of her muscles. Steph felt a rush of blood to her cheeks as Cassandra met her eyes for a moment before she looked back to Tim, and a true smile bloomed on her face.
Steph's breath caught in her lungs.
Thanks to whatever fortune had led Steph to getting this job, she was in fact on the clock, and so didn't have to do more than nod in return, which was good, because if she had to speak probably all that would emerge would be a voice-cracking squeak as she tried to say hi. Cassandra Wayne was now fully immersed in a conversation with her little brother, leaving Steph with no opportunities to embarrass herself further under the heavy weight of those dark brown eyes.
Steph kept close, but at a distance, allowing the two their privacy. She forced her eyes away from the taught curves of Cassandra's muscles and heart-melting warmth of her grin, directing her attention to the bustling gym goers instead.
She didn't realise she was glaring until a gym rat passing a bit too close to Tim caught her eye and jolted, rushing past her to the front of the gym. Steph sighed, and tried to reign in her expression.
It wasn't long before Tim and Cassandra made their goodbyes. Cass was the same height as her brother, but when she hauled him in close with an all-encompassing squeeze of a hug she lifted him off his feet. He giggled, clutching her back, begging to be put back down. Steph ignored the twinge of a long-forgotten muscle in her heart.
His feet back on the ground, Tim dashed over to Steph and pulled her over to Cassandra before she could even think to protest.
"Cass," he beamed, "this is Steph! She's the bodyguard I mentioned. Steph, this is my favourite sister, Cass." He still had a grip on her arm, and when she didn't immediately respond he tugged on her sleeve.
Steph finally came to her senses and offered her hand. "Uh, hi. Stephanie Brown. Pleasure to meet you. I've heard a lot about you," she eked out.
Cass bounced her eyebrows and took Steph's hand in a firm, strong grip. "Only good things? And I'm your only sister," she added with a glare towards Tim. Her grip was tight, calloused hand a match to Steph's own, though her fingers were shorter and blunter at the tips, nails trimmed short. Steph fought the urge to blush and hoped Cass didn't notice her sweaty palms.
Tim snorted and leant against Cass, looking up at her with a pure childish grin. "You're still the best," he said, breaking into laughter when Cass pulled him under her arm and ruffled his hair.
They bickered for a few moments longer before Cass pushed Tim away. "I'll see you when I'm back from Rome, okay?" she said with a final pat to Tim's head.
He batted away her hand. "Yeah. Have a safe flight!"
As they made their way over to the door, Steph gave one final glance over her shoulder, pulse speeding when she saw Cass already looking. Steph waved gingerly, her heart leaping when Cass grinned back. She spun forwards before Cass could get a glimpse of the lovesick expression that surely crossed her face.
Kara was still out when Steph closed the door to their apartment behind her. She'd picked up takeout on her way home as a reward for getting through the week, and she had a date with a glass of wine and the Bachelorette.
She shucked her boots and peeled her way out of her suit, tipping herself into the shower. She sighed happily under the weight of the steaming hot water, nudging away the blonde hairs spooling into the drain with her toe.
Twenty minutes later she was on the couch, surrounded by boxes of takeout and tugging her laptop over from the wobbly coffee table. She took a sip of rosé, typing Cassandra Wayne into the browser.
As expected, there was hardly a peep. The Waynes as a whole clearly preferred to keep out of the limelight, but Cass was another story. Even Damian showed up more than her, despite being a teenager and kept out of the gossip sphere by law. On Tim's Instagram too she rarely showed, at the most showing half of her face and a blurry peace sign.
She was deep in the image results when Steph came across an old video from Dick's twitter. Cass was in the background, muscles locked in the form of a kata. She opened the video, and though Dick's exuberant gymnastics took the majority of the frame, Cass' focus was entirely on her own form. She ran through a series of kata, and even over the grainy quality and out of practice as she was, Steph could tell Cass was good.
The video cut off before Steph could watch more, and there was even less of Cass the further she scrolled. Faced with the embarrassment that would come with trying any harder, Steph closed the window and wiped her history for good measure, finally digging into the takeaway container of char kway teow.
Reaching for the remote, her eyes fell to her work phone, programmed with the numbers of Bruce Wayne and the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth. For a hot minute Steph wondered if Tim would give her Cass' number, too, and she flushed even at the thought. Even if she did get her number, what would Steph even do with it? Cass was Tim's older sister, and Tim was her client; there was no way even one night stand could turn out well.
Snorting, Steph dismissed the thought entirely and switched on the TV. No use dwelling on what she couldn't have when she could be watching a team of hopeless men swanning around a single unattainable woman, no matter how much a small part of her hoped for it.