Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Five years of dating, one year of friendship, and dozens of proposals. That was how Tim and Bernard’s relationship had gone so far.

Sometimes it’d been Tim, with little rings made of flowers he’d found on the edge of a sidewalk or of the paper straw covers they’d get at burger places, and sometimes it’d been Bernard with milk tabs and key rings. Some of their fake rings had been candy and some had been literal garbage.

They’d both pretended to get down on one knee. Both gave stupid, silly proclamations of how much they loved and worshiped the other.

It still felt unbelievable that, this time, the ring Tim had ready to order was real.

He had a speech ready to go, he’d spent hours on bands and stones and colors. He’d looked at the evidence, compiled the data, figured out the patterns in Bernard’s favorite jewelry that he already owned. Asked for second opinions from virtually everyone he could that actually knew how to keep a secret and a few people who didn’t.

Tim had tracked down Bernard’s friend from college, his roommate Charlie, just to see if he had any specific ideas on what Bernard might like.

And he still didn’t feel prepared.

Part of him hoped that this would help, actually getting Bernard’s ring size and ordering the ring, but he knew he wouldn’t feel properly prepared until he was on one knee and Bernard was saying yes.

Assuming he said yes. Of course he would, they’d talked about it enough times that Tim already knew Bernard would always say yes, but—

Assuming.

With that sliver of dull hope in mind, Tim found himself delicately pulling one of Bernard’s rings out of the bowl on his bedside table while Bernard slept less than a foot away, face buried in his pillow and legs twisted in their sheets.

It went against everything in Tim’s instincts not to reach out and brush Bernard’s hair out of his barely-visible eyes, but he refused. The last thing he needed was for Bernard to wake up and figure out that Tim was on his side of the bed for some reason. It was the exact kind of situation where Bernard would throw out a random theory, only to be right on the money.

He pushed on instead, taking one of Bernard’s lesser-used rings, too fancy for everyday use, but definitely still the right size. It slipped right into the side pocket on Tim’s bag across the room, where Bernard would never go without telling him first.

Then, with a quiet, relieved sigh, Tim crawled back into bed.

It’d been a long night for Robin, an afternoon of work with the W.E. R&D department and a night with a full patrol schedule. An even longer day for Bernard, with nine hours on duty as an EMT and at least two hours in the Batcave, learning from Alfred.

How Bernard managed to fit his training sessions at the cave in with his actual work, Tim didn’t know. He barely even understood why. Bernard insisted that he wanted to learn how to work the Bats’ equipment and where everything was stored, especially the med-bay supplies, and Alfred seemed perfectly happy to teach him whenever Bernard’s schedule could make the room for it. 

Tim was just glad that it was two hours where Bernard was somewhere safe, instead of out in the actual city, risking his life trying to help civilians after rogue attacks and disasters. The moments where Tim could let his nerves go and have faith that Bernard was okay were a billion times more bearable.

Like right now.

His arms around Bernard’s waist, his face tucked against the back of Bernard’s neck, breath ghosting over Bernard’s skin.

It was too warm to hold him for long, but Tim was happy just to get a moment where he could slip his hand under Bernard’s shirt and feel his heart thrumming along.

Tomorrow, he’d go order the ring he’d picked out. A thick silver band, close in color and style to most of Bernard’s favorite jewelry. The thin line of diamonds to make it special, not too modern, but still sleek. A plain little ring with an even plainer black box.

Just thinking about it made Tim hold Bernard a little closer, earning a heavy, stirring breath as Bernard shifted in his sleep.

It felt so much more real and so much more terrifying now that he’d actually gone ring shopping. Ages of conversations about getting married couldn’t compete with the actual experience of sitting down to talk about carats and metals and what his future fiancé would like.

A part of it was that they were twenty-four and twenty-five, and Tim still felt as young as he had when they’d first met. The idea that they were old enough to actually get engaged felt like a lie he was telling himself.

The other part was that Bernard liked the idea of being married. He'd always been on the edge of insecurity, like he was waiting for people to leave him. The idea of someone loving him so much that they'd vow to stay made him feel more permanent.

But Tim just hadn't really been sure before. Before Bernard. Before growing up. Before entwining his life so completely with someone else's.

He’d known that he didn't want to get married just because it was the next logical step or because people expected him to.

If he got married, it would need to be because he wanted to be.

And now he did.

Matching rings, sharing a last name, getting to come home to his husband… Tim wanted that so much it made his chest ache. Just the thought that Bernard was his, to have and to hold forever, was enough for his heart to squeeze.

They had to get there first, but it was closer than it had been even just a few days ago.

Now he just had to actually get the ring and figure out where to propose.

With a sigh, Tim tucked his face into the warm space between Bernard’s shoulder and his pillow, tugging his blanket up over himself.

The moment he was settled, Bernard rolled over.

It was like being hugged by an oversized teddy bear, how completely Bernard immediately latched on. His jaw cracked in Tim’s ear as he yawned, and he stretched out his legs before hooking one behind Tim’s knees and fitting his arm around Tim’s waist.

Bernard’s breath tickled Tim’s skin, ghosting right over his collarbone, and Tim held back a grin.

“St’p wiggling.” Bernard mumbled sluggishly. “M’trying to sleep.”

Not able to smooth Bernard’s hair or cup his neck without accidentally pushing Bernard off, not willing to, Tim pressed his lips to Bernard’s scalp instead. “Sorry, Bear. Had to get up and feed the cat.”

The only response he got was Bernard pressing closer with a huff.

His hair tickled at Tim’s nose, just past being long enough to put in a ponytail. The weight of his legs and arms was enough to turn the room from comfortably warm to too hot. 

Tim had stuff to do in the morning and needed to sleep, but knew he wouldn’t be able to as long as Bernard was clinging to him.

He also wasn’t willing to shove Bernard off.

With as few moments of actual peace as Tim got, he was willing to let this one stretch on for a while longer.

Maybe Tim had been right to feel unprepared.

He’d thought that he’d be able to come up with some real idea for where to propose. There'd been little snippets spinning around in his brain about booking a vacation, maybe to somewhere romantic like Italy or Rome or basically anywhere but Paris. Maybe taking Bernard up to the top of Wayne tower and asking him during a picnic, watching their city glitter beneath them.

Something private, just the two of them, cozy and deliberate. A summer proposal to make the best of Gotham’s most recent heatwave.

Bernard loved the sun, would gladly spend all day at the beach and be proposed to at sunset when everything was golden and it felt like they were at the center of the universe. Tim would rather take one of Bruce’s expensive Brucie-Wayne boats and ask while they were bobbing along.

But no matter how much thought he put into it, nothing had felt right. The ring had been in the junk drawer in the kitchen for two weeks, where Bernard would never find it, and Tim still hadn’t been able to figure it out.

A part of him thought maybe he was just being impatient by thinking about it now. It definitely didn’t feel like a romantic moment.

Video games and pajamas. Bernard, shirtless, hair a mess, wearing his oldest and rattiest pair of sweatpants. Tim with his ribs bandaged to hell after a recent fight. Their cat, Nermal, meowing for food in the kitchen while the game’s music looped and the sun sank slowly past the city’s horizon.

But it felt right, better than anything Tim had tried to come up with, closer than any real plan.

And in the moment, it felt perfect. Like a combination of nights in Junior year spent in Bernard's bedroom playing Xbox and the life they had now, a swirling mosaic of their history.

Tim could barely keep his eyes on his phone as Bernard waited for their popcorn to be done in the microwave, dancing around the kitchen to whatever song he had stuck in his head. He kept glancing up to watch, and when he finally caught Bernard’s eye, he couldn’t help his sheepish smile.

The only thought in Tim’s head was the ring hidden less than a yard from where Bernard paused, leaning on the kitchen island to grin at him. “You have something to say, Drake?”

“Nothing.” Tim shrugged. “Is the dancing making it pop faster?”

With a snort, Bernard tossed his head back, pushing away from the counter to groove in a circle. His rhythm was as bad as ever, but somehow, it was charming instead of embarrassing.

Tim watched silently for another moment, then tapped through his phone.

It didn’t take long to connect to their Bluetooth speaker. Tim reached Bernard’s side just as Nat King Cole said L.

“Sap,” Bernard said, slipping his fingers easily into Tim’s.

He was taller, but he let Tim spin him softly anyway, then did the same. His other hand landed on Tim’s hip and guided him closer.

“It’s your playlist.” Tim murmured, tipping his forehead towards Bernard’s.

That was all it took to coax Bernard down, nose to nose with Tim as they swayed. The microwave beeped, L-O-V-E crooning in the background, but the only thing Tim could hear was a soft chuckle, right before Bernard slipped his arm the rest of the way behind Tim to guide him into a goofy spin.

Dancing in the kitchen was one of Tim’s favorite things about living with Bernard. At the boat, they swayed from side to side and did what they could with their limited space. Here at the apartment, it was easier to actually move, whether they were dancing to a pop song or something that sounded like it’d have been on the radio in the 60’s. And either way, it ended with them laughing together.

Late nights, early mornings, middle of the afternoon, it didn’t matter. All Tim cared about was getting these little moments together whenever they could.

The only difference was that, this time, his mind stayed on the junk drawer. 

Across the room, the microwave dinged in reminder. Bernard pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Tim’s lips before pulling away, and Tim let out a breathless snort.

He imagined pulling out the little box, just him and Bernard right here, right now, and a thrill ran up his spine.

The logical part of his brain said to pause and wait. That there would be a better opportunity some other time in a more romantic place. That Bernard would kill someone if he got proposed to while wearing sweatpants that were so old that the elastic was visible in the waist.

But it was Bernard who always said Tim thought too much, that he needed to try and follow his gut more as Tim instead of just as Robin.

His gut was saying to do it.

Carefully, putting his all into keeping the drawer from squeaking, Tim slipped the little black ring box out and into his hand.

Bernard stayed turned away as he pulled down two bowls and opened the microwave, shaking the popcorn bag.

“Bear?” Tim asked, turning the box over between his fingers.

Without even glancing up, attention fully on the popcorn, Bernard hummed.

A little smile played on Tim’s lip as he crossed to stand behind Bernard, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. He slipped his arms easily under Bernard’s and around his waist, hugging him tight.

Even with his eyes closed and Bernard’s back to him, Tim knew the exact second Bernard saw the open ring box in his hand.

It was how his breath hitched, entire body jolting, and how popcorn scattered across the counter as Bernard lost his grip on the bag. It was the choked noise Bernard made, hand flying to grip Tim’s free one like a lifeline.

Resting his chin on Bernard’s shoulder, Tim murmured, “I had a speech planned, but I’m gonna have to give it to you later, because I can’t remember a single word right now.”

Bernard twisted, trying to see Tim over his shoulder. 

Tim let him struggle for a second before letting go, taking a step back, and sinking down to one knee. 

His ribs twinged, but he ignored it, focusing on the way Bernard’s face was flickering between emotions faster than Tim could even begin to track.

Eventually, though, Bernard managed to choke out, “Do you want some suggestions?”

Tim snorted, dropping his head to grin.

“I love you,” Tim said. “I know that was definitely in there somewhere.”

“Maybe throw in something about how handsome I am?” Bernard finally moved, coming down into a crouch right in front of Tim, and cupped his hands around the ring box.

“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I’ll say something about your giant ego.”

Throat bobbing, Bernard shook his head. "You're one to talk."

Tim couldn't help the way his grin grew, completely unable to fight it down as he leaned forwards to give Bernard a firm, almost desperate kiss.

"Bernard Dowd." He mumbled against Bernard's lips.

"Yes." Bernard moved one hand to fit under Tim's chin, not letting him pull away, and said, "One-hundred-percent yes."

"I haven't even asked yet."

"Don't care."

With a chuckle, Tim slipped the box into one hand, using the other to push Bernard's chest until they had a bit of space between them. 

He expected Bernard's eyes to go to the ring, but they stayed glued to his. Bernard's wide, giddy grin didn't falter.

"Bernard Dowd," Tim asked, "will you marry me?"

When he’d been trying to figure out the different aspects of proposing, Tim had asked for a lot of opinions. He’d asked for ideas on rings, on locations, on what to wear.

Most of it had been ignored in the end, but it still meant that he had told most of his family and his and Bernard’s mutual friends in advance. Dick had been the one to go with Tim to look at rings the very first time. Darcy had helped him write the speech he’d never wound up properly giving. Damian had sketched up an idea of a good ring from the different aspects that Tim had compiled, and had gotten eerily close to the one Bernard wound up with.

But in all of it, there’d been two people Tim didn’t tell.

Bruce and Alfred.

He wasn’t sure why, at first. They were his family, he should’ve wanted to tell them, but every time he thought about it, he got a creeping feeling up his spine.

It’d taken waiting for Bernard to explain it for Tim to actually understand. One of the benefits of having a permanent life-partner, he supposed. Bernard was really good at knowing and telling him when he was being an idiot.

“You’re stupidly scared of disappointing Bruce, Tim,” he’d said softly. “And Alfred’s basically your grandpa. You’re taking a giant step here, and you’re worried they’re gonna think you’re making the wrong choice.”

“I don’t need their approval,” Tim had said, frowning.

“Okay, you can say that, but do you actually know it? Every time you do something that’ll change big things, you get like this. You’ve been doing it since highschool.”

It hadn’t felt right at the time. Like Bernard was off the mark, like for once, he didn’t know what he was talking about.

Now, sitting at the Manor’s breakfast nook and waiting for Bruce to look up from his morning newspaper, Tim wasn’t as confident.

He knew that Bruce knew he was waiting, but neither of them broke the silence. Bruce was probably going over a billion possibilities in his mind to try and prepare himself for whatever was gonna come out of Tim’s face.

I convinced Lucius to give the R&D department another funding boost.

I stole another Batmobile.

I’m moving to Star and changing my superhero name to Target, just so I can accidentally steal another brand’s name.

And Tim was just trying to keep himself from blurting anything out before he could figure out the best, most tactful way to say it.

Not because he was scared that Bruce would think he was making the wrong choice. Bernard was wrong about that, he had to be, because Tim had never cared that much about Bruce’s opinion. He was one of the first to tell Batman to fuck off when the time came for it.

It was just that there was always a possibility that Bruce would think he was being reckless, or moving too quickly, or that he ought to just stay with Bernard without marriage, like Dick and Kory.

Bruce had never gotten married. This could totally be a lead-by-example moment.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Tim sank back in the breakfast nook’s booth and ignored the rustle of Bruce turning the page.

Tim prided himself on not being Bruce. He’d been saying it since he first became Robin, had said it to Bruce’s face often enough. They were two completely different people, even with all of their similarities, and Tim never needed to have Bruce’s complete approval to know he was doing the right thing.

How many times had Young Justice done something that Tim knew Bruce would lose his mind over, and how many times had it been exactly what needed to be done?

But this was different, because in this case, if Bruce said it was a mistake, it was probably because he wanted to protect them.

Tim knew the dangers of having a civilian in his life. His father’s blood on his hands, a stain under the skin that he’d never be able to unsee, was proof enough. A boyfriend would be a target for anyone who wanted to hurt Tim badly enough, but a husband was on another level.

He’d thought it through over and over again, but he didn’t have Bruce’s life experience. If this conversation went badly, Tim knew he’d feel swayed, no matter how much he wanted not to be.

Above all else, Tim wanted to protect Bernard, and if Bruce thought that marrying him would put him in danger, then Tim knew he wouldn’t.

With a deep breath, he tapped his nails against the fork Alfred had given him before disappearing. Probably to avoid what he anticipated would be a lengthy and painful conversation, something Tim envied his ability to do, because he would much rather be able to leave than sit here and actually discuss it himself.

It was still better to just get it over with, right? Just buckle down and hash it out now?

But Bruce beat him to the punch.

Setting the newspaper down with a rustle, Bruce gave him a look.

“Tim, you’re going to think a hole through your brain,” he said. “Just tell me whatever it is before you give yourself an aneurysm.”

Tim froze, and against his will, all of his brain cells decided to take that exact moment for their mandatory lunch break.

It felt like he was trying to ignite a steam locomotive with a hair dryer, his mind was so slow. 

They stared at each other for a moment before Bruce dryly asked, “Was I too late?”

“No,” Tim said, picking up the fork and fiddling with it. He poked at his finger with the tines. “Just thinking.”

“Ah.”

“Just—I had a question, I guess.”

Bruce stirred his tea, an eyebrow raised as he watched Tim fidget.

They both knew that Tim wasn’t much of a restless person. He could sit still for hours without budging if he didn’t have an incentive to. Fidgeting and fiddling and fussing weren’t Tim’s thing without reason, and it said something about how on edge Tim was that he couldn’t keep from moving now.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what you’re thinking about,” Bruce said eventually.

“I know,” Tim said.

With a sip of his drink, eyes drifting towards the french doors at the back of the kitchen, Bruce didn’t comment. Tim stayed quiet, passing the fork between his hands.

It wasn’t normally this hard to sit in silence with Bruce. Tim had been his Robin for a decade, he’d learned early on how to deal with lulls in conversation, and his ability to know what Bruce was thinking without either of them saying anything was something Tim prided himself on.

He had no idea what Bruce was thinking right now.

“Are you glad Dick and Kory never got married?” Tim asked quietly.

Bruce raised both eyebrows this time, setting his tea down. “Am I glad?”

“Yeah, like—do you think it was the right decision? They’ve got Mar’i, do you think they ought to get married and everything too, or are you happy that they didn’t?”

“I can’t say I’ve given it much thought. Their personal lives are their business.”

Stomach twisting, Tim asked, “How many times did Dick have to hit you over the head to get you to believe that?”

“Enough.” Bruce’s mouth twitched up. “What’s this really about? Not your brother’s relationship, I assume.”

“I’m just wondering, I mean, anytime we get close to people it puts them at risk, right? Does it make you worry that Dick’s got a weakness like that? If someone targeted Kory, Dick’d be in trouble.”

Bruce settled back in his chair, lips thinning thoughtfully. 

“I think you’re overlooking several things, Tim. Kory is a Tamaranean princess. She’s a warrior, on par with Diana in a training fight. Dick isn’t putting her in danger by being with her. If anything, her enemies would be the larger threat,” Bruce said. “She also makes Dick happy, and both of them say that they aren’t interested in getting married right now. That’s what matters.”

“So you’d be okay with it if they decided tomorrow that they were gonna go get married?”

“As long as it’s for the right reasons.”

Tim gripped the fork tighter, his chest squeezing. “And if Bernard and I..?”

With a shake of his head, Bruce said, “I’d be happy for you both, Tim. Bernard is a fine young man, you make each other happy, and you’ve been together long enough that I feel confident in saying he’s not mind-controlling you into marrying him. I would give you both my blessing at any point.”

The fork clattered against the table as Tim set it down. His heart was in his throat, his eyes stuck on the table, but his dread was slowly dissipating.

He couldn’t even really remember why he’d been worried.

“I proposed,” he said quietly.

“And he said yes,” Bruce said.

“Yeah. Didn’t even let me ask properly.”

Smiling slightly, Bruce took another sip of his tea. “That sounds about right.”

Tim glanced up, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he studied Bruce’s face for any sign of his thoughts.

“Will Alfred be okay with it?” He asked after a moment.

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

Shrugging, Tim shrank back into his shoulders. “Dunno. I just don’t want you guys to think I’m being stupid, or that I’m putting Bernard in harm’s way.”

“Tim, regardless of what you do, Bernard is going to find a way to get himself into trouble. That’s just the way he seems to be,” Bruce said. “Of course there are things you can do to mitigate the damage, but you can’t live your life afraid to be happy just in case it’s taken away. That’s never been what I wanted for you, son.”

“And Alfred? He’s the one who knows the civilian point of view. Will he think I’m fucking things up for Bernard?”

“I think that if Alfred had any reservations about Bernard’s ability to handle being Robin’s partner, he would’ve voiced them long ago. Alfred’s never been one for holding back to spare feelings.”

“Yeah. I guess so,” Tim said quietly.

Bruce sighed, setting his tea aside and putting his hands together.

“Why would you think that Alfred would ever be against you and Bernard getting married?” He asked. “Alfred has practically adopted Bernard as his own, I wouldn’t be surprised if he does a jig when you tell him the news.”

“He’s just kinda superstitious. What if he thinks I’m asking for trouble trying to get married when you and Dick’s marriages didn’t work out? I mean, Bernard and I can barely get through a date without something popping up, what if we really are making a mistake trying to have a wedding?”

Closing his eyes, Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose, then shook his head.

Tim’s stomach flipped as he waited to hear exactly what that face was supposed to mean.

“I’m not sure if I’d call him superstitious, but yes, I see what you mean. He has his own beliefs and habits about what we do. There’s always a possibility that he might think that you’re taking a risk by having a crashable wedding, but he won’t ever make that your problem, and he won’t let any possibility stop him from supporting you.”

“I know,” Tim said, voice quiet.

With another sigh, Bruce shifted, leaning forwards on the table.

“I’ll tell you something that Alfred told me a while back,” Bruce said. “When Bernard began learning about the cave and all of our equipment, Alfred gave him a crash course on the med-bay, and he told me that Bernard was a natural.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling leaked between the bits of dread in Tim’s chest as he said, “Bernard’s always been good with that stuff.”

“So I’ve heard. But that wasn’t what stuck with me. You know that Alfred doesn’t talk about my parents much, Martha and Thomas. He’s even quieter about them than I am. But when he came up from teaching Bernard, he told me that he sees my father in Bernard. They have similar mannerisms, similar ways of working around a hospital room.”

Somehow, the feeling in Tim’s chest bubbled higher, pushing everything else back. He fiddled with his fork to try and dispel some of it without grinning like an idiot.

“Mother and father’s wedding didn’t go off without a hitch, either,” Bruce said with a shake of his head. “It’s one of my favorite stories that Alfred tells. On their wedding day, my father was nearly half an hour late because he had an emergency at the hospital, and then he showed up with blood on his clothes and had to shower before changing into his suit. But the way Alfred tells it, Mother never worried. Not for a moment.”

"Because she knew he'd be there?" Tim asked.

Bruce shook his head. "Because a marriage isn't about the wedding. It's about the love behind it. If Father hadn't arrived on time, they would’ve gone down to the courthouse a different day."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Tim dropped his eyes to the table, and tried to formulate any sort of words from the mush in his brain.

It was like his feelings were at war with themselves. Part of him was glad that Bruce wasn’t disappointed, while another was devoted to the thrill he got up his spine every time someone acknowledged Bernard’s talents, and yet another was still his uneasiness about the whole mess.

Just because Bruce and Alfred would be okay with it didn’t mean nothing could go wrong.

The only thing he managed to come up with was, “The groom running late isn’t exactly the same as a bunch of villains and an out-of-control teammate crashing your wedding.”

“Dick’s always been an overachiever,” Bruce said. “But you’re not your brother, and you’re not your family, Tim. Your wedding isn’t cursed, and it’s not an omen of how your marriage will go. It's just a celebration of you and Bernard.”

As Bruce took another sip of his tea, Tim swallowed hard.

"I just want everything to be perfect for him." He admitted. "Bernard already deals with enough craziness from me and everything I've dragged him into, I want this to be something good for once. No—no rogues, or monsters, or even capes. Just something for us."

"We’ll do everything we can to keep it that way,” Bruce said firmly.

With as easy as telling Tim’s family had wound up being, he’d known that telling the Dowds’ would be difficult. Having good luck twice just wasn’t their thing.

He hadn’t expected it to be this bad, though.

Only being able to hear half the conversation had made it hard for Tim to really gauge how much of a problem Bernard’s parents were being, but he could see it in Bernard’s face, sitting in the chair in the corner of their bedroom as Bernard paced. He could hear every flicker in Bernard’s voice as it rose and dropped and shook.

And then it was over, Bernard mumbling a goodbye before sitting heavily on the edge of the bed, facing away from Tim.

His phone dropped into his lap.

He stared blankly at the wall for a minute, and as much as Tim wanted to go to him, wanted to fix it, he let him have his silence.

Instead, he headed for the living room, shutting the door softly behind him. The least he could do was get some work done while he waited, have something good for Bernard to see when he finally came out of the bedroom. Something that would make him feel a little less defeated.

Tim hoped it would, at least.

There were things to do, like working out a rough budget or creating a website for all the information they wouldn’t be able to fit on the invitations, and some of it was stuff that Tim could do that Bernard could just approve or suggest fixes for later.

And it was a good distraction for Tim, too, keeping his mind away from the crushed look in Bernard’s eyes from the end of the call.

For twenty minutes, Tim sat on the floor in front of the coffee table with his laptop. He scrolled through a couple articles on wedding websites, checked his email, and looked up ideas for suits. His attention was firmly on his work, letting him ignore the eventual sound of the bedroom door creaking open upstairs.

Warm hands landed on his back a minute later, just barely trembling.

Tim stayed focused on his screen and let Bernard slip down so he was sitting behind Tim, knees on either side of him, arms around his waist. 

His face pressed into the bit of bare skin between Tim's shirt and the ends of his hair.

"Today sucks." Bernard mumbled, breath ghosting over Tim's skin.

With a gentle hum, Tim leaned back against his chest.

"They're supposed—" Cutting himself off, Bernard huffed a breath. Tried again. "They're supposed to be my parents. How did they fuck it up this bad?"

Tim stayed quiet. He tipped his head up so he was looking at Bernard's chin and the side of his face.

He didn't want to break whatever this was, to be the reason Bernard's irritation shattered into tears. He could feel the precipice Bernard was balancing on. It could become desperate sobs just as easily as it could become Bernard disappearing down to the gym for an hour to punch his feelings into a bag.

"I said you proposed," Bernard said.

Fingers tightening on Tim's sides, harsh but never bruising, never painful, Bernard's eyes clenched shut.

"Bear." Tim murmured.

"They told me—the first thing they said was that they weren't paying for anything. No congratulations, no questions about the ring or you or—just money. It's just about the money to them."

Tim stayed quiet, moving his hand so it was resting on the outside of Bernard’s knee, and rubbed gently.

“It’s the same thing they did after Grieves. We got the money from the lawsuit and they sent me to a new school without even thinking about how I—”

He broke off. Sniffing, he dropped his face to rest in Tim’s hair.

“Bernard, I’m so sorry,” Tim said quietly.

“It’s so fucked,” Bernard said hoarsely. His chest hitched against Tim’s shoulders, the first stray tears slipping down. “What’d I do to get such assholes as my parents? What’s so wrong with me that this is what I’m stuck with?”

Tim shifted, turning so he was kneeling in front of Bernard, and cupped his face. "Bear."

“I didn’t do anything to them.”

His voice cracked right down the middle, and Tim's heart squeezed.

This was the kind of conversation Tim dreaded having. There wasn’t anything he could do to fix it for Bernard. Nothing he could tell him that would make it better. The most he could do was let Bernard lean on him to cry, but even that was a temporary bit of support, an ibuprofen before a surgery.

"You’re not responsible," he said anyway, swiping his thumb softly over Bernard's cheek. "Bernard, you didn't get a say in what kind of people your parents decided to be. It's not your fault."

Bernard turned his face into Tim's hand, cheeks blotchy and pale, and sucked in a breath. "I know."

"If they think you're only telling them good news so you can ask for money or a favor or something, that says a lot more about them than it does you. Their minds jumped there because it's what they'd do."

“But even when I told them—they still said they didn’t want to be there. I could’ve handled them being angry, but they were just so fucking passive.”

Carefully, Tim straightened up so he could kiss Bernard’s forehead. He smoothed his thumbs over Bernard’s skin and wiped away as many tears as he could.

“Bernard.” He murmured. “I’m sorry, sunshine. I wish I could fix this.”

Trembling fingers came up to curl around Tim’s, pressing them closer to Bernard’s face, and Bernard shook his head.

“S’not your fault.”

“It’s not yours either,” Tim said.

For a long moment, Bernard stayed quiet. Tim expected him to say something eventually, but all he got was a squeeze of his hands as Bernard looked down.

It was that kind of look that said Bernard was done with a conversation but wasn’t ready to admit it, hesitant eyes and a tremble that wouldn’t go away, and Tim’s heart twisted.

Softly, he asked, “do you wanna do some work to distract you? We were gonna look at suits, I can attach my laptop to the TV, see them on a bigger screen.”

Bernard blinked away his tears with a shaky breath, mumbling, “I don’t think I can handle any more today. M’sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Tim soothed. “That’s why I asked.”

“Can we just—sit here?”

Nodding, Tim dropped his forehead to press against Bernard’s.

It only took a second for Bernard to let go of Tim’s hands and grip his shirt instead, curling his fingers to gently pull  Tim down. Once Tim was situated, Bernard’s arms went directly around his shoulders to hold him close, and his warm breath ghosted over Tim’s hair.

“Love you.” Bernard mumbled.

Tim kissed Bernard’s collarbone through his thin t-shirt. “Sap.”

Listening to thunder crash outside, watching Bernard make himself a snack in the boat’s tiny kitchen, Tim absentmindedly ran his thumbs over the corners of his laptop screen. 

He leaned back against the wall beside the bed as Bernard continued, “Do you wanna go to a church or something?"

Tim shook his head. "Nah. My mom might've wanted me to, but honestly, the few times I've set foot in religious areas haven't been all that great. Ever been stabbed with a flaming sword? Because I’d rather not have a repeat at my wedding."

"Bookmark, I wanna know that story later. How about a park?"

"Nah, too much of a risk of Ivy crashing it. Destination wedding?"

"I don't like planes."

"We could take a boat. I'd buy you a boat." Tim mumbled. He turned his attention to his laptop, propped on his crossed legs. "I could buy another boat."

He hit a few keys on the keyboard. A new page opened, but before he could begin searching, hands slipped around his waist from the side.

Bernard gently tugged until Tim leaned in, awkward and sideways with his laptop jamming against his ribs.

"We are not—" Bernard said into Tim's ear, kissing it with a fond chuckle. "—buying another boat. One is enough."

"We could use it for the honeymoon." Tim tried.

“If we need to buy a boat to go to the honeymoon, then we’ll have one of your friends carry us. I’m sure Bart would be happy to help.”

“Bernard—”

“No more boats.”

With a sigh, Tim pushed his laptop away and curled into Bernard’s side. It landed somewhere on the bed, but he didn’t bother to check, too busy asking, “What about a cruise? We could still do a destination, but not have to worry about planes or anything.”

“Tim, we’re looking at a Spring wedding, why would we waste an opportunity like that on going somewhere we’ve never even been? Gotham in the spring is gorgeous.”

“You’ve never been to Hong Kong,” Tim said.

Rolling his eyes, Bernard said, “You’re obsessed.”

“I just wanna make sure everything’s perfect.”

“You wanna make sure we’re far enough away from anybody you’ve ever pissed off that they can’t possibly crash the wedding, but we could literally go to space without being able to pull that off. You’ve probably got enemies in every Green Lantern sector.”

“Only a few,” Tim said.

“C’mon, you can’t decide based on what might possibly happen if we’re unlucky,” Bernard said. “I’m only planning on having one of these, so it’d better be what we want, not whatever’s the most bubble-wrapped option.”

Leaning his head on Bernard’s shoulder, Tim shrugged, and very purposefully kept his mouth shut.

There were a lot of things Tim would apologize for in their relationship, like his flakiness and the times Bernard had to sit in the med-bay waiting to hear if he was a widower at twenty-five, but this wasn’t one of them. Protecting Bernard would never be something he’d feel guilty for.

Of everything Tim loved in the world, Bernard was one of the most important. He was the spotlight in the gloom, cutting through everything and reminding him about all of the stuff Tim could get sidetracked from by what he saw every night. If anything happened to him, especially because of Tim, it’d rock Tim to his core.

That didn’t mean Bernard was happy about it.

His sigh echoed through his chest and reverberated into Tim’s bones, but he pulled them closer together anyway, pressing his lips to Tim’s scalp.

Chapter Text

Of all the things Tim knew would be required for preparing for a wedding, the guest list was one of the ones he was dreading the most.

A new person popped into his head every time he turned around. His family, of course. The Foxes. Tim’s friends, past and present, Bernard’s old college roommate, Charlie, a few key coworkers from W.E. Heroes he was close to and who would be able to come in their civilian I.D’s and fly under the radar, like Clark.

The last thing Tim wanted, besides maybe Doomsday crashing his wedding, was for their very civilian guests to realize one of the grooms was really a vigilante.

But as much of a problem as Tim was having with it, Bernard seemed to be struggling even more.

He dodged it every time they looked at the to-do list they’d made. When Tim mentioned hiring a planner to help them go over everything, Bernard went quiet. Dick asked about how many people they were looking at and Bernard changed the topic as soon as he reasonably could.

It wasn’t like they didn’t have time if they put it off. They were looking at a spring wedding, and it was still early summer.

But it wasn’t normal for Bernard to stay this quiet about something that was bothering him.

Maybe when they’d first started dating and Bernard was worried about being too needy, but they were five years into their relationship, and Bernard knew better. Their last real communication issue had been Robin.

Whatever it was, Tim wanted to get it figured out sooner rather than later.

But while Tim hadn’t expected Bernard to be happy about him bringing it up again, he really hadn’t been expecting Bernard to pause where he was stirring dinner, face crumpling like he’d eaten something rotten.

“Yeah,” Bernard said quietly, tapping the ladle on the side of the pot. “Okay, we can work on it.”

Tim watched carefully as Bernard put the lid on the soup, stepping aside to lean against the counter, all while avoiding Tim’s eyes. He crossed his arms, making Tim’s gut twist.

It wasn’t like him to be like that. There was something more than just wedding planning stress going on, and the part of Tim’s brain devoted to being a detective was working overtime trying to figure it out.

They’d had little disagreements about things like the venue and the budget, but aside from Bernard saying that they shouldn’t blow Tim’s money on one day, there hadn’t seemed to be anything bothering him. That at least made Tim think it wasn’t about the size of the wedding, which is where his mind had first jumped.

And while there was a distinct chance that Bernard had his own opinions on who Tim ought to skip inviting, he’d never shied away from saying he didn’t like someone before. They were both comfortable saying when someone made them uncomfortable or if they had a gut feeling. The first time Bernard met Jason, he’d made it abundantly clear that he was unnerved before he even knew about him being the Red Hood or the attempts on Tim’s life.

Bernard wasn’t having second thoughts about the actual marriage, either. He’d spent the last few weeks calling Tim his fiancé every chance he got.

But if it wasn’t any of those, then Tim had no idea what the problem was.

Quietly, Tim slipped out of his seat at the kitchen island, drifting closer to the stove. “Bear, if there’s something bothering you, I wanna know. That’s why I want us to work on it together.”

With a shake of his head, Bernard pulled the front of his shirt so the collar wasn’t sitting against his neck.

That was enough to make Tim pause by the sink.

He knew Bernard almost as well as he knew himself, and when he started tugging at his clothes, it meant proceed with caution. Bernard getting overwhelmed almost always ended with him in tears, which definitely wasn’t where Tim wanted this conversation going.

“Would it be easier if we worked on it separately?” Tim asked softly. “You can just send me a list of who you wanna invite, then I’ll add it together with mine, and we can go over that together.”

“No, it’s—” Bernard’s voice was hoarse, and it made Tim’s brain kick into overdrive with the urge to fix it. “I dunno.”

“It’s okay. We’ve got time.”

“You’re right, though. We’ve gotta get started, it doesn’t make any sense to keep putting it off.”

Slowly, carefully, Tim slid closer to the stove. He kept a careful distance between them, close enough that Bernard could close it if he wanted, but not pressuring him.

Bernard kept his hands to himself instead of reaching out to take one of Tim’s, meaning that it was definitely the right choice.

But Tim’s new spot meant that he could see Bernard’s face more clearly. He could catch the little flickers of expressions that were only there for a nano-second before disappearing. Bernard tucked his upper lip into his mouth, and Tim saw the distant look in his eyes before he glanced over.

“It’s my parents.” He admitted quietly.

The weight in his voice made Tim's chest ache.

"Oh," he said softly.

“I hate them.” Bernard lifted himself onto the counter, eyes sinking closed. “I hate that I want them there.”

It took most of Tim’s self control to keep his vitriol to himself, swallowing the less kind, significantly unhelpful thoughts.

Instead, he reached over and gently squeezed Bernard’s knee. “They’re your parents, of course you want them at your wedding.”

“But they’ve made it pretty damn obvious that they don’t wanna be there, and it’s not the first time they’ve decided my decisions aren’t good enough for them. I should be over it by now.”

Tim had words on the tip of his tongue, reassurances and soft murmurs, but Bernard kept going with his hands clutching at the edge of the counter.

“I don’t even know who’s gonna walk me down the aisle, Tim. Or who I’m gonna spend my bachelor party with, or what I’m gonna do the morning of the wedding before the first look, or—I don’t know any of it.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “And I wanna do that stuff. God, I want to.”

Heart twisting, Tim reached over and turned off the burner with a click, moving the pot back away from the edge. He slotted himself into place between Bernard’s knees and smoothed his thumb over Bernard’s hand.

“The only people I really have that aren’t you or your family are Darcy and Charlie.” Bernard continued quietly. “One of your old friends and my roommate from college aren’t exactly the people someone would expect to be in a wedding party.”

“Who cares about the expectations? Bernard, if you love them, then that’s all that matters. Both of them would be happy to be there.”

“I know, I just—” Sniffing, Bernard wiped his free hand over his face. “Most of the time, I can just ignore how isolated I am. I have you and Nermal, why would I spend time worrying about the fact that my parents are assholes or that I can count all of my friends on one hand? Why would I focus on all the fucking shitty things that I’ve gone through? Tim, you make it so easy to forget all the bullshit, but the wedding is really starting to screw me over.”

Chest tight, Tim brought Bernard’s hand up to kiss his knuckles, and tried to think of anything at all to say.

The problem was that Bernard wasn’t wrong.

Normally when they hung out with people, it was Tim’s friends. It was Young Justice or Ives or even Darcy, who had been Tim’s friend far longer than she’d been Bernard’s. They’d meet up with the Waynes, but never with the Dowds. Bernard spent most of his free time either with Tim or alone.

Tim had thought about it a few times, but Bernard had never seemed bothered. They hadn’t talked it over. It was just how it was.

In high school, Tim never would’ve expected it, not with how good Bernard was at blending between cliques. He’d said it himself, he was a roving ambassador between everyone. He had the extraordinary finesse to do it and do it well, even as dorky as Tim could admit he’d always been, and it wouldn’t have made any sense back then for Bernard to be this alone.

But that’d been before the shooting and before the cult, and things had changed. Bernard was quieter, more reserved than he’d ever been then. It made sense.

Except that, apparently, it bothered Bernard more than Tim had ever known.

Tim’s focus was dragged back to the present by Bernard tugging his hand away.

“M’sorry. I’m not trying to be—sorry.”

“Why’re you apologizing?” Tim asked softly. “Bear, it’s our wedding. You’re allowed to want stuff.”

Swallowing hard, throat bobbing, Bernard glanced up at Tim. The tears slipping down his face made Tim suck in a breath. “But you can’t fix any of it. I’m dumping problems on you when you’re already stressed about everything else, that's not fair.

Tim slipped a hand up to cup Bernard’s cheek. It left a smear of potato under his eye from where Tim had grabbed the soup pot, but Bernard barely seemed to notice, too busy slumping forwards to rest his head on Tim’s shoulder.

“I wanna know what you’re thinking, Bernard. If there’s anything I can do to make this more fun for you, I’ll do it, okay? Anything.” Tim murmured.

“But you can’t.”

“You sure?”

“Not without bribing someone to be friends with me. And if you got my parents to come, it’d be a miracle, I swear. They hate you and barely even like me.”

There were a million thoughts floating around in Tim’s mind, a dozen ways to say you don’t need them, but that wouldn’t make Bernard feel any better.

He knew he didn’t need his parents. He hadn’t needed them since he was a kid. But that didn’t stop him from wanting them, or at least the version of them they should’ve been. 

An actual set of parents who gave a fuck when he got kidnapped. Who cared enough to put aside their petty dislike of his boyfriend, who could suck it up for a day to go to his wedding.

Instead, Tim ran his hand up and down Bernard’s back. “I’m not bribing anyone, not unless you ask me to. And this is on our timetable. The benefits of Bruce’s money, if you decide you want extra time to figure this stuff out, just say the word. I’ll put everything on pause myself.”

Bernard rubbed his face on Tim’s shirt, chest hitching with either a chuckle or a sob.

“Don’t do that.” He mumbled. “This…I dunno. Yeah, I wanna have friends there and stuff, but the important part is you and me. As long as I’ve got you, that’s all I need.”

"It's better to have one person you love than a crowd you don't."

With a hollow nod, Bernard mumbled, “And I do love you.”

Gently, Tim combed his fingers through Bernard's hair. 

“I love you too. And my family—well, I think Alfred's already claimed you as his. Didn't expect to be booted out of the running for favorite grandkid when we started dating."

Bernard turned his face into Tim's neck, warm, uneven breath ghosting over his neck and arms coming up to drape over his shoulders.

"Good thing I'm gonna be an official part of the family soon," Bernard said quietly. "The grandson-in-law being the favorite…who would'a thunk."

He let out a shaky little breath that made Tim pull him in, bumping against the counter just to hold Bernard tighter, pressing his face to Bernard’s hair and inhaling softly.

For a moment, they just sat there, tangled together.

Tim wished he could be sure what Bernard was thinking. Get inside his head and know whether or not he was okay, if he was still hiding anything to try and keep Tim calm before the wedding.

But Tim had to trust that if something were still wrong, Bernard would admit it this time.

If he pushed, Bernard would just get quieter. More aloof.

Tim had to walk a careful line when Bernard was upset. Too much sympathy or pressure and Bernard would pull away, but not caring enough would make him feel rejected. It was more of a balancing act than some of the tightrope moves Tim had seen Dick pull off, but he wouldn't change it.

It was just a part of loving Bernard.

Eventually, with a shrill beep from the timer that Tim had never shut off letting them know they should be taking the soup off the heat, Bernard stiffly pulled away. “You should—we should finish dinner.”

Tim let his hand trail down Bernard’s hair, slipping off his chin.

“It’s okay. I’m not that hungry anyway,” Tim said.

But Bernard didn’t lift his head. Didn’t make any move to look at Tim at all, or to go back to leaning on him, or even just to get down.

After a long moment, Tim put a hand on Bernard’s knee, squeezing gently. “Okay.”

He was genuinely going to let go and get back to handling the soup, but one of Bernard's hands curled around his wrist before he could move.

Still looking at the ground, Bernard mumbled, “thanks.”

“Course,” Tim said softly, cupping the back of his head and gently tilting it up so they were looking at each other. “Bear, you’re my priority. Your happiness, your health…and in a few months, I’ll be reading the vows to prove it.”

Bernard pressed their forehead together. “You say that like you haven’t proven yourself about a billion times.”

With a small smile, Tim pressed his lips to Bernard's.

"Go get settled on the couch." He murmured. "I'll get the food done, then we can watch a movie or something."

It said something about how much their conversation had taken out of Bernard that he didn't protest, only slipping off the counter with a sigh.

Then he was gone, leaving Tim to put the soup back on and turn the heat up.

The most time consuming part was long done, all the vegetables washed and chopped, so it didn't take too much time to finish up. He even skipped putting it away for the time being just so he could go and slip into place beside Bernard.

And if they wound up falling asleep on the couch, limbs tangled and the TV murmuring in the background, then the guest list could be done another day.

No matter how old Tim got, standing by and watching Bruce tap away at the computer made him feel thirteen all over again.

It was the smell of Alfred’s tea, chamomile tonight, mixing with damp stone and the lingering kevlar. It was how, even though the cave had been damaged and repaired so many times since Tim first saw it, the shadows never seemed to change. It was the fact that Bruce was over a decade older and yet his posture was the same, his silhouette against the screens hardly any different at all.

Unclipping his cape and draping it over a railing, Tim headed towards the computer with a steadying breath.

He didn’t bother to change out of his full suit. Assuming this conversation went well, he’d change after. And if it somehow didn’t, then he’d want the support of the Robin colors.

“B,” Tim said.

The clicking of the keyboard didn’t stop, but Bruce sounded completely focused on Tim when he said, “it’s late, chum. You should be in bed.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

That, at least, got Bruce to pause.

“We were thinking,” Tim said, fidgeting with his belt. “Bernard and I, I mean.”

Bruce gave him a scrutinizing look over his shoulder. “About the wedding?”

“Yeah.”

Tapping a few buttons on the Batcomputer, Bruce turned the chair around, lending Tim his full attention.

“What can I help with?” Bruce asked. “I’m sure you’ve already been planning it all out.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ve been making a lot of progress. We’ve got the date, we’re narrowing down who we want the officiant to be, uh—now we’re thinking about the venue.”

This time, the look wasn’t so much scrutinizing as it was dissecting, as much x-ray vision as anything Tim had ever seen from the Supers. The only difference was that Bruce was pulling apart Tim’s mind and picking out an answer.

Batman as he was, it only took a minute for Bruce to say, “you want to use the manor.”

Tim gave him a rueful smile.

“You’ll have to take it up with Alfred,” Bruce said, “but I don’t see any reason why not. You can have it outdoors or in the ballroom if you’d prefer.”

A bit of the rolling, irrational anxiety in Tim’s stomach smoothed out, and he stood up a little straighter.

“We’re looking at something outdoors, at least for now. An evening wedding.”

With an approving nod, Bruce tapped his nails on the arm of his chair. “You can see the stars from the manor’s back lawn, assuming it isn’t too cloudy. And I’m sure you have a friend or two who could help with the weather.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time Kon’s used his TTK to mess with some clouds,” Tim said.

“Then I think it’s a fine idea. Send me any information you think I’ll need to get things prepared, I’ll have it done.”

He started to turn his chair back around, but Tim stepped forwards and put his hand out. Bruce took it with a small smile, allowing himself to be pulled up, out of his seat, and into a hug.

“Thanks, B,” Tim said into Bruce’s shoulder.

For all of its faults, Tim wasn’t sure if there was a prettier thing than Blüdhaven at sunset.

He swung to the next part of the scaffolding he was standing on, making sure that he was on a secure landing before pulling out his phone to take a photo of the gold reflecting off the office building across the way. The clouds drifting across the sky were a swirl of pink and orange, and it was the exact sort of thing Bernard loved to see.

Tim could picture the way he’d smile when he saw it down to the crinkles beside his eyes, the ones that hadn’t been there only a few years earlier. How he’d study the photo for a minute before sending back some joke about texting while hero’ing.

Not that Tim was doing much of that tonight. He wasn’t in Blüdhaven for business, even if he was in his suit a good two hundred feet above street-level.

And his personal motivation showed up right on time, a shadow slipping between metal beams until Nightwing was perched beside him.

Tim stowed his phone with a grin. “About time.”

“Sorry for the delay. Vic was installing a constellation screen in Mar’i’s ceiling and needed me to help him translate the Tamaranean until Kory got home,” Dick said. “Besides, you’re dragging me out here while there’s still daylight. I think I get a bit of a pass.”

“Out of the two of us, that should definitely be my excuse. You and the Titans operate in midday all the time,” Tim said.

Dick leapt for the next part of the scaffolding, grabbing one of the support beams to swing along, and called, “Probably!”

With a sigh, Tim followed along behind.

He hadn’t exactly imagined this would be what they were doing when he’d called Dick up to see if he was busy, but he should’ve known. Unless it was an emergency, neither of them ever wanted to waste their little bit of brotherly bonding time on getting right down to the reason for it. It only made the rest of their night feel useless.

It was just that this time, Tim felt like he had a billion carnivorous butterflies trying to chew through his stomach lining, and that made him a bit anxious to get to the point.

They landed on the last beam before open air, and Dick half-turned to glance up at him.

“Mar’i wanted me to tell you to come by for dinner,” Dick said. “She and Kory are making pizzas.”

“Yeah? Is mine gonna have Canadian bacon and artichoke hearts?” Tim asked.

“You need way more cool uncle points than you have to make us do that, pal.”

With a snort, Tim shifted forwards on the balls of his feet. He could hear the distant buzz of one of the new Blüdhaven Intercity Trains, and knew to ready himself if he wanted to keep up with Dick. Based on where they were and what Tim remembered of the train lines before Blüdhaven’s last remodel, it was probably the Blüdhaven-Metropolis train.

He sprang off the scaffolding at the same moment as Dick, both of them falling in an arc towards the elevated railway.

Even with years of practice, Tim’s landing was nowhere as smooth as Dick’s. His foot slipped out from under him and he had to recover, while Dick came up in an easy roll, as graceful as ever. If Tim didn’t know better, he’d think Flying Graysons could defy time as well as they could defy gravity.

“So,” Tim said eventually, once the train had straightened out of the curve it’d been on and he and Dick were both safely on their feet, leaning into the wind.

Dick shifted closer, raising an eyebrow. “Is this the part where you tell me someone’s pregnant? Or is this an actual visit instead of a murder attempt?”

Rolling his eyes, Tim gripped the side of his cape and balled it up in his hand to stop the snapping from drowning his voice out.

“It’s about Bernard,” he said. “Me and Bernard.”

“Yeah? Surprised we’re up here if Bernard’s involved,” Dick said with a grin.

Tim made a face, resisting the urge to flip Dick off.

He wasn’t wrong. Bernard never liked the idea of him doing something as reckless as train surfing, but it was a tradition. Going to Blüdhaven without hitching a ride at least once was just a wasted trip.

And besides, Tim did plenty of other, more reckless things. Bernard was just picky about this one because he thought it was unnecessary, and he only thought that because Tim had never dragged him up to do it.

Maybe one day he’d actually think about it. Bernard was just stupid enough with himself to be down, and Tim told himself that he’d be willing to put aside his own overprotective tendencies to do it, especially if he had Dick with him to keep Bernard from becoming a smudge on the pavement below.

Tonight, though, that wasn’t the focus. He had one mission, and it wasn’t convincing Bernard that he didn’t have to make that worried, reluctant face he made whenever Tim mentioned going to Blüdhaven.

“He’s cool with it this time,” Tim said. “We thought it was worth it.”

Dick’s expression shifted, flickering into something closer to the look he got whenever he was trying to guess a problem, and Tim’s stomach flipped.

He reminded himself that the odds of Dick saying no to this were pretty low. He knew they were. Bernard had said as much. When Tim had mentioned he was nervous, Bernard had snorted so hard that salsa nearly shot out his nose.

He’s your brother, Bernard had garbled out, pinching his nose. I think you could ask him to help you fight Doomsday and he’d say yes.

Tim couldn’t even argue that. He’d seen Dick fight for him before, he’d seen Dick kill for him before, beating the Joker bloody in the name of two fallen Robins. A wedding was a much smaller ask in the grand scheme of things.

“I want you to be my best man.” Tim shouted over the roar of the train.

And just like that, the train turned into a curve, and Dick lost his balance at the same moment.

Tim reached for him, but Dick recovered before he could do more than just grab Dick’s shoulder. 

Neither of them spoke as they crossed over the Bellows Interchange, the traffic too loud to bother trying to holler over. It also gave Dick a moment to catch his breath, his face unreadable.

By the time they reached the other side, Tim’s chest was about ready to burst from nerves.

“Are you sure?” Dick asked once it was quiet enough to hear, only the wind buffeting their ears, and clasped Tim’s arm in return. “Tim, that’s an important choice. Don’t just pick me because I’m your big brother. I won’t hold it against you if you want Kon or Duke or someone to do it instead.”

Tim shook his head, smiling firmly.

“I want you to be my best man,” he said again. “Me and Bernard talked about it, and it was a tough decision, but I want you to do it. There’s no one else I’d rather have behind me, in the field or at the altar.”

Seconds ticked by as he watched Dick watch him, that familiar look that said he was making sure Tim was being genuine.

Then Dick grinned. “I’d be happy to, pal. I’m honored.”

Leaning into him, Tim wrapped an arm around his back and smiled.

“Kory and Mar’i are invited too, of course. And I’d be thrilled if you could make it for the rehearsal dinner and everything.”

“We’ll be there if you come for pizza tonight,” Dick said.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

No matter how many times Tim saw it, he couldn’t quite make sense of Bernard and Young Justice in the same space.

It was two very different worlds colliding.

Bernard, simple and civilian in his oversized hoodie, stupidly ripped jeans, and ugly socks. Young Justice, sprawled out over the room, unable to be completely subtle even in normal clothes. It was like watching Gods sit on a couch with a mortal man.

Except Tim only had eyes for the mortal, too busy worshiping the ground he walked on to even see anybody else, and when he headed for the living room to sit with the others, he headed straight for Bernard.

“Bart back with the food yet?” Tim asked, dropping into his seat and leaning into Bernard’s side with a smile.

Bernard’s arm snaked around his waist, effectively hiding the ring behind him.

In the twenty minutes the gang had been at Tim and Bernard's apartment, Tim had seen Bernard tuck his hand behind a pillow, drop his ring in a potted plant, and finger-comb his own hair just to keep anyone from seeing it.

It was honestly funny to watch him dodge around everyone. As far as Tim could tell, no one had noticed he was even acting strangely.

“About a minute out.” Cissie reported. “He just texted, asked if you wanted fries or onion rings.”

“Onion rings,” Tim said.

“We know. Bernard already said,” Kon said, chuckling. "Two years ago, we couldn't have convinced you to eat those if the universe hung in the balance."

"My influence is great," Bernard said with a smirk.

"It's not that serious. It’s not baseball." Tim said.

"No, for that, you'd call me." Cisse muttered.

"Oh for fucks sake, would you let that go?" Cassie asked.

"Somehow, I don't think so," Anita said. "It's only been about half a decade. Why lose the grudge now?"

Curling her legs closer with a smile, Greta asked, "would she really be Cissie if she didn't complain about that every time?"

"At this point, I think she does it just to get me to give her my food," Cassie said.

"Is it working?" Cissie asked.

"No."

Before Cissie could kick Cassie off the part of the couch they were sharing, there was a burst of wind and the crinkle of paper bags, leaving Bart standing over the coffee table.

"Got it!" He said, slamming the bags onto the table. "B-r-b with the d-r-i-n-k-s."

And then he was gone again.

Bernard grinned, leaning forwards to snatch a fry poking out from the top of the nearest bag. "World's best delivery service. Nice."

“Yeah, until he gets lost in Rome and breaks his phone, so he has to buy a paper map,” Kon said.

“It took him so long to get back that we thought he’d gotten kidnapped,” Anita said.

“And thus, the Bart tracker was born.” Tim stole a fry for himself. “I have to replace it every few weeks because he loses it or it breaks, but at least he doesn’t get lost as often.”

He paused, his internal clock ticking, then pointed at the door.

Bart came whooshing through.

“Bingo,” Tim said confidently.

With a raised eyebrow, Bernard asked, “how the fuck did you time that?”

“You get used to it,” Cassie said. “Hang out with Bart enough and you get a sixth sense for him.”

“I just hear him coming.” Kon shrugged.

“Not me,” Greta said. “I had no idea where he was.”

“Can we get to the food now?” Bart asked.

He set the cardboard trays of drinks down on the table, then zipped around to flop onto the couch beside Cissie and Cassie. Cissie dragged his feet into her lap before he could start kicking at her side.

Anita snagged her drink first, the only one from Wawa, while Greta took hers, a boba from a small shop in Gotham.

With a nudge from Bernard, Tim leaned forwards to grab his vanilla shake and Bernard’s cherry from the burger joint downtown. “Here you go, your highness.”

“Thank you,” Bernard said. “Gimme some of yours too.”

“Fuck you.”

Bernard moved to kick him, but Tim dodged, stealing the cherry shake back to dump a little of his own vanilla right on top with his spoon. He stole a bite of the cherry with a smile.

He’d been planning on passing the shake back, but before he could, Kon said, “holy shit.”

Every head in the room jerked up at the same moment, except for Bernard.

Superboy saying something like holy shit typically came before he was pummeled with a falling ceiling, hit upside the head by a talking Gorilla, or watched Bart jump off a roof without a plan. Young Justice reacted to him yelling like most people reacted to the words fire or grenade.

But then everyone followed Kon’s eyes to Bernard’s ring finger.

"Oh my God," Cissie said at the same moment Cassie said, "oh, Hera."

"You're kidding us." Anita reached for his hand.

"What?" Bart asked. "What am I miss—oh, holy shit."

Greta clapped. "Congratulations! When are you having the wedding?"

"In the Spring,” Tim said, handing Bernard his shake with a smile he knew was all sorts of gooey. "We were hoping you guys would be able to make it, barring any world-ending crises or lack of babysitters."

Anita made a face, saying, "I'll figure it out. Don't you worry, I'm not missing this for anything."

“And forget the world, dude, you’re getting married.” Kon said.

“You showed up late for your own brother’s wedding. Forgive me for my skepticism,” Tim said.

“Yeah, but so did Jon and Jay, and we were all fighting together."

"That could totally happen again," Bart said.

"I really don’t think Bernard’s gonna be busting out some sick punches in a suit.”

Saliva turning abruptly sour, Tim shook his head. “No.”

“Maybe,” Bernard said.

“No.”

“Kidding.” He pressed a kiss to Tim’s temple, soft and warm. It didn’t fix the churning in his stomach. “Nobody’s getting into any fights on anybody’s wedding day.”

“I mean, with the track records…” Bart mused.

“Not helpful,” Cissie said.

“I was supposed to be being helpful?”

Tim took a measured breath, leaning into Bernard's side, earning a gentle shoulder rub.

The way Bernard smiled down at him made it seem like he could feel Tim getting tenser the longer the conversation went on.

It was the exact sort of problems Tim’d been worried about before. The exact stuff he’d been paranoid over since the second he proposed.

The last thing Tim wanted at his wedding was for Bernard of all people to be in danger. He could handle a fight himself, he could handle his family or friends having to leap to their defense, but if Bernard were to be in the middle of it, Tim would never forgive himself.

Reluctantly, Tim swallowed and tuned back into the conversation instead of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“It wouldn't be a question if Slobo was here,” Anita was saying.

"God, Slobo," Cassie said. "That definitely would've turned the wedding into a brawl."

"Slobo was better than that. He would've understood." Tim forced his voice to stay steady.

"He tried to pick a fight with all of us on a daily basis, except for 'Nita and Greta," Kon said.

Greta shifted, hugging her knees. "But he liked all of us, deep down. He probably would've even worn a suit if Tim asked."

"Yeah, remember how Tim used to go all Batman on him?" Bart asked, making Bat ears with his fingers. "Slobo backed down. One solid no and Tim would have him falling in line."

"And if not, we could've always hypnotized him again. That worked sooo well the first time," Cassie said.

Tim shifted uncomfortably, hand finding Bernard's by instinct.

It only took Bernard a second to look down and smooth his thumb over Tim's.

With how they were sitting now, it was a little hard to tell his exact expression, but Tim could still spot the little flicker is it changed.

"Y’know," Bernard said, and Tim was sure he was the only one who heard the tense undercurrent, "We ought to get some wine out or something. An actual celebration."

Bart clapped his hands together, only for Cissie to hit him with a pillow. "Your metabolism doesn't even let you feel it, Scarecrow."

"Yeah, but it still tastes good! And seeing you guys get tipsy is funny."

"Then you go get it, because we're out," Tim said.

Just like that, Bart was gone again, and Anita and Kon reached for their food while they waited.

Tim's stomach was still churning, but he took a sip of his shake anyway, just to look normal.

_ _ _ _ _

Considering who he was with, where he was laying, and the fact that he'd spent the past few weeks stressing, Tim should've expected the wine to knock him out.

He still found himself a little surprised, if dully, when he peeled his eyes apart to quiet murmurs and a significantly darker room.

"Yeah, he's out," Bernard was saying with a chuckle. "Should've seen it coming."

"Really? Because most of the time I see him drink, he's totally fine," Greta said.

"But that's at important parties." Kon pointed out.

Anita said, "It's still a pretty big difference, even if he throws half of it in potted plants and pulls switch-a-roos."

"But he's not comfortable there. Tim's like a really picky cat, how tired he lets himself get is super dependent on how safe he feels," Cassie said.

A hand rubbed lazily up and down Tim's arm, Bernard's touch familiar no matter how groggy Tim felt. "It took him ages to start falling asleep around me. First time he did, I stayed awake for an hour just trying not to move and wake him up."

With a smatter of laughter from the room, Bernard tucked a bit of hair behind Tim's ear.

Tim hummed sleepily.

"Bart, clean up, will you?" Cassie asked quietly. Her voice sounded distant, like she was underwater. "We ought to get out of their hair."

"Don't worry about it. It's not that late," Bernard said.

"Tim's literally passed out in your lap." Fingers drifted through Tim's hair, calloused from years of archery even now, and Cissie chuckled. "Surprised he didn't fall asleep after the first few sips."

There was a smattering of laughter, Bernard's chest rumbling soothingly under Tim's ear.

"I can carry him to bed." Cassie offered.

"Mm." Bernard's thumb drifted over Tim's skin. "He'll be up soon, probably come right back down to get a snack. Easier to just stay here and watch TV until he wakes up."

"M'wake." Tim mumbled, forcing his tired eyes open.

Another little burst of laughter, and then Bart was leaning over the back of the couch, braced on Bernard's shoulder.

Bernard, for his part, didn't even look surprised.

"You're literally exhausted," Bart said. "Like, are we sure Bernard isn't a meta with drowsy powers? Because, wine or not, I've only seen you this tired after big missions."

"Wedding planning." Tim groaned.

"It is kinda a lot." With a shrug, Bernard said, "and as picky as Tim is, we're going over everything a couple times. We haven't even finalized a color palette yet."

"Just elope," Anita said.

She sounded half-serious, but with as many times as Tim had seen her watching Say Yes to the Dress, he knew to mumble, "You'd kill me."

"Maybe. But what's a little murder in the face of true love and less stress, eh?"

"No dying." Bernard squished Tim's face. "I'm not marrying a gravestone."

Tim let his head loll with a chuckle. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now scoot, I gotta help clean up."

"I've got it," Bart said indignantly.

"You're the guest."

"And you're one of the grooms-to-be. Call it my "congratulations on the engagement, you'd better treat Tim right or I'll erase you from the timeline" gift."

"Quit it," Tim said.

"It's fine." Smoothing Tim's hair, Bernard said, "It's not the first shovel talk joke anybody here has made."

"Oh, you think he's joking?" Cissie asked.

Bernard paused.

"Bart's the most lawless of any of us," Kon said. "He might actually throw you a hundred years in the future if he thinks you did anything bad to Tim."

With a groan, Tim pressed his face to Bernard's chest, eyes sinking closed. "But he wouldn't, because I'm fully capable of handling myself.”

“You’re kinda a pushover about Bernard though,” Bart said.

“You just wanna be the big bad guard dog for once instead of the one in the purse,” Cassie said.

_ _ _ _ _

"Fly safe," Bernard said quietly, earning a distant murmur from either Cissie or Cassie as they flew away.

The window shut a second later. Tim listened carefully for the click of the locks and the beep of the security engaging, swallowing a yawn.

It was only midnight, but the wine had hit his system ages ago, leaving his chest warm and fuzzy but his head heavy. Each blink felt like it took an hour.

He tracked Bernard across the room by his footsteps, frowning when he went to the kitchen instead of returning to the living room, but it didn't take long for him to make his way over.

Through half-lidded eyes, Tim watched Bernard pour himself a small bit of wine in his glass from earlier.

It was almost funny how much easier it was for Bernard to handle his alcohol. Maybe it was like they'd been saying earlier, and Tim was just a bit of a lightweight because he was comfortable, or maybe it was because Bernard was taller and bigger, but it was weird to see. Tim always felt a little twist in his chest when he realized it.

He wouldn't be any help right now if something happened. Adrenaline would sober him up a little, but it wasn't a complete fix. He was a liability.

When Bernard held up the bottle to him, Tim gave a little shake of his head.

Then he scooted over to make room so Bernard could sit down, Tim's feet in his lap, wine glass held carefully so it wouldn't tip.

"Good announcement?" Bernard asked quietly.

"Mhm."

Bernard's free hand landed gently on Tim's ankle, rubbing soothingly. "I'm glad."

If he were a little more awake, alarm bells would be going off in Tim's head, because he knew that tone. It was Bernard's broaching a dangerous subject tone.

It used to be a Robin exclusive thing. After he learned about Tim's identity, he'd always ask questions in that same wary way. Now, it was just anything Bernard knew Tim wouldn't like, anything that could be upsetting.

But the tipsy, warm feeling still had Tim on the brink of sleep.

He let his eyes sink shut, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Stretched his leg further across Bernard's and hummed happily.

Maybe they ought to work on the wedding a bit before bed. There was plenty they could do that the wine wouldn’t automatically turn into a total waste of time, like starting the gift registry. Anything they didn’t end up liking sober could just be deleted.

Bernard shifted, thumb running gently over a scar on Tim’s leg, one he couldn’t even remember the cause of. “Tim?”

“Mhm?”

They could even pull up a few ideas for their suits, figure out what they liked and what they didn’t so that they’d know what to avoid when shopping.

It felt silly, but Bernard wanted to shop separately and do a real first look, so Tim was happily going along with it. He’d rather his suit clash a bit with his groom’s than make Bernard lose out on an experience like that if he wanted it.

“Tim,” Bernard said again, a notch louder, and Tim’s stomach dropped.

He forced his heavy eyes open to see Bernard’s pinched face, eyes dark in the shadows as he watched Tim.

“Can I talk to you about something? An actual conversation.”

Tim scanned Bernard’s expression. Slowly sat up, planning on tugging his feet back towards himself, but Bernard kept a gentle grip on his leg. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Bernard said quietly. “I was worried about you, actually.”

Something heavy and thick settled in Tim’s chest, right beneath his ribs.

It wasn’t about the wine. Tim hadn’t had much, definitely not enough to have any adverse reaction to without it being poisoned or something, and it wasn’t like it was unusual for him and Bernard to have a glass while with friends.

And it wasn’t Young Justice either, not when Tim knew how much they loved Bernard and how much he loved them. Bernard would never quite be a member of the team, but he wasn’t an outsider anymore. All of Tim’s closest friends had given him their stamps of approval for Bernard years ago.

But Tim wasn’t sure what else it would be.

Maybe he would’ve been able to figure it out if his brain didn’t feel so fuzzy and light. As it was, Bernard must’ve seen the confusion written across Tim’s face and the tension bleeding into every limb, because he mercifully said, "When everybody got worked up about the wedding. You were acting weird."

"Oh." He forced himself to stay loose, to act natural, hoping against hope that he could fool Bernard for once. "S'nothing, bear."

"Bullshit."

The couch dipped as Bernard shifted, leaning forwards to put down his wine glass.

Stomach twisting, Tim’s eyes slipped closed, but he dropped his leg out of the way to let Bernard crawl up and sprawl over him.

"Tim." Bernard mumbled, laying his head on Tim's chest. "You looked scared."

“Of what? Cassie’s all bark, no bite with us.”

Bernard’s heavy sigh made Tim’s heart soar with a rotten hope that he’d just get up and walk away, too tired to deal with Tim dodging the question. That he’d leave it alone.

His hand dipping under Tim’s shirt and pressing right over his racing heart removed any chance of that.

“Talk to me,” Bernard said.

And just like that, three little words had Tim’s throat clogged with a million explanations.

But he didn’t even know what to say.

It was one thing with Bruce, he always seemed to know what Tim really meant, even when Tim screwed up. Bernard didn’t have over a decade of dealing with Tim’s inability to fully explain himself. He had a few short years of being Tim’s boyfriend.

With the way Bernard was watching him though, eyes gentle and expression open, Tim couldn’t just lie.

“It’s the wedding.” He admitted eventually, cupping Bernard’s cheeks and pressing his nose to soft, coconut-scented hair. “I just…this stuff never goes well for us, does it? For me.”

“What stuff?” Bernard asked softly.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Tim smoothed his thumb over Bernard’s freckles. “Anything. All of it.”

Bernard pressed closer.

“Birthdays, anniversaries, vacations. Now a wedding, I—Bernard, how many uninterrupted dates have we had in our entire relationship? How many times have we really been able to even go out to dinner without something happening?”

“Those dates didn’t have multiple Supermen on the guest list.”

“But that’s so, so much worse. That many powerful people in one place? It’s a giant target, one that plenty of people would be glad to shoot for, and you’d be the one getting caught in the middle of it.”

With a soft sigh, Bernard tugged on Tim’s shirt, bumping their foreheads together.

“I’m not defenseless, and I trust you, Tim. I trust the family I’m marrying into,” Bernard said. “You guys would save my ass if I needed it, and you know that, so what else is bothering you?”

Tim’s mouth twisted.

It took him a long moment to respond, half to give himself time to think, half to stop his voice from wobbling when he finally managed to speak.

“Bruce said it was supposed to be a celebration for us.” Tears prickled at the back of his eyes. “If it’s ruined—what does that say about us? What does that mean for us in the future?"

Bernard let out a soft puff of air, propping his face up on Tim’s chest to give him a lopsided smile. “Okay, since when do you care about superstitious shit like that? C’mon, if something did happen—”

He squeezed Tim’s side, gently and effectively shushing him before he could protest.

“—if something did happen,” Bernard said again, “then that just means we got unlucky once. It has nothing to do with our relationship, present or future.”

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and taking a shuddered breath, Tim nodded.

The little sigh Bernard gave him said it wasn’t believable.

But instead of chasing him into agreeing, Bernard slipped the hand on Tim’s side up towards his hair, brushing it away from his eyes.

“I think what matters more to our relationship, angel, was that you didn't tell me you were worried." Bernard murmured.

"I didn't want to stress you out." Tim tilted his face into Bernard’s hand. "You've got enough on your mind, you don't need me—"

Bernard's hand tightened its grip on his chest. His voice went abruptly lower as he said, "that's not true."

He shifted, pulling Tim closer.

"Tim," Bernard said firmly. "I will never have too much on my mind to deal with you, especially not if it's something like this. We’re partners, and that means I’m here for you, not just when it’s convenient for me.”

“I know.”

“Then act like it, and talk to me.”

Eyes slipping closed, Tim stayed quiet.

“C’mon, walk me through it, get it off your chest. I know you’re worried about the wedding getting crashed, but what about the rest of it? We’ve gotta be almost halfway down the list by now, right?”

Halfway.

If only.

Tim shrugged listlessly. “We’re maybe a third of the way through, if you consider that Alfred’s handling the vendors, but we still need to pick the stuff they’re gonna use, like the flowers and the cake.” 

“Yeah, but that’s still a big chunk off our plates. How about the rest?”

“We’ve gotta send out the invitations and do the gift registry and—I still haven’t figured out exactly what the wedding insurance is. That’s gonna take some research, and I haven’t had the time.”

“I haven’t either, but we’ll figure it out, okay? You’ve gotta remember that it’s still Summer, and the wedding isn’t until the Spring. We’ve got time.”

“For now.”

“My beautiful pessimist.” Bernard cupped Tim's face. "I think you should have a bit more wine. Take your nerves down a notch."

Tim snorted, wet and gross.

"Honestly, I just wanna go to bed. M'tired."

With a soft smile, Bernard rolled off of Tim, landing on his feet. He pulled Tim with him.

A few short years ago, and Tim would’ve been surprised by Bernard pulling him off his feet, cradling him against his chest. Now, he just counted himself lucky that it wasn’t a fireman’s carry instead.

Over the years, the way Tim spent his birthday had morphed and changed, to the point where almost nothing was the same as it used to be.

His birthdays when he was younger had been spent with both his parents. It was in the summer, so he was always off from school, and they’d take time off from both Drake Industries and their digs for them all to do something fun together. 

They’d go to the beach, where Tim would pretend he was an archeologist like them, or build a pillow fort so Jack could be Godzilla while Tim shrieked and Janet watched them with a smile. Tim still remembered being small enough that Jack could swing him up in the air and Janet could carry him to bed when he fell asleep. They’d have cake and Tim would sit in Janet’s lap to open his gifts while Jack took photos, pausing to tell Tim that this one’s actually a souvenir from our last dig. You remember we told you about Greece, right?

Then he was older, and his birthdays slowly became one of the few days of the year where Tim could count on Jack and Janet to hold their tongues with each other instead of snapping every few minutes. Janet’s smiles became more tense, Jack’s explanations grew shorter. Gifts from Mom & Dad were gifts from Mom and Dad.

And then Janet died.

Tim remembered laying in bed on the first birthday after, wondering how they could possibly celebrate when they were missing a third of their family.

It’d gotten a little easier after that, when Tim started agreeing to go fishing, when he pretended to care about sports, when he did all of the things that made Jack think he was easier to spend time with. His sixteenth birthday had even been fun, thanks partly to Dana and his friends.

That’d been the year Tim met Bernard.

It’d also been the year he lost half of his friends, then let Darla die, then got his dad killed.

His seventeenth and eighteenth had been less than fantastic, lost in all of the drama that came from losing another parental figure to the time stream, accidentally convincing everyone that he was out of his mind from grief, and then going off on a one-man-mission to piss off a several hundred year old master swordsman who tried to kill everyone Bruce ever cared about.

But then came his nineteenth birthday, the first one he ever spent with Bernard. It was early enough in their relationship that Tim had still been debating if they were really dating, but Bernard had made it fun anyway, dragging him to the beach and getting his favorite pizza, kissing him just to kiss him. Tim had wanted to cling to that day for as long as he could just to keep hearing Bernard’s soft little happy birthdays .

And now, this was their fifth year together. Tim’s sixth birthday with Bernard. The fifth of waking up with Bernard’s arm around his waist and his warm breath on the back of Tim’s neck, the third where he knew he’d find flowers and a card waiting on his nightstand, and the first with a ring on Bernard’s finger.

It was also the first year where they were going out to eat for their family dinner instead of having it at the manor.

Tim frowned, slipping his nice, black jacket over his shoulders and adjusting it in the mirror. “I’m just saying it’s weird. Alfred always makes our birthday dinners. Even when we’re out of town, he makes something when we get back.”

In the mirror, he could see Bernard sitting on the bed behind him. He’d been dressed for ten minutes, but Tim couldn’t bring himself to be ready, not when his brain was spinning with a million different questions. It felt like the weirdest sort of trap, and he couldn’t keep himself from trying to figure it out.

“It’s a really nice restaurant, Tim. Alfred probably wanted you to have something fancy since it’s a big year.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Tim shook his head.

“No. Something’s wrong, there’s no way Alfred just gave up all control of it like this. We should all be going to the manor right now.”

“Is that what you want?” Bernard asked.

“I don’t care, it’s not like I’m gonna be heartbroken about going to a five-star restaurant with a nice view. It’s just too out of character. It’d be one thing if he wasn’t home, or if I’d asked, but for him to just be okay with us doing dinner somewhere else? Something’s not right.”

Tim fiddled with his sleeves for a few more seconds before pausing, a wave of ice washing over him.

Turning to Bernard, he swallowed hard.

“What if he’s sick or something?” Tim asked quietly. “Bernard—”

“Hey, no. I’m sure he’s fine,” Bernard said, eyebrows pinching as he stood and reached for Tim.

“Then why are we doing this? Why not have it at the manor like we normally do?”

Bernard's face flickered, and he pulled Tim in to press a kiss to his temple like he could love the anxiety right out of his head.

It didn't work, but a little part of Tim appreciated it anyway.

He pulled Bernard in by the waist, laying his head on his shoulder. "I know he's not gonna be around forever, but I don't—I'm not ready."

Bernard smoothed his hand over Tim's back.

"Listen," he said hesitantly. "I'm sure it's just because this year's special, y’know? I mean, you're turning twenty-five, you're getting married, it's a big deal."

"That should've just made Alfred more invested," Tim said miserably.

His stomach churned, eyes prickling as he turned his face into the crook of Bernard's neck.

It wasn't just that Alfred might not feel up to cooking. It was how he'd been teaching Bernard so much, how he'd made a point of handing his knowledge over. And now that Tim was thinking about it, he could see other stuff.

Maybe it was just his brain reworking things in retrospect, twisting thing with worry, but he was pretty sure Alfred had been moving slower recently.

And had his hands been shaking the last few times he poured tea? Tim would've noticed before this, wouldn't he have?

Softly, Bernard's hand trailed over Tim's hair.

"This is really freaking you out." He murmured.

Tim let out a wet, breathless laugh. "He's always been there, Bear. He was one of the first people to really believe in me when I became Robin. He helped me save Bruce and Dick. Saved my life, too."

He barely registered the way Bernard shifted.

"And don't—don't forget the clench, I mean, I probably would've died without him. I would be gone a hundred times over without Alfred. He's family."

Almost before Tim finished talking, Bernard was slipping away so his hands could cup Tim’s cheeks, gently tugging him so he would look up.

They made eye contact, and Tim's stomach plunged.

He knew that look on Bernard's face. The guilty little smile, the soft eyes, the way he was cradling Tim so gently.

"What do you know?" Tim asked sharply.

Bernard smoothed his cheek.

"I had a surprise for you." He admitted.  "I had no idea you'd be this worried about it, or I would've done something else."

For a second, Tim paused, one hand on Bernard’s chest. 

He scanned Bernard’s face like he’d find some hint of a lie there, ignoring the part of him that knew Bernard would never lie about something like that. "So…Alfred's fine."

"Everyone’s okay,” Bernard said softly.

All of the tension in Tim’s shoulders fell, and with a huff, he pressed his face into Bernard’s neck. Bernard squeezed him gently, cheek resting on Tim’s hair.

"Sorry to ruin your surprise." Tim mumbled.

"It was my choice to tell you, and it’s not like you even know what it is, it’s not a big deal if it means you don’t have to worry all night.”

Taking a deep breath, Tim sank as close as he could.

They stayed like that for a moment, Tim letting Bernard support him and Bernard rubbing his back. Tim could feel warm breath ghosting over his hair and the beat of Bernard’s heart against his own chest.

But eventually, he had to pull gently away and flash a half-forced smile. “I should finish getting ready.”

“I’ll go get my shoes on,” Bernard said.

He slipped away, leaving Tim to glance in the mirror, smoothing his white button-down with trembling hands.

_ _ _ _ _

When Bernard pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, Tim recognized the beach it was sitting beside immediately. The boardwalk over the dark water, its ferris wheel and the long stretch of sand where he and Bernard had laid out on their towels on one of their first dates. Tim could practically feel the water hitting his face from where Bernard had splashed him, could hear his laughter.

Then they parked, and Tim’s attention was grabbed when he spotted the others waiting just underneath the restaurant’s dark, wooden overhang.

Bruce was at the front of the group, checking his watch and glancing around. Dick, Kory, and Mar’i stood a little behind him, Dick holding Mar’i while Kory wiped gently at her face and Mar’i tried to hide in Dick’s shoulder. It was almost funny how quickly the last bit of dread in Tim’s chest was wiped away when he saw Alfred right there, moving to help Kory.

The others were standing further back in the shadows, barely even visible until Tim and Bernard slipped out of the car and started across the parking lot. Cass, Steph, and Babs were closer, Babs still wheeling up the ramp, but beyond her stood Duke and Damian, and surprisingly, Jason.

Of all the people Tim would’ve expected to see at his birthday dinner, Jason definitely wasn’t on the list. He wouldn’t have even crossed Tim’s mind as a possibility.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t welcome. It’d been almost a decade since Jason first came back to Gotham, and in that time, he and the Bats had smoothed things over to varying degrees. Jason was borderline close to Dick and Duke, and friendly with Steph and Damian. Alfred had his own separate dynamic with Jason, all their own. 

And Cass still disliked him, but Tim was pretty sure that Jason didn’t mind it, considering how often Cass was just a miniature Bruce. There was baggage there that Tim hoped he never fully understood and that definitely still applied to Bruce, too. 

But while Tim was pretty sure he’d never consider Jason a friend, he counted him as a brother, and was at least half-sure that Jason could say the same.

He’d even met Bernard before, though Tim wasn’t sure if Bernard would really remember the first introduction. It’d been during one of those late nights when Tim got hurt out as Robin and wound up in the med-bay, and Bernard used to have a habit of going somewhere in his head whenever Tim was hurt, leaving his memory foggy enough that even an injured Tim had a clearer idea of what was happening than he did.

There’d been other times since then though, both in the cave and at outside events, the rare ones where Jason actually showed up. Enough that when they approached Duke, Damian, and Jason, Bernard gave them all a wave instead of looking to Tim for help.

It would’ve been fair of him to. Jason didn’t exactly look the same as he used to. Definitely not like the old newspaper articles that Bernard would’ve seen of Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne’s son, to the point that Jason could show up at things like this without running the risk of anyone ever making the connection through sheer appearance.

He was a good two feet taller, for one thing, with wide shoulders and a resting face that made him look like an asshole at first glance. Teenaged Jason also hadn’t had the scruffy beginnings of a beard or a silvery tint to strands of his hair, even outside of the white streak that he definitely didn’t have at fifteen. The differences between Jason somewhere in his early thirties and the little kid he’d been before the Joker were like the differences between a pomeranian and a rottweiler.

And he was looking right at them, giving Bernard a nod and Tim a glance.

“Hey, Jason,” Tim said. “You remember Bernard?”

“Hard to forget him,” Jason said dryly.

With a sheepish little grin, Bernard shrugged. “I stand by my questions. The hair streak could totally be from being implanted with android parts.”

“Yeah, and my helmet’s the portable charging station, because I’m the human equivalent of a roomba for the criminal underworld. I remember, kid.”

Bernard let out a laugh that Tim knew exceptionally well, one that said he didn’t feel an ounce of remorse, even as he was looking the Red Hood right in the eyes.

A small part of Tim was impressed.

The rest made his arm move out to wrap around Bernard’s waist, pulling him close with a sigh. “One day, you’re gonna say something so smart it sounds stupid to the wrong person, and you’re gonna get your ass kicked.”

“That’s why I have you, right?” Bernard joked. “My own personal bodyguard?”

“I’d get a refund on that one if I were you,” Jason said.

Making a face, Tim flipped him off, and Jason moved to do the same, both of them reduced to teenaged boys in an instant, but Alfred cut them off with a sharp clear of his throat.

And then Tim was tugged into a hug by Duke, which started off a chain reaction of happy birthdays’ and hellos’. He let himself be pushed from person to person until he was by the door, standing right by Bruce, with Bernard just a step behind him.

Bruce gave them a smile that said he was already well into character, playing up his persona for anyone in the restaurant or in the parking lot, but Tim knew the genuine part underneath. Even Bernard would after the last five years of seeing Bruce’s act.

“Boys,” Bruce said, clapping Tim on the back. “The drive over wasn’t too bad?”

“Nah, it was fine. I didn’t even crash Tim’s fancy car,” Bernard said with a grin.

“Glad to hear it.” He gestured inside. “Our table should be ready now if we want to go in. Tim, you lead?”

Nodding, Tim slipped past Bruce, holding his hand out behind him to catch Bernard’s. Once they were entwined, Tim pushed one of the large, glass doors open.

It opened into a large lobby with a second set of doors, lattices for walls, and a fountain in the middle. Booth seats lined each wall for people to wait to be seated.

Tim ignored them, his shoulders back and posture relaxed as he strolled into the actual restaurant.

The interior was just as nice as the lobby. It had another set of lattices with ivy lacing up it stretched out past the host stand and towards the bar, polished oak making up an antique feeling with warm lighting and leather-seated bar stools. The man behind the host stand smiled broadly as they approached, asking, “Party name?”

“Wayne,” Tim said, and the host’s eyebrows raised.

“Of course,” He said a little too quickly, flicking through the tablet in front of him. “Right this way, mr. Wayne.”

He grabbed a stack of menus and turned, heading past the lattices and further into the restaurant. Tim wasn’t too surprised when they were led to a long table at the very back of the restaurant with a clear view over the beach. Considering it’d either been Bruce or Alfred who had reserved it, he’d been expecting something like it.

Taking a seat in the middle of the side facing the windows, Bernard at his side, Tim ignored the chaos of everyone sitting down and getting situated to look out over the beach instead.

It was the same stretch of sand that Tim remembered from his and Bernard’s first beach date, the boardwalk towering out in the distance on one side, and a little dock on the other. They’d sat on the dock and watched the waves at sunset, Bernard pressing their shoulders together just like he was doing now, though Tim had been a lot more nervous about it at the time.

He turned his head and smiled at Bernard, and Bernard slipped his hand into Tim’s. “You like it?”

“Love it.” Tim murmured, his thumb smoothing over Bernard’s hand. “You guys picked a nice place.”

“You can blame Bruce, mostly. I just kinda poked him in the right direction, he was the one who chose. He said he’s been here for a W.E. thing before.”

“Sounds about right.”

Tim glanced up as a hand came into his peripheral, setting a menu down in front of him and then Bernard. The host continued down the line as their waitress came over to get their drink orders.

He spared a moment to order himself a water and catch Bernard getting himself soda before they began flipping through Tim’s menu together.

It was primarily seafood, but Tim saw a burger that he knew Jason would wind up getting, a kids section with stuff for Mar’i, and at least two vegetarian options that Damian would latch onto immediately. Bernard tapped his nail under the seafood pasta, and Tim knew they’d split a plate of garlic rolls. 

For his own food though, he wound up deciding on grilled mackerel with lemon. It wasn’t something he’d tried before, and one of his favorite things to do for his birthday was try new foods with Bernard. It was like an adventure, but a safer one than normal, without any riddles, giant murderous reptiles, or carnivorous plants. A nice, relaxing new thing.

Tim set his menu aside, stacking it with Bernard’s, and glanced around the table with a smile.

On his other side, Duke was fiddling with his phone. Tim caught a glance of a set of text messages before Duke clicked the phone off and looked up.

“Class group text,” Duke said. He tucked the phone into his back pocket. “We’re talking about our test next week, or I’d ignore them.”

“How is school going? Did you end up making the right choice with G.U?” Tim asked.

“Yeah, though I wish I’d waited until the Fall semester, I miss sleeping all summer. And one of my professor’s is a real tool. Like, next-Scarecrow, I’m-keeping-an-eye-on-him kinda tool.”

Tim’s chest tightened, his lips thinning. “What class?”

“It sounds stupid when I say it.”

“What, is he your language professor?”

“Close,” Duke said sheepishly. “Algebra.”

Leaning forwards around Tim, Bernard asked, “Is he gonna terrorize Gotham with coefficients? Baffle us with functions?”

“Don’t even joke, man.”

“When I come home bleeding with a scar in the shape of a fraction…” Tim warned quietly.

“Then I’ll patch you up like I do every time,” Bernard said, keeping his voice just as low, even as his mouth twitched up. “You know it’d be a little funny to have the Bats fighting some guy named Mr. Equation.”

“Stop.”

Bernard snorted, taking Tim’s hand in his own. “Okay, fine. Duke, you were taking a creative writing class, right? How’s that going?”

Letting them talk over his head, Tim took the opportunity to check on what the others were doing, scanning the table from the end where Bruce was sitting to the other side where Babs, Steph, and Jason were. Cass was talking quietly with Dick, while Steph and Damian were having some sort of bicker-fest, judging from the amount of gesturing Steph was doing. Tim could only hear snippets of either conversation, but he saw the entirety of Babs and Alfreds’ exasperated faces.

Their waitress came back just as it looked like Damian was getting ready to rip his own hair out, leaving Steph looking very pleased with herself.

“Here’s your water,” the waitress said when she got to Tim. “And you had a soda, right, sir?”

“That’s me,” Bernard said with a grin.

She passed him his soda, the ice clinking against the side. Only once she’d gotten all of their food orders and vanished back through the restaurant did Tim take the straw from his nicely wrapped napkin and utensils to sip at his water.

It didn’t take long after that for their food to show up. Tim would be willing to bet part of it was because the restaurant wasn’t too busy, but more than likely, it also had something to do with the money behind Bruce’s name.

Tim and Bernard’s plates were part of the last trip the waitress made, Bernard’s pasta still letting off curls of steam, the garlic rolls almost too warm to comfortably touch, and the grilled mackerel smelling like the fresh lemon placed artistically beside it.

And from there, almost everyone began quietly talking to whoever they were sitting next to or across from. The conversations melted from duos to half the table and back again, sometimes everyone talking to each other, while other times, Tim didn’t even know what all was being spoken about. He stayed mostly quiet, a warm, comfortable feeling in his chest as he let everyone else speak.

That was one of his favorite parts about these sorts of meals. Just listening to everyone, being surrounded by people he trusted and cared about, Bernard’s knee bumping his. It always made him think of when he was younger and he’d sit in the hallway just to hear his parents talking in Jack’s office about their digs. He couldn’t always tell what everything meant, but it was enough to be able to hear his parents’ voices.

He didn’t know how many times he’d fallen asleep there, only to wake up in his bed with the lights off and the door quietly coasting closed. Janet always left it open an inch, just in case Tim needed the light from the hall, but Tim had liked it because it let him see their shadows as they crept away from his room.

It felt the same now. Voices washing over him, his focus on how much he liked having them all there, being pulled occasionally into conversations but never fully tuning out of the murmur around him.

By the time almost everyone was done eating, it was dark enough that the restaurant’s interior lights were bouncing off the windows and making it so that Tim could see everyone in the reflection. The distant rhythm playing over the speakers had gotten quieter, more relaxing. Tim sank back in his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee, surveying the table like he could commit the whole thing to memory, paying special attention to how Bernard’s ring shone whenever he reached for his drink.

Mar’i had spent most of dinner sitting between her parents and Bruce, chattering quietly as Bruce leaned over to hear her better, but eventually, she slipped out her chair and wandered around the table. She stopped by Damian, who took one of the crayons she liked to carry around and doodled her a little flower on the corner of her paper, then went to see Jason. He’d seemed thoroughly busy with whatever he’d been talking to Babs about, but paused the second Mar’i appeared at his elbow, leaning down to give her his full attention.

It was almost funny to watch her flutter from person to person and back again as they all finished eating. She had her own food that she was stopping to pick at occasionally, but she seemed much more interested in talking to Alfred or seeing her aunt Cass.

Of course Tim was invested in his conversations and eating the last of the garlic roll he’d been splitting with Bernard, but he was more than happy to make room for Mar’i when she finally made her way over to him, Bernard, and Duke.

With a smile, he slid his chair back to let her clamber into his lap and curl up. She tugged his jacket to stretch around them both with one hand, the other occupied by her little cup of chicken nuggets and broccoli bits. 

Bernard helped hold her bowl for her as she got situated, then passed her tiny pieces of food as she reached for them.

“Hey, Mar’i,” Duke said quietly, moving his hand over to rest on the tabletop in front of them.

Ignoring the look Bruce was giving them in favor of watching Mar’i watch the little shadow puppets Duke was creating on the tablecloth with his powers, Tim scooted his food back and out of the way to make more room. Bernard leaned in closer to see the way Duke gently coaxed tendrils of shadow into the shapes of rabbits, bats, and starry constellations.

The white cloth was the perfect backdrop for this sort of show, though Duke had long since proven he could do them anywhere. He’d been performing shadow puppet shows for Mar’i since she was a baby.

He’d even used to make them just to help her go to sleep, like her own personal projector on the ceiling above her crib.

And judging by the way her head slowly lolled against Tim’s chest, it was still effective, making her eyes sink shut as the moments dragged on.

Tim saved the nugget in her hand from an untimely fate, dropped it into the bowl, and adjusted her so that she couldn’t fall. Duke sat back with a snort, saying, “Guess she got bored.”

“It is kinda late for her to still be up and around. Nearly ten,” Bernard said softly.

Tim made a face, stretching his jacket even further to keep her arms warm. “We should get going soon, you’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”

“Let her sleep for a little longer, then we’ll go, okay?”

“Bear.”

“Tim.” Bernard mocked gently, his smile only growing.

He shrugged off his own jacket, keeping his arms tight to his chest as he did it to avoid smacking anyone. Once it was off, he gave it a quick shake to loosen it up, then laid it right over Mar’i.

The portion of Tim’s mind that was reserved for his uncountable list of reasons to love Bernard list unlocked, a brand new item slipping in.

He knew it was partly just one more thing to help keep them there longer, but his heart was turning to mush anyway.

Their eyes met as Bernard sat back up, his face softening. “Happy birthday, Tim.”

“Thank you,” Tim said, reaching out one hand to grip Bernard’s and bring it up to his lips. “And thank you for the dinner, too. It’s nice to have Alfred sitting with us for once.”

“Yeah, it is. He’s fun.”

Tim kissed Bernard’s knuckles one more time, then let his hand go to hold Mar’i. Bernard put his arm around Tim’s shoulders in return.

From there, it wasn’t very long until their waitress came back and asked if anyone wanted to order anything else, and as much as Tim was glad to be there, glad to see everyone, he was still almost relieved that they were so close to being done. Not just because Bernard had work the following morning, but because he loved the quiet nights after events. The ones where they’d get home and wordlessly go through their separate routines, only to slip back together when it was finally time to sleep. One of Tim’s favorite things was the way Bernard sprawled across him after long, people-filled nights, face smushed against Tim’s chest and their legs tangled together.

But first came dessert, and Tim was more than happy to order a hot fudge brownie and ice cream with Bernard. It was one of their go-to things to get, not sweet enough to make Tim get a sugar overload, but not too tart or bitter for Bernard.

The best part was that everyone at the table had known Tim for long enough to know better than to do anything other than have a candle be put on top of it, set down with a subtle little smile from the waitress. No singing and no public embarrassment.

“You do have to tell me what you wish for,” Bernard said. “It's legally required.”

“That spoils the wish,” Tim said with a grin.

“It doesn’t count if the person you’re telling is your fiancé.”

“That’s a rule, now?”

“The wax is going to melt before you two finish your bantering,” Damian said loudly.

Tim choked down a laugh, Bernard kicking him under the table and saying, “C’mon, blow it out and tell me.”

Readjusting so that Mar’i wouldn’t fall into the burning brownie, Tim took a deep breath.

He didn’t have a wish off the top of his head. He almost never did anymore.

What was there to wish for? He had Bernard, he had his family, he had his friends. Nobody was hurt or dying. The most Tim could think to ask for was that it stayed that way, that the universe would help him protect the people he cared about, but considering the people he loved were who they were, he thought that might’ve been too big of an ask for one little candle.

Instead, he closed his eyes and blew out the candle, thinking to himself that he wanted to make it to their wedding. That no drones or assassins or bullets to the throat would stop him from making his vows.

Definitely not a wish he’d be telling Bernard about, but a legitimate one.

Then he pinched the middle of the candle, tugging it gently out of the brownie and putting it over to the side as everyone started eating their own desserts. Bernard leaned over with his spoon and stole a bite of ice cream, laying his head on Tim’s shoulder.

It was late enough that the restaurant felt quiet, shrinking down to just their table, and Tim fought down a yawn as he pressed his cheek to Bernard’s hair.

He just barely caught a glimpse of Dick lifting his phone to take a photo of the two of them and Mar’i, lifting a hand to flip him off a second too late to make it into the picture. Bernard snorted, taking another bite without moving his head.

Between both of them, it didn’t take long for them to finish their dessert. Tim was happy to let Bernard do most of the damage while he focused on not waking Mar’i up.

Then Bernard pushed the bowl back, his ring flashing under the lights, and took Tim’s hand in his own.

“C’mon, I had that surprise for you,” he said softly. “Let’s go take a walk down on the beach.”

Tim snorted, hooking his chin over Mar’i’s head. “You do see the entire child in my lap, right?”

“Dick and Kory’ll be heading out in a few minutes anyway.”

With a roll of his eyes, Tim moved to stand, still cradling Mar’i close. Bernard got to his feet and gently took his jacket back before downing the last of his soda.

Tim glanced around for the right place to set Mar’i, but Dick had vanished to go to the bathroom, and Kory was busy talking to Steph and Damian. He was about to just sit back down and wait for either her to finish her conversation or for Dick to get back, only for Jason to catch his eye, motioning him over.

It wasn’t hard to slip around the table with Mar’i on one hip. Even as she got older, she was still smaller than the people Tim had to haul around when he was saving them in the field. He’d carried full grown adults even bigger than Bruce, and in comparison, a sleeping kid was practically nothing.

Once he was by Jason’s chair, Jason made another motion for him to pass Mar’i over, voice quiet for her sake as he said, “I’ll hold her until Dick gets back. You two get going.”

“You sure?” Tim asked.

“I’m her uncle, aren’t I?”

With a shrug, Tim gently lowered Mar’i down into Jason’s arms.

Her legs fell to one side of the chair, dangling between it and the next, while her head rested on Jason’s shoulder. He didn’t seem bothered by the extra weight, though he moved much more deliberately when he reached for his drink a moment later.

Tim caught a glimpse of Bruce’s expression when he moved to go back to Bernard. Just a flash of something soft before he turned back to talk to Cass.

And then Tim reached Bernard’s side, slipping an arm around his waist to hold him tight. “Just gotta say bye to everyone, then we’re good to go, Bear.”

“Sounds good,” Bernard said.

Tim could hear the tension in his voice, the little bit of nervous impatience slipping through his filter. But just as Bernard was obviously beginning to get a little jittery, glancing at Bruce like they were having some sort of silent discussion that, somehow, Tim couldn’t understand, Dick came back to the table.

Tim shoved his suspicions down, promising himself that he’d let Bernard pull the surprise off. He’d messed it up enough by even knowing there was a surprise, he didn’t need to let himself go into detective mode and ruin the rest.

“We’re gonna head out,” Tim said, slipping over to give Dick a hug. “Drive safe on your way home.”

“You too, pal. Happy birthday.”

When they pulled apart, Tim hugged Bruce next, then leaned over to give Alfred a side-hug. He slipped down to say bye to Kory, then paused by Jason’s chair. Mar’i was awake, if barely, so Tim leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead. She mumbled something and curled closer to Jason, who gave Tim and Bernard both a nod.

“God, you make me feel old, Timmy. Happy Birthday,” Babs said, motioning for Tim to give her a hug.

“Just wait till Damian’s birthday comes around.”

“Drive safe, okay? No making headlines.”

“We’ll do our best.” Tim promised.

Tim made his way around the rest of the table, saying goodbyes and hugging everyone who allowed it, while Bernard paused to say something quiet to Alfred.

And then it was time to go. Bernard helped Tim slip his jacket back on as they headed towards the front of the restaurant, both of them nodding to the host as they slipped out.

It’d gotten colder since they’d went inside, a chilly, salty breeze rustling through the lattices, and Tim pressed his shoulder to Bernard’s to help ward it off. One of Bernard’s arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer with a snort.

“It’s kinda cold for a stroll, isn’t it?” Tim asked teasingly.

“You’ll be okay.” Bernard squeezed his waist. “I’ll even let you take off your fancy shoes so you don’t track sand all over the boat.”

“Wow, so benevolent.”

Both of them chuckling, Bernard led the way down the sidewalk from the restaurant, like he’d plotted out the course he wanted to take beforehand. The distant sounds of traffic faded, letting in waves crashing against the shore.

They paused when they reached a set of old wooden stairs leading down to the sand and the beach. Tim shucked off one shoe, then the sock, and did the same to the other side, tucking his socks into a ball inside one of the shoes before slipping them both into one hand so that he still had one free. Bernard was less methodical, just tossing his shoes to the ground and pulling off his socks without worrying about the sand scattered across this portion of the walkway.

And then they reached the cold, moonlit sand, and Bernard took Tim’s free hand in his own.

It felt like the opposite of their first date there. Back then it’d been warm and loud and full of that nervous, almost-first date tension that they hadn’t been able to get rid of for the longest time. Now it was chilly and quiet and easy, both of them so familiar with the other that it felt like they’d been together since the stars blinked into existence.

Back then, they’d both been wearing swimsuits, not casually fancy dinner clothes. Tim had chattered the entire walk just trying to fill the air, but this time, neither of them spoke as they wandered down the beach, shoes in hand and water lapping at their ankles. Bernard’s thumb smoothed over Tim’s skin like it was sculpted to fit there, not like he was expecting to be pushed away at any moment.

Tim paused to pick up a seashell that’d washed ashore, holding it in the water for a moment to let the sand wash off before presenting it to Bernard like a gift. The little laugh he got in return made his heart swell, even after so long.

Eventually they reached the same little dock that Tim had seen from the window earlier, Bernard leading him from the sand onto coarse wood. Tim glanced over his shoulder towards the restaurant, suspicion creeping in, but couldn’t see anything in any of the brightly lit windows from so far away.

He still couldn’t be surprised when Bernard paused at the end, giving Tim a gentle smile as the water made the dock bob in place.

“Is this my surprise?” Tim asked softly.

“It’s the stage for it,” Bernard said.

He set down his shoes, carefully putting them away from the edge so that they wouldn’t fall in, then motioned for Tim’s. Tim bit the inside of his cheek as he passed them over.

“So, in all of the talking we did about getting married,” Bernard said, taking a deep breath. “We agreed you were gonna propose.”

The corner of Tim’s lips twitched up, confusion warring with the warm, giddy feeling seeping into his chest.

“I still agree, and I’m so glad you did it how you did it. I wouldn’t replace that memory for the world, Tim. But I didn’t want you to feel left out.” He took Tim’s hands in his own. “And you know I’d never pass up a chance to give you a speech about how much I love you.”

With that, Bernard sank to one knee.

Tim let out a brittle breath.

“Timothy Drake-Wayne, you’re the love of my life.” 

Letting go of one of Tim’s hands to reach into his back pocket, Bernard continued, voice dipping. “You know that old saying, the one about how if you love someone, you have to let them go free?”

It felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them, like everything outside of a few yards had ceased to exist, Tim registering nothing but Bernard in front of him.

“I let you go once, tried to give you space after everything with Darla and your dad, and I really thought that was it. I’d lost my chance.” Bernard took a deep breath that fogged when he exhaled. “But then you came back to me. I felt so hopeless back then, so completely out of my depth. My life was a mess.”

“Bernard,” Tim said, a thick lump in his throat.

“You were my hope, Tim. And you still are. Every single day, you make me wanna be better, not just for you but for myself, too. You make me feel like anything’s possible.”

Flicking the lid on the ring box he was pulling out, Bernard smoothed Tim’s knuckles. “I knew from the first time we came here that I loved you, Tim. That I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. Everything you do is like I’m looking at a shooting star that I get to call my own, and you’re nothing I ever wanna lose.”

Tim sucked his upper lip into his mouth in an effort not to cry, but he knew the first stray tears had already begun to slide down his cheeks, and he wasn’t going to devote an ounce of attention to wipe them away.

“Not to be redundant,” Bernard said softly, “but Timothy Drake, will you marry me?”

Chapter Text

For years, Tim had been sure that the most important suit in his life would always be the one he wore out on the rooftops, the one that guarded him from every wound and every injury, that made it easier for him to protect people every night. He’d thought that the choices he made for the suit that was responsible for saving his life would be the most critical.

He was very, very wrong.

“They’re the same color,” Cass said again. “Cream.”

Tim dropped his head into his hand.

“One’s off-white, one’s cream!” Kon said.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes—”

“They both look great.” Dick interrupted. “Tim, what do you think?”

Unable and unwilling to say I think I regret inviting you, Tim settled for, “I’ll try on the one with the black buttons. Thank you.”

The poor woman responsible for helping them gave him an amused smile and a nod before heading for the fitting room to get it set up, while he turned slowly around to stare at his wedding party.

Cass and Kon were still glaring at each other, and Tim would be concerned that a fight was going to break out if he didn’t know that they were friends, or that Cass could absolutely knock Kon down in a couple seconds flat. He’d seen it before.

A yard away, Dick had one arm around Duke’s shoulders, the other casually perched on Damian’s as if he were still four-foot-seven instead of a grown man. 

And standing off to the side where he could keep an eye on everyone, Bruce subtly surveyed the room.

“Okay,” Tim said. “First of all, they were different colors.”

“Told you,” Kon said.

“Second of all, that was not off-white.”

Cass smirked.

“Third of all, you should all go sit down. I’ll join you in a second.”

“Mysterious,” Dick said, sliding towards the chairs in front of the right fitting room. “Don’t get too distracted texting Bernard, you don’t want to give away any of the surprise.”

Sticking his tongue out, Tim let them all move past him before pulling out his phone.

He already had three texts waiting.

Considering it’d been his idea to do a first look and to shop for their suits and accessories separately, Bernard was awfully happy to text Tim updates every few minutes. The last text he’d seen had been trying on a suit:), and just a few words nearly made Tim’s heart burst out of his chest with excitement.

Bernard was trying on suits. In a minute, Tim would be too.

Suits for their wedding.

Biting down on the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning stupidly, he clicked Bernard’s latest message.

Darcy shot the last one down. Charlie liked it. I was on the fence.

Tim tapped out a reply as quickly as he could without letting his surprise show that Charlie had shown up on time.

Charlie was Bernard’s roommate from college, and while Tim wasn’t particularly close with him since Charlie had moved out of Gotham shortly after his and Bernard’s graduation, he seemed like a good enough guy. The fact that he’d been willing to agree to be Bernard’s best man even with how busy he was made him okay in Tim’s book.

It was just that he was so busy. Charlie had a wife, with a baby on the way, and taking the time to drive or fly out to Gotham for best man responsibilities would be difficult. Tim wouldn’t have blamed him for video-calling for the suit fitting.

And Bernard’s second groomsman was Darcy, who by all rights should’ve been on Tim’s side of things, considering they were friends first. He hadn’t been expecting her and Bernard to get along so well when he introduced them years back, but it was like introducing a house fire to gasoline. He honestly wasn’t sure whether it’d been Bernard who stole Darcy or Darcy who stole Bernard.

It'd taken a long conversation and a lot of thought for Bernard to pick them as his groomsmen, with more than a few tears, and Tim was just glad that Bernard was finally happy with his part of the wedding. He wasn't sure what he'd have done if they couldn't figure it out.

Offered to elope, probably.

No party was more important than Bernard's happiness.

Nothing was.

And that was probably a dangerous mindset for Tim to have, but in the moment, watching another text from Bernard blink in, all he could think was that he'd let the worst of the worst villains walk right past him without a fight if it meant seeing Bernard smile.

They're agreeing on a suit, I think that means I'm legally obligated to go with it, with a silly little yellow heart emoji that Tim loved.

Glancing back at his own group, Tim sent back, I don't trust that at all. Good luck.

Bernard's message popped up not a minute later. I'll try to mitigate the damage.

There were a dozen different ways Tim could reply, but he could practically feel Dick and Bruce laughing at him, so he settled for sending a quick love you and a plain red heart.

"Okay," he said, joining the others. "Suits."

_ _ _ _ _

Putting on a wedding suit, it turned out, was harder than a gala suit.

Not by much, not enough that it was a team sport, but enough that Tim had to pause a couple times to figure out what he was doing.

He still wound up walking out in the first suit with his tie in his hand instead of around his neck, making Bruce chuckle.

“The collar is weird,” Tim said defensively.

“I’m sure it is, chum.”

“Dick—”

“Bruce, you still have Alfred tie your tie for you half the time,” Dick said. “And you, c’mere. I’ll tie it.”

Crossing over to stand in front of Dick and dumping the tie in his hand, Tim focused on the part of the suit he could actually see in the mirror.

They’d decided to go with cream, not wanting the traditional black and not liking white, but Tim hadn’t been completely convinced until right now. Looking at himself actually made him feel like a grown man getting a wedding suit instead of a teenager making pinterest boards with his boyfriend.

Tim bit the inside of his cheek to contain his smile, just as Dick slapped his arm.

“Good to go, pal.”

“Thanks,” Tim said. “What do you guys think of it?”

“It’s okay,” Kon said.

“I think we should look at another.” Duke suggested. “Keep your options open.”

“The tie looks great.” Dick flicked it.

Shaking his head, Damian said, “the buttons stand out too much.”

“It’s not the one,” Cass said.

Tim blinked.

Sighing, Bruce readjusted himself in his seat, the same as he did when they were trying to pick a movie and a fight broke out.

Maybe this was going to take a bit longer than Tim had initially thought.

_ _ _ _ _

“Would he like a vest?” Tim asked.

“He’s your fiancé,” Kon said.

“Do you like the vest?” Bruce asked.

“Not the point.” Tugging on it, eyes locked on the buttons in the mirror, Tim said, “I never even thought to ask if he liked suits with or without.”

“Nothing like a wedding to tell you all the things you don’t know about a person,” Dick said.

Cass frowned. “Ask him.”

“Spoilers!” Duke said firmly.

_ _ _ _ _

“My nice black shoes would look good with this one,” Tim said.

“The ones you wore to the Luthor gala?” Raising his eyebrows meaningfully, Damian said, “because you stepped in red punch in those, remember?”

It took Tim a second of staring at him to clue in, eyes widening as he remembered the blood puddle he was talking about.

“...can someone text me that I need a new pair of black dress shoes?”

_ _ _ _ _

“I wish Alfred was here.”

“Seconded.”

“Thirded.”

“Agreed.”

“Very true.”

Bruce grunted.

_ _ _ _ _

“This should not be this hard.”

_ _ _ _ _

Somewhere around the time Tim narrowed his options down to two suits, staring at himself in one in the mirror, his phone rang.

He’d handed it to Damian to keep it safe while stopping himself from getting distracted ages ago, but he wasn’t surprised that it took a minute for anybody to find it. With how much all of them had been standing up and adjusting his suit for him and pointing out little things-gone-wrong, they’d wound up swapping chairs a good few times.

Finally, Dick held it up victoriously from in the fitting room.

Giving him a quick glance, eyebrow raised, Tim held carefully still as Kon adjusted his bowtie. It was probably just someone with Wayne industries, and that wasn’t worth making Kon lose his progress

"It's the groom." Dick announced.

Tim's head jerked up, startling Kon and making Cass and Bruce chuckle. "Put it on speaker."

“No talking about the suit,” Duke said.

“I know, c’mon, answer! It’s gonna go to voicemail.”

Tapping the screen and heading towards them, Dick said, “Hey, Bernard.”

“Dick?” Bernard’s voice crackled. “Hey, man. Are you the reason Tim stopped replying to my texts?”

“Technically, Damian was the one who had it, I’m just the messenger right now.”

Bernard laughed, one of those genuine snort-laughs that had Tim smiling before he’d even realized it. He gestured for Dick to hold the phone closer.

“I’m right here, Bernard,” he said.

“Tim!” His grin audible, Bernard asked, “how’s it going?”

“Fine. Trying on the—fifth? Bruce says sixth—suit now.”

“Oh, fancy, okay. I’m just waiting on Darcy and Charlie to come back with coffee, then we’re gonna head out and get some lunch. I was gonna ask if you wanted to join us.”

"You're done already?" Tim asked.

"Yeah, we kinda had an idea when we went in. And it's probably easier with fewer of us."

"Are you saying my family is difficult?”

"No, but your mind went there for a reason."

Tim chuckled, adjusting the cuffs. "Yeah, well…Duke and Kon can only get into so many arguments about my tie before we get kicked out, so one way or another, we'll be done soon."

Sliding closer so the phone was practically laying on Tim’s shoulder, Dick mumbled, “You say that like these ladies haven’t been swooning over Bruce Wayne being in their shop since we got here. I don’t think they’ll kick you out unless Bruce announces he’s the one getting married.”

With a shoo’ing motion, Tim took the phone and pressed the speaker button, cutting their conversation down to just the two of them.

“So is that a yes for lunch?” Bernard was asking.

“I don’t want you guys to have to wait on us,” Tim said.

“Darcy wanted to do some shopping while we’re out, anyway. We can do that, you text us when you’re done, and we’ll meet up then.”

“Yeah, okay, if you’re sure. You pick the place.”

“You want me to choose where Bruce Wayne is gonna eat his lunch?” Bernard asked.

Tim huffed, glancing up to see where Bruce even was. He’d disappeared between one moment and the next. “He’s gonna be your father-in-law soon, you should know he’s really not that picky. Just not Italian, he hates garlic.”

Everyone else had taken to glancing at their phones or inspecting the other suit option, but Bruce wasn’t even in the shop anymore, his seat sitting vacant.

“See, you say that, but then you try and tell me he’s not a vampire. Pick one,” Bernard said.

“I can see him standing in the sun right now,” Tim said, finally spotting Bruce.

He was outside, barely visible through the store’s front windows. One hand waved patiently as he spoke into his phone.

Tim squinted as if that would help him figure out who Bruce could possibly be talking to.

“Have you tried a wooden stake?” Bernard asked.

“No,” Tim said distractedly, “but I’m sure someone will someday.”

“Holy water?”

“None of us are religious, Bear.”

“Jason.”

“He’s…that’s debatable. Depends who you ask.”

“Ask him.”

“No thanks, he’ll turn it into a rant about his death. I’ve heard enough of those to last me both of his lifetimes.”

Bernard snorted, but before he could respond, Tim heard Darcy’s distant chatter. Charlie chimed in, and then suddenly the three of them were talking in muffled voices as if Bernard had covered the microphone.

He waited patiently for Bernard to come back, focusing on the mirror in front of him.

The moments stretched by agonizingly slowly.

“Do you have to go?” Tim eventually asked.

“No,” Bernard said immediately. “Maybe. The others are back and trying to convince me to spend all my money.”

“Well, I ought to finish up here, anyway. You can save your wallet and I’ll text you when we’re ready to meet up for lunch.”

With a small, reluctant hum, Bernard wistfully said, “I wish I could see your suit.”

Tim glanced at himself in the mirror, chest fluttering. He brushed a hand over his hair.

"It was your idea to do this all separately. Don't go getting sappy on me now, mr. Dowd."

"But you look amazing, and I'm gonna have to wait months to see it."

"You have no idea what I look like."

"But it's you," Bernard said.

Tim ducked his head to better tuck in his shirt, absolutely not to hide his cheeks, because they totally weren't red, and ignored the way Dick snorted. He was a grown man and he’d been in a relationship for several years now. He didn’t blush over compliments anymore.

And, if he was, it would be fair. He was talking to his fiancé about their wedding. Of course he was extra invested.

“I’m excited to see your suit too,” Tim said, swallowing the more dramatic proclamations of Bernard being the most handsome groom to ever grace an aisle. “But I think that’s kinda the point of the first look. Raise the excitement, make the outfits more important.”

“It’s a wedding, the outfits are already pretty important.”

“Then why are we doing this?”

The phone was silent for a second, just the shuffle of fabric and the sound of something like a metal hanger sliding.

Someone laughed in the background, and Tim opened his mouth to ask again.

“I want you to see my face when I look at you all dressed up for the first time.” Bernard cut him off softly. “I want you to know how amazing I think you are.”

Another hanger slid.

Tim’s chest felt abruptly heavy, like his lungs were being squeezed.

Somehow, he really had just never gotten used to hearing Bernard’s smooth compliments. He was too used to Bernard being goofy, and forgot how each one of these sounded even more genuine than the last.

“I already know,” Tim said.

“That’s what you think, but just humor me, okay? You’ll understand.”

“I’m here without you, aren’t I?”

Bernard snorted. “Not for much longer, hopefully. We’re hungry.”

“You’re terrible.” Glancing back at the windows, Tim spotted Bruce on his way back in. “Let me pick between these last two options, and we’ll meet you there. Send me an address.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, Bear.”

The call clicked off, leaving Tim to stare thoughtfully in the mirror.

He tucked his phone into the backpocket and nodded. “I like this one.”

_ _ _ _ _

It took nearly thirty minutes to work everything out with the shop, to get an address for the restaurant from Bernard, and to make their way over there, and with every passing moment, Tim’s stomach twisted itself further and further into a knot.

He swung his shopping bag as he walked, a little gift for Bernard that he’d bought on their way past a stretch of tiny stores. It’d been worth the laughs he got from the others, if only for the fact that it gave him something to look forward to that would take his mind off of the fact that he and Bernard both had their suits picked out.

Even with all of the secrets that Tim managed to keep on a daily basis, he kept thinking to himself that he was gonna blow it.

One little slip up would ruin it all. Even just saying whether or not he’d picked a vest would tell Bernard too much.

And if it were basically anyone else, Tim would have no problem. He was a master at secret-keeping, had been since he was still trying to hide Robin from his friends and family, and only got better with time.

But not from Bernard.

Never from Bernard.

Even Robin had come out pretty quickly into their relationship compared to most of the people Tim had told.

Somehow, this secret felt like even more of a weight on his back. Just the fact that Bernard was counting on him to keep his lips zipped made him feel like his chest was going to burst if he didn’t have some other surprise to focus on.

Hence the bag.

They reached the right corner just as Tim’s stomach began to growl, and he glanced across the street in both directions, saying, “look for Bernard. He’s with a woman and a man about our age.”

"I know Darcy," Duke said. "Kinda hard to miss her, honestly."

"Yeah, the tattoos kinda stand out," Dick said, pointing across the street to the North.

Tim followed his gaze, spotting Bernard immediately.

Maybe Darcy stood out the most, but Tim was biased. Sue him.

And beside the both of them stood Charlie with his brown hair, a shopping bag in his hand, and dark clothes, a contrast to Bernard's white t-shirt and jeans, and Darcy's shorts and pink crop top.

They were looking around, scanning the sidewalks for Tim and the others, but nobody was looking in the right direction.

"Bernard!" Tim shouted, waving a hand over his head. Cars zooming past made it hard to tell if he'd been spotted or not, but after a moment, the crosswalk switched to white.

They headed towards the others, Cass stealing Tim's shopping bag to hide it better.

"Success?" Bernard called across the street.

Tim reached the sidewalk, arm already held out to pull Bernard in by the waist. "Lots."

He kissed Bernard's cheek before turning to grin at Charlie and Darcy. Behind him, the others were greeting Bernard, who kept a solid grip on Tim.

From the way they were holding each other, Tim would've thought it had been a week since he'd last seen Bernard, not a few hours.

But he was excited. His stomach was rolling giddily, a warm fog spreading through his chest at the thought of his suit and how well it would eventually match Bernard's.

He just had to keep it a secret.

He could handle that.

"Have I mentioned how beautiful you are?" Tim asked as they began to walk, slipping his hand down to hold Bernard's.

Bernard gave him a weird look, mouth twisting up into a smile. "Not in the last few conversations."

"Consider it said."

"Well." Bernard hummed. "You're gorgeous."

"You're handsome."

"You're amazing."

At Bernard's other side, having been watching them, Darcy signed, "you're both saps."

Tim grinned.

"You're beautiful too, Darce."

"In that case, I approve," Darcy said.

"Am I chopped liver?" Charlie asked.

"No, you're just still wearing the same haircut you were in college," Bernard said.

"Ouch."

"I think you're handsome, Charlie," Tim said, leaning forwards around Bernard to see him.

"See? The fiancé approves. What's your problem, man?"

"Tim's nicer than me." Bernard joked. "I'm more honest."

"Nobody believes that."

Biting back a smile, Tim bumped his shoulder against Bernard's. "You're nice to me, Bear."

"Sap." Darcy signed.

_ _ _ _ _

Something that never ceased to amaze Tim was Bernard's incredible ability to fall asleep in the car.

It wasn't like Tim couldn't. He had to be able to sleep anywhere, because there were missions where he was cramped up in a tiny spaceship or something, where not being well rested could wind up being his last mistake.

But Bernard?

He was just naturally like that.

It definitely helped that they’d stayed out most of the day, going back to the manor with the rest of the Waynes after lunch. Even without the hours of walking and chattering, it was still nearly an hours’ drive from the manor to the marina, and Tim had been so busy dealing with Gotham traffic that he hadn’t been the best conversational partner. Bernard was bound to be bored.

They got back to the marina just as he began to actually snore, open-mouthed, head lolling against the chilly window.

For a second, Tim just watched him with a little smile.

Then he reached out and brushed a bit of Bernard's hair out of his face, feeling only a little guilty about waking him up. "Bear, we're home."

It took a couple tries for Bernard to stir. Another few moments until he jolted, hand snapping out towards Tim's wrist.

Tim withdrew it just in time, fully aware of how Bernard could react when he woke up suddenly.

But with a few sluggish blinks, Bernard wiped his eyes and leaned over the center-console to drop his head on Tim's shoulder.

"G'morning," Tim said softly.

"Fuck off." Bernard mumbled.

His face was warm through Tim’s sleeve, buzzing from sleep. Tim used his free hand to cup Bernard’s neck, keeping him still to kiss his fluffy hair, and murmured, “we have a bed, y’know.”

Bernard turned his face away.

“No, come on,” Tim said, shrugging until Bernard sat up. “It’s not that far of a walk.”

“Yes it is,” Bernard said bitterly.

But he popped his door open, sliding out anyway, and Tim followed.

Part of him wanted to pause and go get his gift for Bernard from the trunk, but he decided to leave it. Bernard looked too tired to be surprised, and it’d still be there in the morning, after they got some sleep. 

Tim stopped by the hood of the car as one of the doors slammed.

A second later, Bernard was at his side, holding his folded up jacket under one arm. He held the other out for Tim to take.

With a kiss to Bernard’s knuckles, Tim locked the car. “I’ll make dinner, you find my laptop and get Netflix going or something.”

“Sandwiches?” Bernard asked hopefully.

“You’re doing your own mayonnaise.”

Bernard bumped his hip into Tim’s, a bit more awake as he tugged him to walk faster.

They headed towards the boat, nodding to the couple of people still out and about the marina, and walked right through a batch of hazy fog. It was late enough that most everyone had gone back to their boats, but the marina was still lit by lamps hung over closed up food trucks and posts sticking straight up out of the water.

Bernard’s shoes thumped against the wood as they reached the actual docks. Tim was quieter, but not by much, and then they were heading across the bobbing water.

It was just cold enough to make Tim excited to curl up in bed and let Bernard cling to him, and he smiled as he watched Bernard fumble for his keys.

With a quiet a-ha, Bernard pulled them out just in time to hop onto their boat.

“I want extra toasty toast,” he said, slipping down the stairs.

Tim followed a bit slower, pausing to lock the door behind them, and activated the Oracle-approved security. “I know.”

“And extra cheese.”

“Mhm. And tomatoes.”

“Always.”

By the time Tim got down to the tiny kitchen area, Bernard had dumped his folded-up jacket onto the bed, sprawling out beside it with a heavy yawn. 

He stayed right there as Tim changed into sweatpants and a hoodie, then as Tim began to pull out the right pan for the fancy grilled cheese he’d learned how to make years ago from Dick. If it weren’t for the way Bernard kept moving little bits of his body, a twitch of his hand here, a stretching leg there, head lolling all the while, Tim would’ve assumed he’d somehow managed to fall asleep already.

Maybe it’d be better if he had, considering he had a long shift the next morning, but Tim wanted him to at least eat something before he really drifted off. It was bad enough that he’d insisted they sleep at the boat like he knew Tim wanted to instead of at the apartment, where he had a shorter drive to work.

The good thing about sandwiches was that they at least didn’t take very long. The most time-consuming part was chopping tomatoes.

As soon as his own was ready, Tim used a spatula to pick it up with a final sizzle, and placed both his and Bernard’s plates on the table. He didn’t bother to really clean, just slid the pan to the back of the stove.

“Dinner.” Tim called quietly, stealing a bit of melting cheese from the crust of Bernard’s sandwich.

Bernard sat up with a groan.

Glancing down at the plates, Tim considered getting out some frozen vegetables to toss in the microwave. It’d be healthier than just the grilled cheese, tomato or not, but it would also take another few minutes.

And then warm arms circled around his waist. Any plans to move went out the window as Bernard pressed his face to the back of Tim’s neck with a mumble of, “M’tired.”

“Eat,” Tim said, “Then we can go to sleep.”

Bernard hummed listlessly, swaying them back and forth.

“C'mon, Sunshine.”

“I spent hours without you, give me a few minutes here,” Bernard said, and Tim knew full well that he was purposefully dipping his voice into that sad, pathetic register that made Tim’s head swim with images of kicked puppies and fallen ice cream, but damn it if it didn’t work.

With a reluctant sigh, Tim turned in Bernard’s arms, kissed his cheek, and helped him dance to their invisible tune. “Five minutes. Tops.”

Bernard’s little smile as he ducked to lay his head on Tim’s shoulder was the only response Tim got.

Even years into their relationship, Bernard could still get away with things like this just by looking cute. So many of their early habits had fallen away with time, and yet Tim still crumpled when Bernard gave him a soft look, and Bernard still folded the second Tim said please.

It was a very, very good thing that both of them were decent people who didn’t use their sway over each other for evil.

Just for slow-dancing in the kitchen, apparently.

Tim wasn’t sure how long they really stood there, Bernard’s arms around his waist and Tim’s around Bernard’s neck and back, or when Bernard began to hum some tune that eventually, slowly, morphed into the wedding march. All he knew was that Bernard eventually spun them gently away from the table.

“I have a gift for you,” Bernard said, pressing their foreheads together.

Heart fluttering, Tim let himself be pulled towards Bernard's discarded jacket. "You do?"

And he'd thought he was being original with picking up something for Bernard.

"Mhm." Bernard took one hand away to unfold his jacket. "Right…here you go."

He brandished it with a broad grin, flopping down onto the bed where the bag used to be, with it now resting in Tim's hand.

"I wanted to see you model something today, even if it wasn't your suit," Bernard said. "And Darcy thought you'd like it."

Tim pressed the bag to his chest, grinning like an idiot. "I love you."

"You haven't even seen it yet."

"No, but I know what I bought you."

Somehow, that made Bernard's look even brighter.

"You got me something?" He bit his upper lip, effectively muffling his laugh. "I guess we're on the same page."

"That's why I'm marrying you," Tim said.

He plunked himself down beside Bernard with the bag in his lap, playing with the ends of the green tissue paper.

The bag itself was from a clothing shop Tim knew downtown.

Not a cheap one, either.

"This is fancy," Tim said, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s why I was so distracted on the phone,” Bernard said. “I was trying to convince Darcy that I didn’t need to spend fifty bucks on a pair of pajamas you’d literally never wear.”

“And? How’d you do it?”

Bernard shrugged. “Told her you steal my clothes, you fucking thief.”

Snorting, Tim tugged the tissue paper out and balled it up to toss at Bernard's shoulder. It bounced right off, landing somewhere among the clothes strewn across Tim's part of the floor.

Then he pulled the rest out, a navy dress shirt unfurling, and his mouth softened into a gasp .

He trailed his fingers over gold-colored buttons and cuffs with a gooey smile. "It's perfect."

"Figured, since it looks like the other dozen button ups in your closet, just with a little Bernard flare," Bernard said.

Carefully, gently, Tim held it against his chest.

“It does look like you.” He agreed. “I love it.”

“I’m sure you’ll get a chance to wear it soon. I wanna take you out to dinner sometime, take a break from all the wedding talk for at least one night.”

“It’s boring you already?” Tim asked.

Bernard scooted over, hugging Tim awkwardly from the side. “Never. I just want you to have a minute to catch your breath before the stress knocks you clean over.”

"M'not that stressed." He stood and shook Bernard's arms off, adding, "but I won't say no to dinner."

He checked the shirt one more time with some better lighting from the kitchen. Marveled at the way the gold-colored buttons glittered against the dark blue.

And then Bernard was beside him, taking one hand away from the shirt to bow low over it.

“May I have a kiss, o'love of my life?” He asked politely.

“Quit it.” Tim mumbled. “C’mere.”

He pulled Bernard up, pressing a soft kiss to his warm lips.

Bernard's hand cupped Tim's cheek so gently that it felt like he thought Tim was made of glass, but his grip on Tim's waist felt more like he was trying to keep a diamond from slipping between his fingers.

He broke the kiss after a long moment, putting their foreheads together. "I love you so much, Tim."

“I love you more.”

It was like they were the opposite poles of a magnet, how quickly they met in the middle for another soft kiss.

Tim's arms went around Bernard's neck automatically, the shirt grasped loosely in one hand, and he smiled against Bernard's lips.

Their food was getting cold, he knew dimly. Bernard was tired and had an early morning the next day. But he wanted to stay right there, holding Bernard and being held, Timothy Drake and Bernard Dowd.

He nearly stumbled when Bernard pulled away this time.

With a smile, Bernard steadied him by the hips.

“So?” Bernard cocked an eyebrow. “You bought me something?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Tim chuckled. “It’s not exactly as nice as the shirt.”

“Well, now I have to know.”

“It’s a fern.”

“A fern?”

“You like plants!” Tim said.

The corners of Bernard’s lips twitched, and he pressed abruptly forwards to snatch Tim’s mouth again.

“You’re too much,” he said after a second. “Is it still in the car?”

Tim nodded, slipping his arms right back around Bernard’s neck to cling. “Didn’t want you to have to stay awake to humor me.”

“Humor you? Now I have to go grab it. Where are the keys, I’ll go right now.”

“Bear.”

“I’m serious, it’s too cold out to make it sit out there all alone,” Bernard said.

"It's summer."

Bernard slipped away, snatching the keys from the table by the food, and Tim had to laugh at how excited he was over a tiny little plant in a shitty pot. It had nothing on the shirt Tim was still clutching close.

It still wound up perched on the boat's lone windowsill, ready to soak up the sun in the morning.

The problem with Bernard having long shifts, Tim had learned, was that Bernard wasn't Tim's impulse control like people assumed.

Bernard was Tim's anxiety control.

With Bernard around, Tim could get his anxieties out by spitting rapid fire questions and concerns at him, then he'd be annoyingly calm about it. Bernard would say something to cut through all the extra noise and pull Tim down to breathe with him, their chests pressed together so Tim could follow Bernard's lead.

It didn't always work—rarely, honestly—but at least it kept Tim out of the Nest or the Batcave. It kept him from diving into work just to have something to distract himself.

Tonight, Bernard had a long shift.

Tonight, Tim was in the cave with a dozen scattered blueprints and specs pulled up on different screens, eyes blurring as he stared silently at all of them like they had the answers he was looking for.

He'd promised Bernard that he'd say something if he got worried about the wedding again. And he'd meant it.

But this wasn't worry, was it? This was just an abundance of caution. Paranoia, maybe.

Not the same thing.

He told himself it wasn't the same thing.

Then he clicked the mouse and pulled up his main designs, like he hadn't done that about a billion times in the last hour, and like he expected there to be some glaring problem that stood out this time.

It was while he was staring that the elevator dinged, and Tim automatically braced himself.

Only a handful of people used the elevator when they weren’t injured.

Damian and Bruce used the stairs. Steph, Cass, and Duke all came in on their bikes, not from upstairs. On the rare occasion they dropped by without any warning, the others tended to come roaring in just like those three.

But the elevator was either Alfred, their rare guests, or—

“Nice specs,” Babs said, voice dripping with amusement. “You steal those from Call of Duty, or are they that heavily armored for aesthetics?”

Tim gripped the arms of his chair and mentally cursed himself for not just going back to the Nest.

Not like it would've stopped Babs.

She didn't have a reason to be at the cave, not without warning. If she was here now, out of any time, it was for him. 

And it wasn't like she couldn't get through his security. She'd personally designed most of it for him. The little touches he'd added wouldn't have been enough to keep her out.

"It's armor," Tim said, forcing his voice to stay steady.

It wasn't even that late, so it wouldn't be wobbly from exhaustion, and he definitely wasn't anxious enough for his voice to be shaking. Because anxious meant worried, and he'd promised.

"Armor that fits under a tux." Babs hummed.

Tim swallowed hard. Closed his eyes. "A suit, actually."

From where he was sitting, there were a good four exits he could reach before Babs could stop him. If he stayed out of reach of her arms and the grapple tucked into the bag behind her wheelchair, he could probably even make it to his bike and bolt.

Her hand settled on his arm before he could decide.

“Tim, I really don’t think Bernard’s gonna want to wear that much body armor to his wedding. That stuff is sweaty," Babs said.

He dropped his head.

"Please," Tim said quietly. "Don't tell me I'm being paranoid. I already know."

"Kiddo, I've been working with the Bats since that big brain of yours was still trying to figure out the alphabet. Trust me, I know better than to actually tell one of you that you're being paranoid."

"Unless it's Bruce."

"He deserves it. You, on the other hand, just look exhausted."

Tim wearily half-turned his chair towards her.

It wasn't too surprising to find her with her chin propped on the fist not on his arm, an empathetic smirk on her face.

She'd cut her hair again since the last time he'd seen her in person. A chin-length bob, still as bright as a carrot, and a nice look with her light purple shirt.

"I'm not tired," Tim said.

"Tim."

Grimacing, he said, "I'm not."

He moved to turn his chair back towards the computer, but Babs was strong enough to keep him still. Her grip tightened with a pinch of her eyebrows.

"I don't want to have to call Bruce or someone to talk to you, pal. And not just because I don't think he'd be much help," she said. "Tim, my computer sent me an alert when you didn't move from this spot after four hours. You understand why I'm concerned."

Tim's eyes glued themselves to her cheek, just below her eyes.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, that totally explains the military-grade armor you have ready to begin building for your civilian fiance."

Something twisted in Tim's chest, dark and rotten and puke-inducing, and he forced himself to really look at her.

As always, Oracle lived up to her name. Just meeting her eyes made him feel like she knew everything about all of his thoughts. Like she knew things that had yet to even pass.

He weakly said, "I need this to be perfect, okay? It's for Bernard. To protect him."

"We already have plenty of protective gear. You could outfit him with anything from the armory, something more protective and lightweight," Babs said. "Why make something new?"

"Because it's Bernard."

"That's not a reason."

"I love him."

"So you'd think you'd want well tested, proven-to-work gear."

Tim clutched the arms of his chair, chest squeezing. "I can't trust it."

"Why? Because you didn't make it? Tim, you've had a finger in every pie since you were thirteen, half of these are designs we made together—"

"What if it fails?" Tim blurted.

As always, silence rang through the cave louder than any noise.

Babs stared at him with that same understanding look that cut him right to the bone, and he shoved away from his chair, sending it skittering away.

With him standing and Babs sitting, he was so much taller than her, but he felt fourteen again as his voice cracked. "What if I get him killed? If he's hurt because of me, if he's—forget calling off the wedding, I'll never speak to him again. I'll cut off all contact, I'll make the JL give him a brand new identity, I'll—anything. I will do anything to keep him safe, Babs."

“Then think, Tim. With your head, please.”

A shout was on the tip of Tim’s tongue, but he swallowed it, forcing his lungs to stutter in an inhale.

Yelling at Babs wasn’t gonna fix anything.

Especially because she was right.

He was thinking with his heart, letting himself be dragged around by his emotions, but he couldn’t just stop. Bernard had sounded so sure that night on the couch. 

He’d said he trusted Tim and the Waynes’ to protect him, and Tim couldn’t let him down.

“I’m finishing these designs,” Tim said, voice forcefully quiet. “Then, I promise, I’ll go relax.”

"And you'll talk about this with Bernard?" Babs waved her hand at the screens.

Stomach doing a somersault, Tim pulled his chair back towards the computer. 

His hands lingered on the back just to give him something to steady himself. Every passing second felt like an eternity with her knowing gaze weighing him down.

"Alfred had us working together, y’know," Babs said. "Bernard."

Tim closed his eyes.

"I taught him a bit about the computer systems, about all of it, and he told me how much he loves you. It was nice to make a connection with a new member of the family."

"He's not a bat." Tim croaked.

"No, but I'm still here to support him. So when he came to me and Alfred to ask about you being so stressed that you nearly had a panic attack over your friends—"

"I didn't—

Babs raised her voice. "—talking about your wedding going wrong, I tried to give him advice. I tried to tell him that you were as stubborn as Bruce and Dick combined, that you needed to work through it on your own. But I was wrong."

Helplessly, Tim folded forwards so his chest bumped the back of his chair.

"Talk to your fiance, Tim. Tell him about this. Work through it together."

_ _ _ _ _

Ignoring Barbara didn't work.

Sitting in Bruce's office in the manor, Bernard at his side, Bruce watching them with his fingers steepled beneath his nose, Tim could admit it to himself. Ignoring Barbara had never once worked out well for him.

He should've spoken to Bernard, if only to avoid this conversation now.

And sure, it helped to have Bruce's calm, matter-of-fact way of thinking. It helped to have Bernard's hand squeezing his.

But there was still a black hole in his chest, sucking in everything and leaving only a gnawing ache that said something was going to go horribly, horribly wrong.

"I don't know." Tim managed for the fiftieth time since Bernard dragged him to the manor. "I don't know what I'm scared of."

"You're scared of Bernard being hurt," Bruce said again.

Bernard stayed quiet, thumb smoothing over Tim's fingers.

"Yeah. I guess."

With a small sigh, Bruce leaned back in his creaking leather chair, and said, "You know that I already have precautions in place. And I'll set up more before the wedding."

Tim nodded hollowly.

"We—that is, the relevant guests—would never let anything happen, Tim. You and Bernard will be safe. I’ll speak to Clark, we’ll work everything out.”

“Clark isn’t a God.” Tim mumbled.

“No, but the League is perfectly capable of protecting a single wedding. You have to remember that most of the danger we find, we seek out, we choose it. That’s not what this will be,” Bruce said, eyes softening. “Son, nothing goes according to plan, but you’re taking every step you can to keep everyone safe, and that’s all you can do.”

Slipping his hand out of Tim’s to cup the back of his neck, skin cool against where Tim’s was burning, Bernard gently said, “We’re gonna be okay.”

Even as careful as they were both being, Tim’s stomach did a somersault at how genuinely convinced they sounded. It should’ve been comforting, but all it did was make him feel like he was stranded, a boat with a sputtering engine in the middle of the ocean.

He kept his eyes on the desk, away from Bruce, away from Bernard, away from the worry or sympathy or whatever he’d find there. Maybe even anger from Bernard for keeping this anxiety from him. Anything but understanding.

Neither of them were able to understand. This was Tim’s own brain rioting against him and spinning him up until he felt dizzy with it, and this whole conversation could’ve been avoided if Tim had just been more on top of his game.

How hard was it to remember that Bernard only had an eight hour shift? He’d said it directly to Tim’s face and Tim had still managed to get the days mixed up, still managed to get caught half-hyperventilating in bed, where he’d been laying for hours.

If he’d remembered Bernard’s actual shift, or if he’d gotten out of bed instead of sitting there, hollow and crumbling, Bernard wouldn’t have known.

He definitely wouldn’t have dragged Tim to his dad like a little kid who’d kicked a ball through a window and was too scared to fess up.

The way Bernard’s face had looked when he’d tugged Tim to sit upright was already on replay in Tim’s brain, the fear etched into his eyes as he’d asked what happened, how his jaw had tightened when Tim tried to say he was okay and couldn’t even get the words out.

All of this commotion and fuss and worry because Tim was being paranoid. As if that wasn’t practically a daily occurrence.

Tim couldn’t even remember what set him off, just the slow progression from fine to thinking to overthinking that’d sent him spiraling into bed to hide. 

Maybe it’d been the email from Alfred saying that he’d heard back from one of the vendors. Maybe it’d been opening his laptop and getting punched in the face with the work he’d left open from doing wedding stuff with Bernard the night before. Maybe it’d even just been that Bernard had gone to work, where Tim couldn’t protect him, where he’d be in constant danger at Gotham’s limited mercy.

With a shallow breath, Tim scrubbed his aching, puffy face.

His own heartbeat in his ears was the only thing he could hear, echoing and spinning, until Bruce asked, “Would it help to change the guest list?”

“What do you mean?” Bernard asked.

“Tim’s always done better with more people at his side. Your friends, your family, your teammates,” Bruce said. “You would probably feel more comfortable with more people there.”

Tim’s eyes slipped to the old wood floor.

He took another breath, but it came right back out in a struggling puff that had Bernard shifting closer. His hand was heavy and too warm when it landed on Tim’s back.

“I don’t know.”

“Tim, it’s gonna be okay.” Bernard murmured. “And we don’t have to do any of this if you don’t want to. Just say the word, we’ll call everything off.”

A bolt of sharp, burning panic jolted through Tim’s chest. He reached out to grip Bernard’s free hand with prickling eyes. “No. No, I’m fine. I’m just—”

He faltered, Bernard’s hand rubbing firmly across his back.

“Take your time,” Bernard said.

It was quiet and soft, curling around Tim like a blanket, smothering his heart like it was trying to strangle him, and Tim closed his eyes tight.

For a second, he just sat there and breathed shallowly.

Then he sat up with a squeeze of Bernard’s hand.

"I can't lose you again." Tim admitted, voice cracking. "I can't lose anybody else."

Bernard's face fell. "You're not gonna lose me, Tim."

"You can't promise that."

"But I will." He slid out of his chair, crouching in front of Tim to take his hands, and pressed his lips to Tim's knuckles. "That's the point of the vows, right? Promises."

Trying his best to keep his heart from pounding right out of his chest, Tim managed to say, “I don’t wanna do until death do we part. I don’t wanna be the reason you die.”

“Tim.” Bernard murmured.

“I can’t do it.”

With a squeeze of Tim’s hands, Bernard’s chest bumped Tim’s knees. Tim stuttered out a broken breath.

He leaned forwards so he was resting on Bernard’s shoulder and tried to blink away his tears.

"I'm opening myself up on a whole new level, and it feels like I'm just making it easier for people to hurt us both.” Tim croaked into the crook of Bernard’s warm neck. “It’s not just the wedding itself, it’s the fact that I might be dragging you into danger. My dad died because someone decided to go after heroes’ civilian family, and he wasn’t even supposed to. What happens if someone figures out my identity and really goes after you?”

“We can handle it together,” Bernard said firmly.

Tim opened his mouth to protest, pulling back with tears spilling over and saliva sticking grossly to his lips, but Bernard cut him off by cupping his cheeks.

Wiping a bit of spit off the corner of Tim’s mouth, Bernard continued. “We’ll handle it. You and me.”

“That’s not enough,” Tim said. “I can’t protect you.”

“We protect each other, Tim. And your family’s got our backs too, and your team, and all of the people who love you. You’ve got like three Supermen on speed dial.”

With a deep, shaky breath, Tim swallowed hard. He whispered, “Nobody says speed dial anymore.”

Bernard huffed, pressing a kiss to Tim’s forehead.

“I do,” he said. “And don't dodge. Tim, look at me.”

It took too much energy for Tim to meet Bernard’s eyes, so he didn’t, watching the freckles on Bernard’s cheeks instead.

With a gentle tap of his finger to Tim's jaw, Bernard said, “We’re gonna be okay, angel.”

And maybe that was true. Maybe they’d make it through the wedding and the honeymoon and do the next however-many-years together.

But saying it didn’t do anything to calm the nerves chewing Tim’s stomach to pieces.

He forced himself to look between Bruce and Bernard, tucking his trembling lower lip into his mouth.

Bruce was watching them with that look that he got everytime one of his kids got hurt, all stoic and tense. Bernard looked like he was waiting for Tim to go catatonic at any moment.

Putting his hands over Bernard’s, Tim eventually croaked, “I can’t just stop being scared.”

“We’re not asking for that,” Bruce said quietly. “We just want you to tell someone before it gets to this point again. Me or Bernard or Alfred, your siblings, one of your friends, anyone. Talk to us, Tim.”

Tim swallowed around the thick lump in his throat, gave Bruce a nod, and leaned into Bernard’s side as Bernard stood. One of his hands slipped away from Tim’s to put around his shoulder instead.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner? Alfred can set two more plates.” Bruce asked.

Bernard and Tim shared a look, Tim’s stomach twisting with the urge to just blurt out a yes, to keep Bernard somewhere safe and to stay close to family.

Something in Tim’s face must’ve said as much, because Bernard gave him a soft smile. “Yeah, that sounds good, Bruce. Do you want me to go talk to Alfred?”

“I would appreciate it.”

With one more squeeze of Tim’s hands, Bernard slipped out of the office, leaving Tim and Bruce sitting in silence, and Tim wiped his eyes.

“Tissue?” Bruce asked.

Tim nodded hollowly.

He took the tissue when it was held out to him and cleaned his face, then blew his nose. He tossed it blindly into the trashcan on the other side of Bruce’s desk.

It only took a moment for Bruce to stand, coming around the desk to sit beside Tim.

Reluctantly, Tim looked up at him.

That was one of the few good things about the fact that he’d never quite hit a growth spurt. He could still look up to Bruce, never really had to deal with the feeling of outgrowing one of his parents.

“I’m sorry that I can’t make this fear go away for you, son,” Bruce said quietly. “But I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you understand that we aren’t going to let anything happen.”

“I know.” Tim managed.

Bruce smiled tightly. “That doesn’t make it any better, does it?”

With a shake of his head, Tim hugged Bruce from the side.

“You went around the world on a hunch to try to save me. Lost so much,” Bruce said. “All of this is the least I would do to protect you and someone you care about.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love Bernard, too.”

“Even if I didn’t, the fact that he makes you happy is enough for me.”

It was already September.

Bernard pointed it out, completely aware of how time seemed to slip through Tim’s fingers when he wasn’t paying close enough attention, and got their phones set up with to-do lists to keep them on track as they crept through the months towards April.

He’d picked out a website, one of those ones that gave you a list of things you needed, of tasks, suggestions for gifts, all of it. It reminded them to think about their honeymoon and start shopping for the bridal party’s outfits, to look into wedding insurance, even to research hair and makeup for the day of.

And Tim’s personal favorite was, it helped them with their wedding invitations.

They’d managed to find some that matched their color scheme and looked at least a little reasonable, instead of something Tim would expect from a royal wedding in the late 1600’s. He was sure that’d work for someone, but he and Bernard had wanted something simple.

They’d gone with a deep, wine red for the envelope, with a gold wax seal that they’d apply themselves when it was time to send the invitations out. The stamp said T&B in carefully done letters.

And for the actual invitation, they’d turned their color scheme around seventeen billion different ways trying to find the right combination. The yellow-ish gold they’d chosen as their main color worked well as the color of the background, with the same red as the envelope fitting as the swirls and accents. The text was black, spelling out all of the information any of their guests would need.

The only part that was missing now was the introduction.

“A lot of people apparently say ‘together with their families,” Tim said, pursing his lips.

He curled closer to Bernard’s side, laptop balancing precariously on his lap and Nermal purring aggressively beside him, and shoved the comforter out of the way so he could set his mouse down.

The bed was more than big enough for them to all be sitting apart, but Bernard was dutifully making room for both cat and fiancé without complaint.

“Well, that one’s right out.” Bernard stretched a hand down to scratch Nermal’s head. “Unless we count Nermal as the entirety of my family.”

“Cordially invite you?”

“Yuck.”

“Request the honor of your presence?”

Making a face, Bernard asked, “do we really seem that uptight?”

“It’s a wedding invitation,” Tim said with a sigh. “It’s all gonna be uptight.”

“Yeah, but there’s a line, and I think requesting the honor goes a little past it. That sounds like something you’d put in a fancy email to the board at W.E. to try to get them to approve a new R&D project.”

Clicking through a few more suggestions, Tim’s frown only deepened.

“Would love your presence?”

“See, that’s not formal enough.”

“Bernard.”

“You said you wanted me to have opinions.”

Tim shot a look over at him and Bernard thinned his lips so that he didn’t laugh.

With a roll of his eyes, Tim continued scrolling, and Nermal flicked his tail.

“Okay,” Tim said. “Okay, how about a simple ‘please join us for the wedding of Tim and Bernard?”

Bernard cocked an eyebrow, lips twitching. “And your name gets to go first because…”

“Because it’s shorter and looks better in front.”

“That’s disingenuous, Timothy.”

“Okay, fine.” Tim held down the backspace. “Bernard Dowd and Timothy Drake-Wayne. Happy?”

And just like that, Bernard rolled over, flopping down onto Tim hard enough to make Nermal meow and to nearly send the laptop to its untimely demise on the carpet. He pressed a loud, gross kiss to Tim’s lips with a grin. 

“Extremely.”

Tim put his hand directly over Bernard’s face. “I can still make you sleep on the couch.”

"Then who's gonna help you with the registry?"

"It's not too late to ask for gift cards. Or I can just leave it to the guests, and suffer through the rhinestone-covered jumpsuits.”

“Who—?” Bernard asked.

“Cissie absolutely would.”

Bernard’s face flickered. “Oh. Yeah, actually, she’d think that was hilarious.”

“She loves to see me in emotional agony,” Tim said.

“But what do we actually need? I mean, we’ve got the boat and the apartment decorated, we don’t really cook that much, pajamas seem kinda lame for people to buy.”

With a shrug, Tim clicked over to the registry tab.

“This website suggests experiences. You want a couples spa day?”

“Oh, totally,” Bernard said, wiggling his fingers. “Gotta get those nails looking pretty for my hubby.”

Tim aimed a kick at his leg, but Bernard dodged with a barked laugh, and Tim asked, “so I can throw out all the nail polish crowding up my bathroom?”

“Only if you want me to use your credit card to go buy more.”

Of everything they had to plan for the wedding, the one Tim was happiest to let Bernard take almost complete control of was the honeymoon.

He’d already been pretty much everywhere in the world on this mission or that family trip. The shine had worn off on most of it when he’d nearly died in Paris at fourteen.

Bernard, though, had barely ever even left Gotham. His longest trip before they’d started dating had been a field-trip to Metropolis, and he’d spent it curled up in a hotel bed with a stomach bug.

So the honeymoon was all Bernard, all the way. Whatever he wanted to do, wherever he wanted to go, however long he wanted to stay. A spare-no-expense experience.

Except Bernard refused to let it happen that way.

“Have you ever been to Thailand?” Bernard asked, tugging at the end of his hair. “Because it looks kinda cool, there are some really pretty places there.”

“Bernard,” Tim said.

“I’m just saying.”

“Quit looking for me. Isn’t there anywhere you’ve been wanting to go? No pinterest boards from baby Bernard?”

“Not unless you count going thirty minutes up the road to New York,” Bernard said.

With a sigh, Tim sank onto the couch beside Bernard, and Bernard shifted so that he was leaning against Tim’s chest. He braced his arm on Tim’s stomach so they could both see his phone as he scrolled through a travel website.

He paused on a photo of Venice, then one of the grand canyon. With each one, he grimaced. 

Tim pressed his nose to Bernard’s hair, scratching softly at the nape of his neck. “you’re just gonna get a bunch of tourist traps.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Bernard asked, tilting his head back to look up at Tim. “There’s gotta be at least a couple places you haven’t been.”

“There are plenty, but this is about you.”

“It’s about us.”

“I’ve been everywhere I wanna go. I’ll be happy just seeing you happy, Bear,” Tim said with a crooked smile.

Bernard groaned, reaching across himself to take Tim’s hand, and playfully gnawed at Tim’s arm. “Help me, asshole.”

His smile growing into a sharp grin, Tim yanked Bernard closer.

It didn’t take much to twist him down into the couch cushions. Tim tossed his other arm over Bernard’s shoulders and gave him a half-hug, half-headlock, and obnoxiously kissed his forehead as he dug his fingers into Bernard’s side.

Shrieking, Bernard dropped his phone to wrestle back, his elbow jerking into Tim’s stomach.

“This is not helpful.” Bernard managed between giggles.

Tim buried his face in Bernard’s neck with a chuckle. “You started it.”

“Are you—are you five?”

He wiggled, trying to free himself, and Tim rolled over so that he was draped over Bernard’s front. Bernard chomped his teeth like he was going to bite Tim’s nose, only to dissolve into another giggle-fit, covering his face with his arm.

Tim kissed around it, going up to Bernard’s forehead with a purposefully loud squelch. His grin barely visible under his elbow, Bernard pushed at Tim’s chest, and Tim flopped over.

Gasping for air, Bernard followed and hid his smile in Tim’s side.

“We still don’t know where we’re honeymooning,” he said breathlessly.

Tim wormed his hand between them to get Bernard’s phone where it’d fallen, then tapped it against Bernard’s chest. “You know, we don’t have to figure it out right now. It’s not even October, we’ve got time.”

“Mhm.” Bernard snorted. He took his phone back, but didn’t turn it on. “But if we keep trying to decide like this, it’ll take years.”

“You didn’t have to bite me.”

“I meant if you keep being stubborn, but yeah, blame me.”

Rolling his eyes, Tim asked, “don’t you have any ideas?”

“How about a road trip?” Bernard suggested.

“A road trip?”  

“C’mon, it could be fun. Just you and me. Maybe we could go to Florida or California or something.”

Tim forced his grin down, fingers drumming against Bernard’s back.

It was hard considering how much he knew Bernard hated being in cars for long drives. Anything over an hour had him complaining about how sore his legs and ass were from sitting, about how it was too cold or too warm, about the way the seatbelt dug into his chest.

A road trip?

With a hidden smile, Tim shrugged. “If that’s what you wanna do.”

Judging from the way Bernard smacked his forehead into Tim’s stomach, that wasn’t the right answer.

“Tim, just tell me what you want.”

Something in Tim’s chest softened at the way Bernard was whining, and with a sigh, he brushed Bernard’s hair out of his face. “I literally just want you to be happy. Where we go isn’t important to me, just as long as we’re together and you have fun, it’s perfect. Like, there are so few things you could pick that I’d dislike.”

Bernard turned his face so he was looking up at Tim, cheek squished by Tim’s stomach.

“Paris.” He mumbled.

Chest twisting, Tim nodded.

“Yeah, that’d do it,” he said. “And you like places that’re nice and sunny.”

“Beaches are good. Sun and swimming. Cities, too,” Bernard said.

“Nothing too flashy, no Vegas or Miami.”

“Miami’s flashy to you?”

Tim shot Bernard a look, saying, “you know what I mean. If it’s somewhere you’d expect to see in a reality TV show as a good place to go clubbing, I’m out.”

“Good thing I’m not a big party-person.” Bernard smiled. “So, a sunny city with a beach that’s not in France. That sure narrows it down, huh?”

With a twitch of his lips, Tim pressed a kiss to Bernard’s shoulder, the nearest bit of him that Tim could reach.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“I know. And if not, we can always have someone else pick for us. You have like eighty-five-billion family members we could ask.”

“Yeah, that’s not power I’m giving to any of them,” Tim said, eyebrow raised. “Alfred’s the only person I would trust.”

“Bruce has been, like, everywhere, and he’s been on dates all across the world,” Bernard said.

“And almost all of them have ended with his date in the hospital, prison, or storming away screaming.”

Bernard grimaced. “Touche.”

Chapter Text

Letting Alfred handle the vendors for the wedding might have been one of Tim and Bernard's best ideas. 

Instead of stressing over bookings and availability and locations, maneuvering everything around both of their schedules, Alfred had handled everything personally. There wasn't any debate, there was just an email in Tim's inbox with an address, a date, and a time for each vendor.

Ten minutes before their appointment for their cake tasting, Tim pulled into the strip mall Alfred had sent him the address of, scanning the signs for the bakery they were supposed to be at.

“There,” Bernard said, gesturing to the end. “Blue awning.”

“Great, the busiest part of the parking lot.” Tim mumbled.

He flicked his turn signal and started down an aisle, two to the left of the bakery. Bernard unbuckled as they slid into a parking space.

The whole place was pretty much exactly what Tim had expected. A row of storefronts, people in white pants and pastel shirts, sunglasses larger than their faces that didn’t fit at all with Gotham’s crisp October air. It felt like someone was going to walk by with their purse poodle any moment.

“This is fancy,” Bernard said.

“We let Alfred handle the vendors, of course it’s fancy,” Tim said. “He’s keeping it to the Wayne standard.”

Rolling his eyes, Bernard took Tim’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You’re so lucky I know that you’re joking.”

“But he’s not.”

Bernard made a face, and with a snort, Tim slid out of the car. 

He paused by the hood to wait for Bernard, taking his sunglasses off and hanging them from his shirt collar. Ruffling his hair, he glanced up at the bakery.

It was definitely nicer than one he would’ve picked if he’d been in charge. It wasn’t just a random grocery store, for one, and for another, it wasn’t in central Gotham. He and Bernard almost always bought things downtown instead of driving further away from their apartment or the marina. Just for this appointment, they’d had to drive forty-five minutes.

But if Alfred chose it, then it was probably worth it, especially considering how much effort he’d been putting in with all of the vendors. Tim’s inbox was full of emails about different caterers and photographers and florists that he’d researched.

As Bernard met him at the sidewalk, bumping their arms together, Tim scanned the display in the window. Three different cakes with different tiers, plus random assorted desserts.

He pointed out a tray of fruit tarts with a grin. “There’s my vote.”

“I love it for you, not so much for me,” Bernard said.

Tim reached out and caught Bernard’s pinky finger with his own, squeezing.

“You’re gonna eat yourself into a sugar coma one of these days. You’ve got the sweet tooth of a seven-year-old with the Tooth Fairy’s personal phone number.”

“Well, some of us aren’t—” Sticking his finger up to make a bat ear, Bernard made what Tim assumed was supposed to be a reference to Bruce’s normal Batman expression. “No strict athletic standards to live up to.”

Snorting, Tim moved his other hand up to grab Bernard’s finger, tugging it down. “Quit it. I’ll never let you forget it if that’s how I get exposed, asshole.”

“All of the stupid bullshit you guys have done over the years and you think me doing a shitty impression will be the thing that does you in?”

Tim held both of Bernard’s hands in his own, using them to pull him in just long enough to press a kiss to his cheek.

Then he pulled away and turned towards the bakery without looking back. He held the door open behind him as they stepped into a cold blast of air conditioning and the smell of vanilla, Bernard’s chest bumping against his back.

Inside was just as fancy as the outside, white tile and dark walls, the front half of the room full of tables draped in white table cloths, while the back had a counter and clear display cases beside a long hallway. It was half-Parisian inspired, half something else entirely.

Behind the counter stood a cheerful looking woman with dark, curly hair, tying a pink and white striped apron around her waist.

“Hi!” She said, finishing off with her apron and smiling brightly. “What can we do for you?”

“Hi, we’re here for a wedding cake tasting. It’s either under Drake or Dowd,” Tim said.

“Oh, perfect, we just got off the phone with mr. Pennyworth. He wanted to double-check your appointment with us.” She gestured down the hall. “I’m Kristie, you can follow me down here and I’ll show you where your samples are so you can get started. Would you rather I sit with you in case you have any questions, or taste everything for yourselves and let me know when you’re done?”

“Probably just us, I’m indecisive and it’ll take us a while,” Bernard said. “Tim?”

“That’s fine with me.”

With a nod, Kristie started down the hall, Tim and Bernard following behind. “All of your samples just came out of the fridge, so they’re gonna be a little colder than the actual cake will be the day of the wedding. Mr. Pennyworth said it’s an outdoor venue?”

“My dad’s backyard,” Tim said.

“That’s so sweet! I’m sure we can work out a way to keep everything refrigerated anyway, just to keep anything from happening to the icing or any of the decorations, but that is good to know.”

They reached a door at the end of the hall on the right, and Kristie pushed it open, showing them into a room with white walls and flowery paintings, a gold chandelier hanging directly over a round table covered in a white tablecloth.

Right in the middle of it sat nearly twenty small plates of cake slices, several dishes of icings, and a pair of napkins with forks resting on them.

“Okay,” Tim said quietly, raising his eyebrows. “That’s an army of cake.”

“Alfred said he wanted us to have options.” Bernard murmured.

“I thought he meant that we’d have a handful, just enough to not be chocolate and vanilla. Not—caramel fudge and almonds.”

Tim set the little card he’d picked up back in place in front of the sample, scanning each slice like they would explain themselves to him.

“Mr. Pennyworth hand-picked all of them. He said you have different tastes, and wanted to be sure to have a variety so you’d have more of a chance of finding one that you both liked,” Kristie said.

“Well, he succeeded at having a variety,” Tim said.

“Knowing him, he probably found too many that we’d both like. It’s gonna be hard to pick,” Bernard said.

With a grin, Kristie clapped her hands together. “I’ll leave you to it then. Just lemme know if you have any questions, I’ll be up front at the register if you need anything.”

She vanished back down the hall, leaving Tim to pull out one of the chairs and let Bernard slip into it, then to take the other for himself.

“Where do we even start?” Bernard asked. “With the basic stuff and work our way up, left to right, just grab one?”

Tim hooked his foot around Bernard’s ankle, smiling softly. “Which one are you most interested in?”

“I don’t even know, Alfred went overboard.”

“Then let’s just do chocolate first. Simple enough, and we already know we probably won’t pick it.”

He took the fork in front of his chair and reached for the plate with plain chocolate, setting it between them. Bernard dipped into it immediately.

“Cheers,” he said, lifting his fork.

Snorting, Tim took a bite for himself, and clanked it against Bernard’s. They bit in at the same time, making it so Tim could see Bernard’s face flicker into a grin.

And Tim didn’t have to spit it out, so he counted it as a win.

“Too rich, but I like the texture,” Tim said.

Bernard nodded hurriedly. “Tasty. Not a wedding cake though.”

Tim moved to put the plate back, but Bernard cut him off with his fork.

“Really?” Tim asked. “Don’t give yourself a stomach ache, we have like fifteen other pieces to go through.”

He got a sheepish, chocolate-coated smile in return, making him roll his eyes and hold back a grin of his own as he swapped the plate for a new one.

It was a lighter color than the chocolate, but Tim didn’t check the card for the exact flavor before setting it down. He just wiped his fork on the napkin it’d been laying on and took a bit of the slice.

Bernard took his bite first, his eyes lighting up.

That was enough of a vouch for Tim to taste it. At first, all he could taste was regular vanilla cake, but less than a heartbeat later, he got a burst of sweetness.

“What’s this one?” Bernard asked, taking a second bite.

Tim stretched to reach the card and flipped it around, licking the icing off his fork with a hum.

“Honey vanilla.”

“I like it. It’s sweet, but not like, too much. Tasty,” Bernard said.

Glancing up, Tim set his fork down and reached over to brush a crumb off the corner of Bernard’s mouth for him. “You’re taking the Bear nickname a little far there, Winnie.”

Bernard weaved out of the way, scrubbing his face.

“It’s not my fault honey makes stuff taste better.”

“It’s good.” Tim agreed. “I’ll say seven out of ten.”

“Ten, easy.”

This time, Bernard reached for a new one while Tim put the honey vanilla back. He brought the card with the slice, so when Tim saw the green tint of the cake, he could grab the card and turn it to look.

“Pistachio raspberry?” Tim said incredulously. “Do those even go together?”

“I guess that’s what we’re here to find out,” Bernard said, dipping his fork into it with a smile.

Tim bit the inside of his cheek and grimaced, but followed reluctantly. They tapped their forks together accidentally when Bernard pulled his away, and Bernard leaned forwards to kiss Tim’s temple, bumping their knees before eating his bite.

It took a much longer second for Tim to actually put his in his mouth. Pistachio sounded fine, raspberry sounded good, but the combination made him hesitate like someone was asking him to eat something that had a twenty-five percent chance of being poison. The fork hovered in front of his mouth for a good moment before he bit the bullet.

Surprisingly, he didn’t immediately want to spit it into his napkin.

It honestly wasn’t that bad.

Bernard set his fork down, giving it a thoughtful shrug. “Too buttery, too much raspberry, but it’s okay. I like pistachio.”

“I like it, kinda. It’s got a nice mix, tart and buttery and sweet without one overwhelming the other,” Tim said. “Reminds me of banana bread.”

With a little hum, Bernard set that plate back amongst the rest, then the card.

He chose the next slice himself, a cheesecake with strawberries on top. Tim chose the one after, earl gray with poppy seeds, and they kept swapping back and forth.

Strawberry and cream, chocolate hazelnut, red velvet and cheesecake. An Italian Cream with icing that Tim knew was trouble before Bernard even put his fork into it.

“This is way too much frosting,” he said, snorting as he rushed it to his mouth before it could tip onto the table. “W’too’mush.”

Passing Bernard his napkin, not bothering to hide his grin, Tim said, “That’s at least fifty-percent user error.”

Bernard kicked his leg and stole another bite.

Then came the chocolate fudge with caramel and almonds, french vanilla, and chocolate macadamia. Bernard made a face at the lemon cake like the baker had squeezed the whole lemon right down his throat, while Tim tried the yellow cake and asked, “Isn’t this just fancy vanilla? Like, a less-sweet, fancier vanilla?”

When they were down to two, Tim set the carrot cake right between them, taking only the smallest corner for himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried carrot cake, and he already knew he wasn’t wowed.

“I love this one.” Bernard mumbled through his full mouth.

“Not for a wedding, though,” Tim said.

“Nah, but you definitely know what to get me for my birthday now.”

The last flavor was a vanilla raspberry that they both shrugged at, and then they were done.

It went by faster than Tim had thought. Even with the flavor decision left to make, the icing to still choose, and the decorations to brainstorm, it felt like they’d made decent progress in under an hour of sitting there.

Of everything they’d done for the wedding so far, this somehow felt like the most substantial. Even choosing his suit had felt almost normal, thanks to the several suit fittings he’d had to get for W.E. over the years, and most of the rest of it was stuff they did from their own computers. It hadn’t felt this real since Tim went and got the engagement ring.

And this was even better than that had been, because this time, Tim had Bernard at his side. Right there in the flesh, giggling and grinning while they figured out the right choices. Making jokes with Kristie when they finally called her back in.

There wasn’t a single person in the world who he loved watching do nothing like he loved watching Bernard.

Slipping his hand into Bernard’s under the table, Tim gave him a soft smile, and Bernard gave him a firm squeeze back.

According to the website they were using to plan everything, the several youtube videos they’d watched, and Alfred, getting a head start on the choices for wedding music was a good idea if Tim and Bernard were going to want more input than just setting a DJ loose.

Tim was beginning to understand why.

Sitting in the living room with Bernard’s head in his lap, his laptop balanced precariously on the arm of the couch, he scrolled through another playlist of suggestions.

They were all roughly the same thing over and over again. Elvis and coldplay and that song from Twilight on every list. Sometimes, there was a Bruno Mars song thrown in for variety or Ed Sheeran to try and coax out a few tears, but there wasn’t anything that Tim thought either of them would want.

He clicked on a random song just to hear what it sounded like, and after the first few sweet notes, Bernard rolled over to press his forehead against Tim’s stomach.

“Nothing sad.” He mumbled. “I don’t wanna cry.”

“It’s our wedding, Bear,” Tim said.

“Yeah, but that just means we’re gonna cry enough as it is. We don’t have to add to it.”

Tim smoothed Bernard’s back with one hand, tapping the skip button to change the song before Bernard could get emotional. “Do you have any ideas? Because all this is giving me is Can’t Help Falling In Love at three different speeds.”

“I dunno,” Bernard said quietly, making a face. “I’m just saying, I wanna dance and spin you around and stuff, have some actual fun. We’ve had enough sad stuff for both our lifetimes, can’t we do something different for our wedding?”

“I’m game for anything that makes you happy, but we need actual examples, too.”

“What happened to—I dunno, Queen? Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy? Love of My Life? I was Born to Love You?”

Tim closed the lid on his laptop and stretched to set it on the coffee table without dislodging Bernard, shaking his head. “That one gives me stalker vibes.”

“Excuse me?”

“The last bit. Going straight from “oh, I’m so lonely” to “I love you” freaks me out. Like, if you’re lonely right now, then you must not be with the person you love, and if you’re not with them, then why do you love them?”

With a frown, Bernard pushed himself further back, so his entire upper body was laying on Tim’s legs.

“You’re the only person who thinks of it like that,” he said.

Flicking a bit of Bernard’s hair out of his face for him, Tim shook his head again.

“Tim, I promise you—”

“We’ll ask Bruce.”

“Oh, congrats, you found the one person more paranoid than you.” Bernard’s frown deepened. “How about You’re My Best Friend, then?”

With a sigh, Tim cupped Bernard’s cheek, and leaned over so they were looking into each others’ eyes. “Bernard, love of my life, my one and only. Listen to me very carefully.” 

He blinked up at Tim. 

Tim squished his freckled skin gently, wiggling his head for him.

“We are not having a Queen themed wedding. We are adding other bands to this playlist. This is non-negotiable.”

“Hey—”

“Suggesting a single Elton John song doesn’t fix it.”

“Abba?”

“No.”

“You were saying the Steve Miller Band earlier,” Bernard said, swatting his hand away.

“For the dancing part, yeah, but it’s romantic without being all sappy. It’s exactly what you want.”

“That’s never exactly what I want.”

Somehow, between falling asleep with Bernard next to him and waking up alone, the little ache in the back of Tim's brain that he’d thought came from listening to his TV too loud turned into a fever.

He knew the feeling as soon as he blinked. The burn cutting through him, the dull throbbing in his mind. It took effort just to roll over, sweat slipping down his back, and he let out a low groan. With a broken breath, he tossed an arm over his face just in time for their bedroom door to creak open.

The shadow falling over their bed eased Tim’s headache for all of a second, blocking out the burning sunlight peeking through the window.

“I’m heading out.” Bernard murmured as he leaned in. “Text me what you want for dinner, I’ll grab it on the way home.”

His hand cupped the back of Tim’s head, holding it still for Bernard to press his lips to Tim’s forehead, only for him to freeze. With a brittle mumble, Tim leaned into the touch.

He barely even registered the seconds stretching along until Bernard quietly asked, “Tim?”

Tim blinked sluggishly, forcing out a hum.

“You’re really warm, are you feeling okay?” Bernard’s voice softened as he sat on the edge of the bed, making it dip, and slipped his hand around to Tim’s cheek. “Jeez, it’s like you fell asleep in an oven.”

Gently, the blanket curled around Tim began to pull away. It took him a long moment to figure out that it was Bernard doing it, but by then, a bitter blast of cold air had hit his bare torso.

With a shiver, Tim’s hand flew down to grasp the blanket, his eyes forcing themselves open through the burn.

“M’cold.” His throat thrummed painfully, like it’d been wrapped in barbed wire from the inside. “Bear—”

Bernard smoothed his hair away from his face with a worried frown that swam in front of Tim’s face. "I think you should rest some more, Tim. You sound exhausted."

"It’s too cold.”

“Just lay down, take a breath, okay? I’ll grab you some medicine and you’ll fall asleep quick. It’ll be warmer when you wake up, I promise.”

Tim let out a frustrated sob, shuddering, and Bernard pulled him into a hug.

It couldn't have been comfortable with how sweaty and disgusting Tim was. He knew from too many similar experiences that he smelled like a fever, could feel his limbs flopping like a ragdoll. Stray tears trailed down his face to splash right onto Bernard's collar. 

But Bernard just cradled him close, thumb smoothing over Tim’s neck. “You’re okay.”

The only thing Tim could do was curl into Bernard’s chest and shiver.

It felt like the air was full of needles, like every breath was turning his lungs into a pincushion. He swallowed a cough before it could make its way up his throat.

A heartbeat later, it exploded out anyway, and he sucked in a desperate breath. Bernard’s grip tightened, one warm hand slipping down to press gently on Tim’s bare chest.

By the time Tim could breathe evenly again, Bernard was supporting him completely.

He gripped the top half of Bernard’s shirt, only belatedly realizing it was his uniform, that he was dressed to go to work. It sent a surge of icy panic down Tim’s spine that had him pressing closer.

The hand on his chest moved to grip his and tug it gently away from Bernard’s shirt. “You're okay, Tim. I’m right here.”

Another cough came spluttering out. Tim twisted his hand in Bernard’s.

Bernard pressed both of them to Tim’s chest, rubbing a gentle circle as best he could without letting go, and waited patiently for Tim to calm down again.

The second he did, Bernard shifted to lean him back against the pillow.

"I'm gonna call your dad," he said calmly, even as Tim started to shake his head.

He already knew what that meant. The only times Bernard called Bruce were either when Tim was bleeding out or when Bernard had to leave and someone had to watch over a sick Tim, and considering Tim was ninety-percent sure he wasn’t bleeding anywhere, that only left Bernard leaving.

Just the thought had Tim’s heart climbing into his throat, sending a thick pulse of pain through his head.

"No." He tangled his clumsy hand in Bernard's shirt again.

"Yeah. It’s no big deal, okay? You're sick. He and Alfred will want to know."

"Bear—"

"It's not up for debate, Tim." Bernard pressed a kiss to his forehead, rubbing his thumb into Tim's hand. "That cough sounds nasty, and I'm not taking any chances with your health."

"M'fine, Bear. M'fine."

"Shh."

"M'okay. Just—don’t call them."

With a brush of his hand over Tim's cheek, Bernard murmured, "It’ll only take a second, okay? Just try and sleep, please. For me.”

Tim let out a shuddered breath, clinging weakly.

But he didn't fight it as Bernard lowered him to rest back against his pillows. He didn't argue when Bernard laid the blanket back over him, only giving a quiet, warbly protest when Bernard began to leave.

"Just getting my phone." Bernard said softly. "I'll be right back."

The only thing Tim could do was let his head sink down, eyes too heavy to hold open, and listen to Bernard’s footsteps speed up as he hit the hallway.

_ _ _ _ _

What could’ve been hours or seconds after he drifted off, Tim blearily registered that someone was in his and Bernard’s room.

His first instinct was that Bernard was back. He had half of a mangled croak out of his mouth before a large hand covered his forehead. When he tried to turn away, brain too overheated to place it, the hand just followed to press against his cheek.

"You made the right choice by calling," someone said. "We need a thermometer and some water for him to drink, but we’ll avoid the medicine until Leslie approves it."

“I called her right after I called you, like you said to, but I dunno when she’ll be here. She said the clinic was busy.” Another voice joined in, quiet and worried.

It dug into Tim’s mind, too familiar for him to ignore. He blinked, vision fuzzy, and groaned at the sharp light above him.

"Sorry," the second voice said. The light flicked off after a long second. "Sorry, Tim."

Tim forced himself to look towards the light switch, his eyes sluggishly adjusting and evening out.

When he could finally see properly, it was Bernard standing by the door, his hair pushed up and out of his face, his uniform shirt unbuttoned so it sat away from his neck.

"Bernard?" Tim asked, voice drifting into a hollow whimper.

“I’m right here,” Bernard said. “Bruce’s here too, and Alfred’s coming in a bit, once he picks up Leslie Thompkins from the clinic.”

“Oh…Leslie?”

“Just a precaution,” Bruce said.

“Your symptoms aren’t bad yet, but we wanna make sure it’s not gonna develop into something more,” Bernard said.

“Oh.” Tim repeated weakly.

His eyes drifted up towards the ceiling, head lolling until Bernard’s soft hand smoothed over his hair. “Tim?”

Another wave of exhaustion washed over him. Bernard’s thumb rubbing gently at his temple didn’t help much with keeping him awake, especially not when it slipped down to wipe the corner of Tim’s eye, making both of them sink closed.

Brain buzzing, he swore he only drifted off for a moment, bobbing along like a boat at sea. Just a blink before he turned his head and let out a slow yawn that made his throat sting.

But too much was different. From the extra weight of a new blanket on his chest to the softer mattress beneath him, he could tell he’d been moved.

The only problem was, he couldn’t tell where to.

It felt familiar, and he was sure he’d be able to tell easily if his mind wasn’t set on spin-cycle, but it was just out of reach.

All he could think to do was swallow the pain in his throat and croak, “Bernard?”

"Right here." A familiar voice murmured.

A second later, there was an icy hand cupping his cheek, and Tim leaned into it with a shaky huff.

"How're you feeling?" Someone asked.

Groaning weakly, Tim forced his heavy eyes open.

Bernard was at his side. That was the first and only thing he noticed, vision tunneling.

He grasped clumsily for him, breath hitching when Bernard slid his hand down Tim’s cheek and kissed his forehead. Burning tears bubbled up abruptly.

“Hey, angel.” Bernard murmured.

Tim braced himself against Bernard’s shoulder with a broken sob.

It felt like his entire body had turned to lead while he slept, his muscles thrumming and aching like he’d doubled his normal workout. If he thought about his throat for longer than a split-second, he was sure he’d implode from the itchy, thick, painful feeling.

All he wanted was to go back to sleep to try to get away from it all, but another hand was prodding gently at his arm.

Alfred, he realized blearily, peering up out of the corner of his eye.

“Master Tim,” Alfred said, voice carefully low. “I have your medicine, my boy.”

Pressing closer to Bernard, Tim let out a pathetic noise, his exhausted tears tracing down his cheeks. Bernard supported him easily, saying, “It’ll be quick, then you can go back to sleep.”

Tim shook his head uselessly.

He knew he wasn’t getting out of it, though. Not with Alfred involved. Anything short of fainting would just end with him being shaken gently awake to choke down medicine, his suffering extended.

When Bernard carefully helped him sit up, Tim didn’t resist, even as much as he wanted to. He let Alfred press the little plastic cup full of cough syrup to his lips and tipped his head back, trying to swallow it without letting it stay on his tongue for a second longer than necessary.

It still managed to coat his taste buds with that bitter, faux-berry taste, and his face twisted in disgust. More tears bubbled over.

“I know.” Bernard murmured, pressing his lips to Tim’s hair and wiping his face gently. “You’re doing so well, Tim, can you stay awake for just another minute for us?”

“Longer?” Tim croaked.

“Just one more minute, Bruce wants to talk to you.”

“You said—”

“I know, I’m sorry. I promise this time.”

With a huffed sob, Tim turned his face into Bernard’s neck. He felt Bernard’s hand slip up to tangle in his hair, scratching softly, and forced out, “You’re an asshole.”

Bernard’s quiet laugh ghosted over the top of Tim’s head.

The temptation to just give in and let himself drift off again, but Tim forced himself to twist his hand in Bernard’s shirt and focus on that, not on the pain behind his eyes or in his throat. Not on the sweat coating his entire body. Not even on the shuffling over to the side, where Alfred was fussing around.

Between his own concentration and Bernard lightly tugging at his hair whenever his eyes began to sink closed, he managed to stay awake until the door creaked open, and then Bernard helped him sit up a little more.

Hazily, Tim glanced around the room, his eyes landing on Bruce after a long second.

He was standing by Alfred, both of them near a familiar nightstand, backlit by an even more familiar window. It only took a moment for Tim to place it now that he was actually looking. Even the sound of the door was the same as it always had been.

“The Manor?” He struggled through the gravel in his throat. “When–?”

“A few hours ago. You were asleep,” Bernard said, tucking a bit of Tim’s hair behind his ear.

The bed creaked, and Tim looked back over to see Bruce leaning across, his hand coming down to rest on Tim’s forehead.

“We went ahead and brought you here when your fever started to rise,” Bruce said. “It’s gone back down now, and seems to be manageable, but we thought it was for the best.”

“We do have an actual thermometer, master Bruce.” Alfred reminded.

“Is it something bad?” Tim asked, his chest twisting.

Bernard slipped his free hand down to grip Tim’s. “It’s nothing you can’t handle. Just the flu.”

A chill slipping down his spine, Tim bit the inside of his cheek and looked to Alfred. It was hard to see him properly with the light from the window, but he could make out Alfred’s small, reassuring smile.

It didn’t do much to make Tim feel better, but at least he knew Bernard wasn’t just trying to keep him from panicking. If it was actually something to worry about, Alfred would have that strained look on his face that he always did when Tim’s lack-of-spleen started to cause problems, and he’d probably start explaining all of the precautions they were taking. I.V’s and medicine and Leslie on call at all times, all of the things they’d had to do before.

Tim had been dealing with a compromised immune system since he was seventeen. Nearly eight years. It shouldn’t still feel so disorienting, and definitely not so scary.

He could fight Killer Croc or Poison Ivy or invading aliens without losing it, but one little case of the flu and he wanted to bury his face in Bernard’s shoulder and never come out.

With a brittle breath, he settled for letting his head loll against Bernard’s chest. Staying awake was taking more energy than he had, and was making him worry more than he could handle.

“Is he okay to sleep again? Did you need to do anything else?” Bernard smoothed his hand over Tim’s sweaty hair.

“As long as he doesn’t want anything, resting is fine. We’ll wake him if something comes up, but for now, just let him sleep,” Bruce said quietly. “He took the medicine, Alfred?”

“Yes, sir. Mister Bernard helped to convince him.”

“Thank you, Bernard. For that and for making sure we knew about this.”

Shaking his head, jostling Tim just enough to make his eyes flutter, Bernard said, “I’m lucky I caught it. I don’t think he’d have been awake enough to call for himself.”

“No, I’d imagine not, especially without any medicine or extra fluids. With how quickly Tim’s illnesses set in, it’s a wonder that he was only as bad as he was.”

Alfred’s voice filtered in. Tim couldn’t catch the exact words, sinking closer to Bernard’s chest with a shaky exhale, but Bruce responded equally as quietly.

Whatever Bernard said ghosted over Tim’s head just as easily, barely even a rumble under his ear.

His hand smoothed Tim’s hair.

The next thing Tim knew, he was alone.

No one talking, no one holding him, just sweat-covered sheets and hot air. If Tim could smell anything past his newly congested nose, he knew the entire room would smell like a fever.

He didn’t bother opening his eyes, half-hoping he’d fall asleep again just to avoid this stage of it. He hated blowing his nose, sniffling, blowing his nose, sniffling, and repeating it for hours. It was more agonizing than the fever or the chills or anything else.

But even more than he wanted to sleep, he wanted to shower, just to try and get rid of the gross warmth clinging to his skin.

Pushing himself up with weak arms, Tim huffed a breath.

It took more effort than it should’ve to push off his old comforter. It was the exact same one he’d had back when he’d lived in the manor, but as tired as he was, it felt a million times heavier. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked blearily around as he prepared himself to stand.

The same old posters stared down at him from the walls, Tony Hawk and Green Day and the Superman one he’d put up as a joke just to mess with Bruce. A few stray stuffed animals sat patiently on the window sill across the room,  what looked like late evening light ghosting over them, while the books he’d left when he moved collected dust on his shelves.

He slipped off the bed with a groan, his legs stiff and half-asleep as he shuffled towards the en-suite bathroom and pushed the door open.

Flicking on the light, he pulled a towel down from the bar. It went over the glass door, then he turned the shower on to let it warm up. This bathroom wasn’t as large as the one at his and Bernard’s apartment, but there was plenty of space for him to sink to the floor, back to the wall and eyes sinking shut as he waited. 

The others would probably be back soon enough to check on him. Alfred at the least, but probably Bruce too if it really was already evening. Bernard would want to come back as soon as he was free from work.

But for now, he could just waste his time feeling the fluffy bath mat beneath him, head lolling restlessly.

He stayed that way until steam filled the room, then slowly peeled himself up to undress. Even through all of the moving around and fussing, nobody had bothered to give him a shirt, so all he had to do was tug off the sweatpants he’d gone to sleep in the night before and clamber into the shower.

The water felt like a burst of awareness. Warm enough not to bring back his shivers from earlier, but not so hot that it made his brain spin. He stuck his head under the shower head and shook out his hair.

Tim’s entire body was itching to have a full shower, but he settled for washing himself off with enough body wash to make a skunk smell like it had a spa day, then washing and conditioning his hair. He dug his fingertips into his scalp to try and calm down his pounding head.

Around the time his internal clock started to scream at him for taking too long, he scrubbed his face, took a deep breath to get rid of the feeling of steam in his tired lungs, and shut off the water. The towel nearly fell right onto the floor as he tugged it down, but he saved it at the last moment and wrapped it around his waist.

He took another from the rod to actually dry himself with on the way out, so busy with it that he barely even noticed the new arrival in his room.

If it was anyone else, he probably wouldn’t have. But Bernard didn’t automatically make himself as quiet as possible in every situation.

Sitting in a chair by Tim’s bed that hadn’t been there before that afternoon, Bernard gave him a relieved smile.

“There you are,” he said. “I was only gonna give you a few more minutes before I came in to make sure you hadn’t fallen asleep.”

“Sorry. I felt gross, wanted to shower,” Tim said, wiping sluggishly at his face.

Slipping out of his chair, dropping his phone to sit on the nightstand with the medicine and thermometer, Bernard crossed the room to stand right in front of Tim. He gently took the towel and cupped the back of Tim’s neck.

Tim huffed, but didn’t complain as Bernard began drying his face for him. He couldn’t, not really, not when Bernard was being gentler and saving him from exhausting himself. And after a moment, Bernard gently tugged him over to sit on the edge of the bed, making it so he didn’t have to worry about his balance as Bernard rubbed at his hair.

“Your fever’s gone down again.” He murmured.

“Mhm.” Tim leaned in, his cheek against Bernard’s chest. “M’feeling better now.”

“Do you want more cough medicine?”

“Not r’now.”

With a hum, Bernard kissed Tim’s wet hair softly, sliding the towel down to dry his shoulders. “How about clothes, then? Can I convince you to take those?”

Tim huffed a laugh.

“Yeah, why not? More comfortable than this.”

“I’ll get ‘em. Do you still have some in your dresser?”

With a hollow nod from Tim, Bernard left him with the towel, slipping over to the dresser across the room. Tim dried his neck as he waited.

One drawer, then two. Bernard gently tossed each new piece right on top of the dresser before gathering them together and bringing them back.

“Gimme this,” he said softly, taking the free towel back. “You get dressed, okay?”

Tim took the stack in his lap, putting the shirt and old basketball shorts to the side so he could tug on his boxers as Bernard dropped the first towel in the laundry basket in the corner. One he had the shorts on, Bernard was back at his side, patting his arm to have him lift them over his head.

He wordlessly slipped the shirt onto Tim for him, lips finding his hair a moment later.

Then he pulled away, reaching for the nightstand, and Tim leaned in to rest his head on Bernard’s chest.

“Here, Alfred sent this up for you,” Bernard said a moment later.

A warm teacup nudged at Tim’s arm. He twisted his right hand up to take it without letting go, turning his face so he could drink. Steam puffed at his face.

He hadn’t even realized how much his throat was still aching until he took a sip, letting it wash away the pain however temporarily.

Tim exhaled slowly, curling his hand in Bernard’s shirt.

And then he paused, eyes flicking to Bernard, trailing over his clothes.

His very normal clothes, a hoodie and some jeans. Not his EMT uniform, not the spare outfit he kept in his car for if he wanted to change after a shift before he got home, not even borrowed clothes from Tim’s old stuff across the room.

“You’re here,” Tim said, pulling back. “Bear, you’re supposed to be at work right now. You skipped?”

Bernard’s face flickered, his hand cupping Tim’s cheek as he said, “I called in, yeah.”

“Why? You called B, Alfred, and Leslie, I would’ve been fine until they got there. You didn’t have to waste a sick day on me.”

“It wasn’t a waste, you needed me, so I was here.”

“I’m not that sick,” Tim said.

“You asked me to stay, then puked on me, do you really think that’s not worth calling in for?”

Tim opened his mouth, only to close it again, his brain catching on the middle part of Bernard’s sentence.

He didn’t remember that.

He remembered being in their room and Bernard coming in, dressed for work. He remembered not wanting to let him go. He remembered Bruce getting there, then waking up at the Manor to take his medicine, then just now, getting up to shower.

But nowhere in there was there anything about getting sick. He didn’t even remember actually asking Bernard to stay, just that he didn’t want him to go.

“I threw up?” Tim asked.

“On my shoes.” Grimacing, Bernard said, “Lucky it was those ones, because I bought them because of how easily they wash. We can just call it payback for when I puked on yours after that roller coaster.”

A brittle chuckle tore through Tim’s throat, petering off into a groan.

Bernard’s face softened, and he sat on the edge of the bed, taking the tea. “Maybe once you’re better, I’ll drag you back there. It’s been long enough, I can probably handle it now.”

“That’s debatable.” Tim mumbled.

With a shrug, Bernard leaned over to put the tea back on the nightstand.

“Worth a shot,” he said. “I’ll even wait to eat until after the ride this time.”

Tim fidgeted with the edge of his blanket, watching Bernard settle back against the footboard, and scanned over his hoodie one more time.

Any awareness the shower gave him felt like it was slowly slipping away. His mind was chugging sluggishly along, getting more tired minute by minute, and he was sure that was why he couldn’t seem to stop his face from twisting up as he said, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Bernard said softly.

“You shouldn’t have to skip work for me.”

“I didn’t have to do anything. I chose to, because I care about you and I want you to be okay.”

“Bear, it’s not fair,” Tim said breathlessly.

“You asked me to stay, so I stayed, but there was no way I was just gonna ditch you when you felt that bad, Tim. You’re my boyfriend. My handsome fiancé.”

“People needed you.”

Scooting closer, Bernard cupped his face and took his hand. “Tim, I’m gonna remind you, only one of us is a hero. You’re the one who sacrifices everything. I’m the selfish asshole who says fuck ‘em, they can manage without me for one day while I take care of the love of my life. You’re more important to me than all of Gotham.”

A million different replies clogged Tim’s throat.

You’re my hero. 

You’re the most selfless person I know. 

I don’t want you to choose me over them.

He choked on them, leaning forwards into Bernard’s hand wordlessly and closing his eyes to try and sort them all out. He wanted one good thing to say that could somehow bottle up all of his feelings into one, but he knew he’d never find it. There was just too much. Pride, guilt, love. Gratitude and helplessness. Scattered shards of his heart that he probably could’ve put into coherent words if he wasn’t working with a fevered brain.

“Besides,” Bernard said quietly. “If I was worried about you, I probably wouldn’t have been much help anyway. It was better that I wasn’t doing anything life-saving.”

And if anything, that just made it all worse.

A pang ran right through Tim’s chest, making him squeeze his eyes shut even tighter.

“Tim?” Bernard asked.

With a shake of his head, Tim pulled his legs up to his chest, and if it weren’t for Bernard still holding him, he’d sink back into the pillows just so that he could drag his blanket over his head and block out the world.

“Hey, c’mon. Don’t pull away now.”

He was tempted to do it anyway. Bernard wouldn’t force him to talk while he was sick, and once he was recovered, he could just pretend like he had no idea what Bernard was talking about.

But he was too tired to pretend.

“This isn’t fair,” he said quietly. “It’s bad enough that I get hurt so much at night, you shouldn’t have to deal with every little fever, too.”

There was a moment’s pause, Bernard’s hand loosening in his.

Then Bernard leaned closer, pressing their foreheads together gently, and Tim could feel his warm breath mingling with his own. Bernard’s other hand slipped down from Tim’s cheek to his chest.

“It’s in sickness and in health for a reason.” He murmured. “Just because you’re down a spleen doesn’t make it any less of a promise.”

Chest twisting, Tim squeezed Bernard’s hand. “I don’t wanna make you worry all the time.”

“It’s a little late for that, Boy Wonder. I’ve been dealing with you trying to give me heart attacks for five years, and I don’t wanna stop anytime soon.”

“Bear—”

“You know I mean it. You wouldn’t have proposed if you didn’t, and if you weren’t about ready to pass out, you wouldn’t even have to ask,” Bernard said. “Let’s get you back to normal before we start getting too deep in our thoughts, okay?”

Tim pulled away, his eyes fluttering open to see Bernard’s soft concern. “It’s not that bad, right? Just a few more days?”

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if his symptoms lasted longer than that. Everything would have to be put on hold or passed off to someone else to do, from Tim’s work at W.E. to his cases, and some of it was time sensitive. He could handle four days off, but seven or eight was stretching it.

Not to mention, he wasn’t sure for how long he’d be able to handle being the reason Bernard was so concerned.

He nearly fell apart with relief when Bernard said, “Leslie said it should just be a couple more days, yeah. Especially if you actually do everything you’re told and get some real sleep.”

“Gladly.” Tim mumbled.

With a little smile, Bernard squeezed Tim’s hand, then let go to tug the comforter out from under him.

It was a pointed hint, but one that Tim didn’t bother to roll his eyes at. He felt too heavy and drained to do anything but stand, shoving the blanket and comforter out of the way, then half-collapse back into bed.

Bernard moved like he was going to grab and arrange the blanket for him, only for Tim to push himself further away from the edge, leaving an open spot beside him.

“Stay?” He asked softly.

Bernard paused.

Reaching out, Tim caught his wrist. He didn’t do anything but hold it, feeling Bernard’s heart beating through his veins, but Bernard sat down anyway.

“You’re trying to give me whiplash,” he said. “Two minutes ago, I should’ve gone to work, but now you’re asking me to stay again?”

“I mean, since you’re here anyway.” Tim batted his eyelashes exaggeratedly, fighting down a tired smile.

Bernard snorted.

He slipped into bed, jeans and socks and all, to wrap an arm around Tim’s waist and squeeze. Tim turned his face into Bernard’s shoulder with a sigh.

Chapter Text

Tim had always thought of himself as good with words.

He had to be. Lying, persuasion, and bartering made up a larger portion of his work as Robin than people would think, from fibbing to keep his identity a secret to making deals with villains just to buy a few extra seconds. Any time Tim worked with older heroes, especially when he was younger, he had to sound like he knew what he was doing or he risked his credibility.

Years of practice had made him think that he could handle pretty much any situation if he had a second to think and even a little bit of a plan.

But writing vows hadn’t been something Tim was prepared for.

He’d been trying for weeks now, sneaking moments to write whenever he knew Bernard wasn’t around to snoop, running through lines in his head with every lull during patrol. He had text messages to himself with suggestions for edits that he didn’t want to forget, but they always sounded ridiculous by the time Tim wrote them out.

And the worst part was, Bernard probably already had his done.

He’d always been better at showing his love verbally. When they’d said I love you for the first time, it’d been Bernard who made it sound so easy, like it rolled right off his tongue. Every time Tim had a bad day, it was Bernard who held him and murmured in his ear until he didn’t feel so sick. Even with their proposals, Bernard had given an actual speech, while Tim couldn’t remember a single word of his.

Tim was better at showing he cared by doing things the other person would appreciate, like making Bernard lunch or doing the chores he knew Bernard hated. Words came easily to him, but not when it involved the people he loved.

It wasn’t a big surprise considering his examples growing up, his parents who never really bothered with that stuff, to the point where Tim wasn’t sure the last time he heard them call each other anything romantic before Janet died, and Bruce, whose only way of showing he cared was through gifts or quiet motions. Half the time, Tim was convinced that Bruce was allergic to actually saying that he loved someone.

And while Bernard hadn’t had too many more good examples, they expressed it differently. Bernard had chased the affection he was missing, the physical and verbal shows of love, while Tim had just accepted it. Bernard had filled the absence by warping to fill it himself, but Tim pretended it wasn’t there.

It’d worked fine until now.

Sitting at the top of Titans tower and staring down at the San Francisco bay, Kory’s garden just barely visible out of the corner of his eye, Tim flipped through his notebook one more time.

He had a dozen different drafts of the same vows. Some had only a few words scratched out, while others had entire chunks, but none of them felt right.

How was he supposed to condense five years of loving Bernard into a speech? How was he supposed to tell Bernard everything he meant to Tim in a couple of minutes and a few words? It felt like trying to describe the infinite beauty of space with a text message.

The sharp December wind caught his paper, ruffling the pages and making his cape flap out to the side. His pen skittered across the Tower’s roof.

Sighing, he closed the notebook and set it aside, catching the pen before it could fling itself into a free fall.

He almost wanted to ask someone for help, knew there were people he could go to and who’d be happy to try, but there weren’t any perfect options.

Duke was good with writing, but it felt awkward to ask his little brother. Dick would probably tell him it would come to him if he didn’t stress over it. The rest of Young Justice would just make it into a chaotic poetry slam with Tim as the judge, which would then dissolve into all of them completely forgetting the original purpose of the mission and going to get food.

It wasn’t like Tim knew a lot of people who had experience writing wedding vows, though they’d be the best people to ask. The closest thing would probably be Lois and Clark or one of the other Justice League members, and he wasn’t about to go up to the Watchtower to get advice on this.

He wasn’t even sure if it felt right to let someone else guide him through it anyway. This was supposed to be from him to Bernard, their vows to each other. Nobody knew their story like they did, so didn’t that mean it would only feel legitimate if he was the one who wrote it?

Nobody else would understand their inside jokes or remember the little things that always made Tim smile. Even the people closest to Tim wouldn’t be able to explain how much it meant to him to have Bernard by his side every day. He was the only one who knew Bernard in their Junior year of highschool, and no matter how short their time together had been then, it mattered to him. 

The problem was that even he didn’t know how to put all of the things safely tucked away in his head onto paper, much less coherently. He could spend hours just sitting there staring at his notes and still not be any closer to getting it right.

He probably would’ve, if not for the sound of footsteps behind him thirty minutes in.

“Rob, you know we have actual places to sit downstairs, right? You don’t have to be up here in the cold all by yourself.”

He knew who it was before he lifted his head, but he did it anyway, just to give her a grim look.

Cassie didn’t seem phased.

She just kept walking closer, her hands tucked into the pocket of the old, faded Avril Lavigne zip-up that she’d had since they’d met. When she paused beside him, she took them out to smooth the back of her jeans before sitting down, staring out over the bay.

All Tim could do was sigh.

“I don’t have any plans tonight, y’know. I can sit here all day,” Cassie said.

“I miss the days of your mom giving you a curfew,” Tim said.

“Yeah, so does she. Too bad.” She grabbed the notebook and squinted like a blank blue cardboard cover could tell her what was inside. “You never came back down for the mission celebration, is this why?”

With a shrug, Tim reached over to take the notebook back, and she let it go without a fight. He appreciated it, considering she could probably rip the entire thing in half if she pinched it between two fingers.

“Figured I could skip it, considering I wasn’t even there for half the mission. The B team doesn’t really need to celebrate when all they did is haul Beast Boy’s concussed ass back to the tower.”

“You having to deal with that makes me think you need to do something fun even more,” Cassie said.

“He was unconscious for most of the trip back.”

“Still.” With a tap of her nails against the roof, Cassie kicked her feet like she was a kid again. “What’s the notebook for?”

Tim shot her a look.

He was half-tempted to just tell her to go find someone else to pester, but it wasn’t worth the argument. Cassie could be stubborn when she thought something was wrong with someone she cared about.

And besides, of everyone Tim could tell, Cassie was a pretty good choice. She’d been on the receiving end of his attempts at romantic gestures for that bleak period of time where they tried to make themselves feel better by dating, but she also knew him as a friend and as a person. She’d have a well-rounded perspective of how utterly in over his head he was.

“My vows,” Tim said quietly. “Like a dozen drafts of ‘em.”

“Oh, wow.”

“I’ve been trying to write them for weeks, figured this was a good, quiet place to sneak away and make some progress without having to worry about Bernard seeing them, but I can’t figure it out. It’s like I accidentally built dams between my brain cells.”

“Hey, there’s no way it’s that bad,” Cassie said, putting an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “I’ve heard you make speeches, Tim. There’s no one I can think of who’d be a better candidate for this than you.”

“You haven’t read what I’ve got so far,” Tim said dryly.

“Don’t need to. When it’s time, you’ll get it done, and it’ll come out perfect. That’s just the way you are.” 

“I mean, it’s already January. The wedding’s in April. How much more time can I really waste?”

“As much as you need, idiot, Bernard’s not gonna be upset because you’re not done with the vows four months in advance.”

Tim grimaced, smacking his forehead with the notebook. “Thank you, o’wise leader, for your infinite wisdom.”

“It’s why I’m here.” Cassie squeezed him against her side. “Seriously, Tim. You’re not talking about the venue or the cake or something that needs to be done ahead of time. You could write these vows the morning of your wedding and Bernard would sob his eyes out anyway.”

“Why is the goal suddenly to make him cry?”

“It’s your wedding, duh.”

Leaning into Cassie’s arm, Tim shook his head and fought his smile.

He flipped through the notebook one more time before closing it, taking his pen and clipping it to the notebook’s rings.

Maybe it would help to take a break. He could go back downstairs with Cassie and they’d hang out with the others, celebrate the mission, then Tim could pick it up again when he got home. The distance might just be what he needs to finally figure it out.

Or at the very least, it would stop him from flinging the notebook into the San Francisco bay.

Pushing himself to his feet, Tim helped Cassie up after him, and she gripped his shoulder.

“C’mon, I don’t see any troops around,” Cassie said with a grin. “No excuse for you to escape.”

Snorting, Tim leaned in and hugged Cassie tight, the notebook tapping her back. “I’m not the leader anymore, I’m not the one who has to be careful of my reputation.”

“The Titans have seen me fight, I don’t think anyone’s gonna start doubting me over a hug.”

Sitting in their room, Tim flipping between his laptop and the paper strewn over his desk while Bernard laid sprawled on the bed, scrolling through his phone, Tim made another mark next to the list of names he was working with.

It wasn’t the most exciting way to spend their Saturday, but Tim didn’t mind. He liked working when it involved Bernard sitting nearby and announcing random headlines as he read them. Bernard seemed to have fun too, theatrically playing into whatever he was reading, whether it was some ridiculous post or a legitimate news source. It almost made something as boring as sifting through people for a case fun. 

Maybe in a few hours they’d swap to working on wedding stuff. It was already almost February, the months were going by fast, and they had a lot left to do. All of the final little boxes to check and i’s to dot that Tim and Bernard had to handle personally, like going to get their marriage license.

But for right now, Tim was happy just to listen to Bernard, his chatter the perfect background noise to make this work less tedious.

And then Bernard shifted, his voice half-raising as he said, “Okay, so Vicki Vale knows.”

Tim’s head snapped around, his pencil skittering out of his hand. 

“She knows our identities?”

His stomach dropped just at the idea.

God, he’d thought he’d thrown her off with the whole fake-shooting thing. He’d thought she’d be too far off track. That he’d gotten her to leave them alone.

But that was a long time ago, and there were probably about a billion new clues since then. He should have been more on top of it, shouldn’t have had so much faith in a ridiculous scheme like that. Now it wasn’t just him in danger if his identity got out, but Bernard, too.

They were publicly a couple. Vicki Vale herself had done pieces on them and interviewed Bruce to unnecessarily manipulate him into supporting more LGBT charities in Gotham, meaning that she’d probably chase Bernard down to ask him about it and expose him to anyone and everyone Tim had ever managed to piss off in over a decade of being a vigilante. He’d be dead within a week if Tim didn’t do something, if Bruce didn’t have a protocol, if they didn’t get the fuck out of Gotham, the U.S, maybe even off Earth entirely—

“No!” Bernard shouted. “No, no no!”

He cut his hands across his throat wildly as he added, “Not your identity. Everyone’s capes are safe.”

Tim stared.

It took him a long second to blink. Longer to move.

Shoulders falling, Tim let his forehead drop to the desk with a brittle laugh, and the bed squeaked as Bernard stood.

There were hands on him a second later, warm and soothing. Arms slipped around his neck and down to his shoulders to pull him upright, Bernard perching on the edge of the desk to kiss Tim’s cheek. It didn’t do much to calm Tim’s rotten chest or twisting stomach, but at least it felt nice, especially when Bernard kissed the corner of his mouth.

“You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack.” Tim mumbled.

“Sorry. Wasn’t thinking,” Bernard said. “I meant that Ms. Eagle-eyed reporter must’ve gotten her hands on some photos of Bruce at the store you went to to get your suit, because she’s off on a rampage about ‘Which Wayne will Wed?”

Tim took a deep breath, then slid his laptop closer and tapped a few keys. He already had a shortcut to Vicki’s articles in his search bar, so it only took him a moment to pull up the newest one, arm snaking around Bernard’s waist.

And of course, Bernard was right.

The newest article had a blown-up photograph of Bruce outside the shop on a phone call, blurry enough that it looked like some random passerby had somehow recognized him and snapped it, with that exact question stamped across the top as the headline.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen,” Tim said, half-grumbling. “We’re the only ones who make literally any sense.”

“Dick and Kory.” Bernard pointed out.

“Yeah, but why would they be at a Gotham shop for a suit? That’d be in Blüdhaven.”

“People do weird shit. And who knows, maybe Bruce found himself a partner? Or Duke, he’s old enough now.”

Tim grimaced. “Stop. Stop, that’s my baby brother, he is not old enough to be getting married. Quit it.”

“He’s twenty,” Bernard said. “For the sort-of kid of an eccentric billionaire, that’s actually almost old. How many celebrity kids get married at, like, eighteen?”

“We’re not celebrity kids. Bruce is Gotham’s prince, but it’s not like that’s a hereditary title. The media only cares about us when it can be used to convince Bruce to do something with his money, like when he got suckered into donating to the zoo because some reporter figured out Dick liked elephants.”

With a smile, Bernard pressed another kiss to the top of Tim’s head and slid out of his arms.

“He would’ve done that anyway if he’d thought of it,” he said as he headed for the door.

“Not the point.”

“Kinda is.”

“The point—” Tim called. “—is that we’re gonna have to do something about this article. Otherwise people are gonna start speculating and we’re gonna have reporters following us around.”

“I thought they didn’t care?”

“They care about knowing how much money they can judge Bruce for wasting on a wedding.”

_ _ _ _ _

By Monday, Tim and Bernard were standing in the private hallway right outside W.E’s press room, Lucius and Bruce already inside and speaking.

“You ready?” Tim asked, smoothing Bernard’s tie.

“Depends. Will I have a very handsome man who knows his way around an interview at my side?” Bernard asked.

Tim smiled. “Always.”

“Then yeah. I’m ready.”

With one more flick of Bernard’s collar, Tim nodded and stepped towards the door.

They’d already spoken to Lucius and Bruce and everyone they’d needed to before, leaving almost nothing to chance. The reporters had guidelines on what to ask, at least what few of them were willing to cooperate, so Tim didn’t have to worry too much about anyone asking about the Dowds or anything stupid that would make Bernard freeze up.

Maybe ten minutes in the room, then it’d be over, and everything would be explained. No mass influx of reporters following them around, nothing for Vicki to dig deeper into.

It was almost funny how quickly she could whiplash from the reason they were racing around trying to cover their secrets to an almost ally. Tim had lost count of the amount of times Bruce had managed to call in favors with Vicki to get information on something, but he knew it was fewer times than she’d nearly uncovered their identities. She was just too stubborn about her work.

One good thing to be said about Vicki in this particular mess was that, for the photo to only now have been released, she had to have been the one to hold it back. It was the only thing that made sense.

It’d been months since they’d gotten their suits. Whoever took the photo probably would’ve tried to sell it immediately, and if anybody else had gotten to it first, they definitely would’ve published it.

Tim was glad that it’d taken this long though, that they’d had time to get used to being engaged without outside interference. He could only hope that the situation would wrap itself up in such a timely manner.

Just the fact that Bernard was involved made him anxious to get it all done and over with.

It was bad enough that the rumor had escalated to the point of W.E. being dragged into it, that so many people had been pestering the company for Bruce to release a statement, and Bernard stepping in front of this many cameras when he normally hated being photographed from even a single angle said something about how obnoxious people had become. There was no reason for this commotion to make Bernard into some sort of public figure when he barely even used social media.

And that was the thing that really made Tim’s blood boil about it all. Even Bruce was hardly a celebrity, and any fame he had came from his Brucie Wayne persona and how much people loved to see a never-grown-up frat boy with a tragic backstory in charge of Gotham’s biggest company. Tim was only known because of his adoption story and the fact that, publicly, he’d been known as Bruce’s right-hand for a while since Dick and Cass didn’t want W.E, Jason was still presumed dead, and Duke and Damian had been too young.

None of that should’ve been a reason for Bernard to be dragged into anything.

But here he was, helping to do damage control anyway. Just trying his best to help make sure nobody went digging in spots that Tim and his family desperately needed to keep covered.

With a deep breath, Tim pushed the door open into the next room, keeping Bernard close to his side.

The press conferences at W.E. were never as loud or as bright as some of the other ones Tim had seen. It felt more like walking into a lecture than anything else, with the reporters and cameraman all watching Bruce stand at the front of the room like he was going to tell them something life changing.

Sometimes, Tim wondered if Bruce minded this kind of attention. It helped their identities, covered for them by making sure that everyone thought the Waynes were too open and dumb to ever even be connected to the Bats, but it still felt ridiculous that people actually cared about which Wayne was going to get married. Tim and Bernard could break up tomorrow and almost none of the people who’d read Vicki’s article would ever know, but he knew that they’d all tune in to hear about the wedding anyway.

Bruce was answering someone’s question, something about his first child to be married, and as much as Tim knew he ought to be paying attention to the first few questions, the only thing he could focus on was Bernard beside him.

He could practically feel the nervous energy pouring off Bernard in waves, knew it had to be taking a lot to keep from fidgeting. It was all Tim could do to keep from reaching out and taking his hand just to give him something to squeeze.

Then Bruce was gesturing for Tim to take the mic, Bernard right behind him as they crossed to stand where Bruce had been just a moment before, and Tim’s hand slipped over to rest gently on Bernard’s back.

Bruce must’ve already motioned for someone to speak, because almost immediately, a reporter said, “Congratulations on your engagement, Mr. Drake. I think I speak for Gotham when I say we’ve been waiting for a Wayne wedding for quite some time. Has that been impacting how you and your fiancé go about planning your celebration?”

“Thank you,” Tim said, nodding tightly. He’d been expecting the questions to come quickly, but even after years of dealing with W.E, he’d never quite gotten used to how fast people jumped to the questions they wanted answered. “Yes, we’re taking many different things into consideration, of course.”

“Will Bruce Wayne be paying for your wedding, or is this from the Drake inheritance?” Someone else asked.

“It’s mine and Bernard’s money. Neither of us want Bruce to contribute a penny, not when there are much more important things that it could be going towards.”

Over to the back left of the room, by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Gotham, a reporter raised their microphone. “How will this impact Wayne Enterprises? Assuming that you’re still the heir to the company, will any of the shares be going to your fiancé, or will everything remain separate?”

“At this moment in time, yes, I’m still the heir to the company in writing. However, that won’t affect anything unless—God forbid—anything happens to Bruce and Lucius, and provided that my youngest brother Damian is either still too young or unwilling to take over,” Tim said. “Bernard will most likely be tied into the company after we’re married, but in very small ways, only enough to provide him with a safe, comfortable life should anything happen to me.”

When, he didn’t add on.

Bernard leaned closer anyway.

Squeezing Bernard’s side, Tim lightly bumped their hips together and motioned for someone else to speak.

“Do you have any plans for your wedding set yet? Will it be in Gotham?”

“Our wedding is going to be here in Gotham, but we’d prefer not to release the date or the location in advance to protect it from any possible interference,” Tim said.

“And will you be inviting any Wayne Enterprise employees?” Someone else asked.

“We’re keeping the guest list small. We wouldn’t want the board or anyone at Wayne Industries to feel obligated to attend a wedding just because it’s their bosses’ son.”

“You’ve been working at Wayne Industries in the R&D department for quite some time, does that mean that you feel you haven’t made much of an impact in your work environment, if you’re still only the “bosses’ son?”

Tim laughed, purposefully light. “Wayne Industries is a large company with many, many employees, and it would be nearly impossible for me to make an impact on everyone. Especially when I keep largely to myself to avoid pulling anyone into my schemes.”

He glanced back at Lucius, whose face was unreadable, and Bruce, who gave him the slightest look of exasperation, then turned his attention back to the room.

There were a few reporters he’d been purposefully dodging because he knew they liked to go after the specific questions that they were asked not to, and he wasn’t about to let them speak now. Instead, he motioned to someone who he trusted loosely.

“This photo was taken months ago, why has it only been released now? Was it released to the press now on purpose?” They asked.

“I’m afraid I’d have to ask Ms. Vale to be sure of her reasoning, but I can say that we appreciate being given the time to enjoy our engagement privately, just us and friends and family before the news broke,” Tim said with a grin. “Hopefully, this is an experience we’ll only have once, and we’re both glad to have been able to savor it.”

Before Tim could even move to motion for anyone else, someone asked, “Does Mr. Dowd have any comments?”

Tim glanced at Bernard, caught one glimpse of the frozen look on his face, and moved to answer for him, but Bernard managed to grab his hand and squeeze at the last moment.

“Yes,” he said, voice awkward. “I just wanted to say thank you to Bruce Wayne, everyone at W.E, and beyond that supports Tim. I’m not sure if it’s obvious or not, but I’m not exactly familiar with this sort of thing. I can’t always be the one to support him like I wish I could, and it makes me feel a lot better that there are people who can and who will. Knowing that there are people here helping him with his projects and watching his back is a big relief.”

He caught Tim’s eye, and Tim tried to give him a reassuring smile.

Bernard took a deep, uncomfortable breath. “I also want to say thank you to the Waynes specifically. A lot of people like to speculate on the kind of people they are, an old money family sitting up on the hill, looking down at everyone, but I’ve never felt so welcomed by a group of people before. They had no reason to take me in like they have, to make me feel like part of the family instead of just an in-law, but they did. They’re the most genuine, kind family I’ve ever met. Tim’s incredibly lucky to have you, and I’m even moreso.”

A few voices rose at once, several people moving to ask a question, but Tim just waved to Bruce and Lucius and slipped an arm around Bernard’s waist.

He could feel Bernard trembling, no matter how good of a job he was doing at hiding it. They could never fully hide something like that from each other, especially not with something like this, where Tim was watching for any hint of Bernard being uncomfortable.

Neither of them said anything until Tim had safely led Bernard out and into the hall, Tim tapping the button for the elevator.

They’d have to talk to Bruce and everyone again. Tim would probably wind up having to do some follow up work, just to make sure that everything went smoothly and that nobody would start following Tim and Bernard around to get more information or anything ridiculous, and he’d have to go back over the plans he and Bruce had made to disguise the wedding’s date and location.

But for now, he focused on Bernard beside him as the elevator arrived with a ding, and they both shuffled inside.

“So,” Bernard said once they were inside and coasting downwards towards the parking garage, voice hoarse. “I hated that.”

“It went well,” Tim said softly.

The way Bernard looked at him said it all, expression twisted.

Tim pulled him in and squeezed him, letting Bernard press his face into the crook of Tim’s neck as he took a deep, stuttered breath.

“You did good.” Pressing his lips to Bernard’s hair, Tim murmured, “Everything’s good.”

“I thought I was gonna puke.”

“But you didn’t.”

That earned him a shallow laugh. Bernard’s arms slipped around him and he turned his face even further towards Tim. “I never wanna do that again. You guys, like, told me what to say and I still panicked.”

“Remind me to call you if I ever need someone to improvise, then, because you did a pretty damn good job, Bear.”

As the elevator dinged and they pulled apart, Tim cupped Bernard’s cheek.

The soft, shaky smile he got back made his chest warm like Bernard had reached in and lit a spark with his own hand.

And then Tim’s eyes flicked over Bernard’s shoulder.

With a sharp jerk of his heart, he shoved Bernard into the wall and lunged for the buttons, any button that would close the doors and get them out of there.

The earth-shaking spray of ice that coated the entire interior of the elevator a second later stopped him cold.

Chapter Text

Over the years, Tim had learned a lot about Mr. Freeze from fighting him.

He’d learned his motivations, his weaknesses, his strengths. He’d learned how to trick him, how to best take him down without taking any hits.

And mostly, he’d learned that the thawing process after being hit by Freeze’s gun burned worse than actual fire.

It started with electrical sparks in Tim’s fingertips. His throat began to blaze, his lungs raw and hollow, but he barely registered it over the feeling of red-hot shots of pain flaring through his limbs.

Then he managed to force his eyes open, head jerking back as he let out a strangled gasp that never quite made it past his lips.

A long moment later, his vision began to clear as the ice in his eyelashes started fluttering free.

His chest throbbed with a dull pain, one that laced through his entire body like he was sinking into lava, and there was a weight pressing into his side that made every breath feel like it took twice as much work, but his mind had a shocked sort of clarity that let him garble out a broken, “Bernard.”

Then the weight shifted.

Icy hands gripped his hand and wrist. Tim forced his eyes down, catching a brief glimpse of blond before they slipped closed again with a shudder.

“M’here.” Bernard’s voice was quiet and weak as he pressed closer to Tim’s side. “They’re warmin’ us up, just—it’s taking a while.”

“Freeze.” Tim forced out.

“I think he’s close by, but I don’t—I don’t know. Only a few people have been in here, but they were all random guys in lab coats.”

Guys in lab coats?

Seconds ticked by slowly, time stretching as Tim tried to muster up the energy to look for himself. He needed to know what they were dealing with, and he couldn’t just wait until they were warmer, assuming Bernard was even right that they were being thawed.

It made sense that they would be. Freeze hadn’t come to W.E. for no reason, especially not in the middle of the day. Tim and Bernard weren’t together and alive in a new place for no reason.

Whatever Freeze wanted, he probably couldn’t get it while they were frozen.

Tim pried his eyes open after what felt like an eternity of feeling Bernard shivering against him, a thick sense of dread pooling in his gut with every moment that he couldn’t tell who was with them.

But it didn’t do him much good, because all he could see was a long, empty room, like a conference room without any tables or chairs. The walls were dark brown, while the floor was an ice-covered hardwood, and he and Bernard had been shoved into the corner furthest away from the double-doors on one end.

The only things abnormal about the room besides the jagged ice piled around them were the puddles of water slowly forming beneath them and the bright, stadium-styled lights shining down on them from three different spots.

If Tim didn’t know better, he’d have assumed they were from tanning beds, they were so bright. He had to guess that they were giving off some sort of heat, enough to thaw him and Bernard, but not so much that it risked their lives and whatever Freeze needed, or that it could let them free sooner than Freeze wanted.

Tim curled forwards and pressed his nose to Bernard’s frigid hair, shuddering as his skin soaked in the extra chill.

The whole room itched at the back of Tim’s brain, too familiar to be a coincidence, but not enough for him to be able to say why. He was too cold to focus on it for long enough to make a connection.

Maybe it was a hideout he’d seen before. Freeze could be reusing an old one, or he could’ve broken into a different rogue’s old spot. Or maybe it was an old building he’d seen before, one that had been recently vacated or scheduled for demolition. Tim knew there were a few parts of Gotham that were being bought up for fancy rebuildings.

But either way, it didn’t help him much to have been there before when his memories didn’t tell him how to escape or how to protect Bernard.

Tim let out a brittle breath, pulling Bernard in close and cupping the side of his head. Bernard squeezed him with a shudder.

“He’s supposed to be in Arkham, right?” Bernard’s voice was tight. “How the hell did he get out without anyone realizing?”

“I don’t know.” Tim murmured, flexing his fingers in Bernard’s icy hair to try to keep them warm.

It wasn’t like it was that unusual for Arkham inmates to get out without causing a commotion, but there was something so much more unsettling about it this time.

Freeze had walked right into Wayne Enterprises’ main building. There was security at the entrances of the parking garage, had he frozen them? What about any of the other employees going to or from their cars? Would someone tell Bruce, and would he be able to track them quickly enough to stop Freeze before he got mad enough to hurt one of them?

Swallowing hard, Tim slipped one of his hands down to lay over the back of Bernard’s neck, trying to warm the bare skin his shirt wouldn’t be covering.

“Why did they even bring you with? What’s their goal?” Tim asked bitterly.

“I think they want something from you. I heard them back at W.E, they only brought me because one of Freeze’s goons said I’d be useful as leverage.”

Stomach sinking, Tim smoothed his thumb over the back of Bernard’s neck with a shiver. “You’ve been awake?”

“Yeah, you pushing me saved me from the worst of the ice.” Bernard murmured. “I never got knocked out—saw everything.”

The thought made Tim’s heart crack right in half.

Bernard, alone and scared, trapped between Tim’s frozen body and Freeze’s gun. Being dragged along and thrown into a room, just having to wait for Tim to dethaw, hoping he even did.

He'd never wanted to be the reason Bernard went through another round of trauma, much less got kidnapped by another one of Gotham’s enemies.

Tim pressed their foreheads together, a puff of frozen air slipping between his lips. “M’sorry, Bear.”

“Don’t be. I’m not sure I could’ve survived any more of a hit than I did.”

If anything, that just made Tim feel more sick.

He was still searching for something, anything to say when the door handle at the end of the room clicked.

Tim and Bernard stiffened at the same moment, their eyes flicking to the doors.

They swung open, a burly man wearing a thick winter coat striding into the room, only to step aside for a burst of air so cold that Tim could feel it from across the room. The hallway behind him looked almost like a hotel, one long stretch with doors and more hallways branching away.

And then Tim heard the crackle and mechanized buzz of Freeze’s suit, a shiver running down his spine as he shifted to be in front of Bernard as best he could with his joints all still aching and stiff.

It was like a horror movie, how heavy footsteps echoed off the walls before Freeze appeared to tower in the doorway.

“Good.” Freeze’s voice was as jagged and old-fashioned as ever, like an old radio. “You’ve both woken.”

“Mr. Freeze,” Tim said, forcing nonexistent nerves into his voice.

Even as concerned as he was, as cautious as he would handle this, over a decade of taunting villains worse than Freeze had made it second-nature for him to come across like Robin, no matter the situation. He had to fight it down tooth and nail.

The last thing he wanted here was for Freeze to know he’d kidnapped both Tim Drake and the third Robin.

“Do you know where you are, Mr. Drake?” Freeze asked.

He moved further into the room, his arms folded behind his back, and more thugs slipped in through the open doors.

Tim was half-surprised to see several people in lab coats following closely behind. More surprised that there weren’t any guns or weapons trained on them to force them along.

Dragging his eyes back to Freeze, Tim wordlessly shook his head.

“Drake Industries,” Mr. Freeze said, his voice buzzing through the suit and echoing off the icy walls. Tim’s heart plunged. “Your parents, Mr. Drake, ran a company that invested in medical equipment and research. I want that research. I want the information they found on deadly diseases, those similar to what tried to take my Nora.”

The startled look on Bernard’s face, barely visible over Tim’s shoulder, was about how Tim felt as his mind churned.

Now he understood the deja vu.

Of course the room felt familiar; he’d spent his childhood running around Drake Industries after school and in the summer, waiting on his parents to be done with meetings. The architecture of the rooms had all been so similar that even though Tim might never have set foot in this particular room before, he wasn’t surprised it still rang a bell.

“So you brought me back here? Drake Industries went under years ago, there’s nothing left here,” Tim said.

“There are always remnants. I expect you to find them where these so-called scientists have failed. If they cannot recover their own work, then the flesh and blood will.”

Tim glanced sluggishly over the people in lab coats, his brain trying to chug along through the remnants of the ice. It took a long moment for him to realize what Freeze was saying.

“You kidnapped—these are my parent’s employees?”

“They were. Now they work for me. They do as I say, just as you will if you want to make it out with your life.”

“It won’t do what you want.” Tim managed, squeezing Bernard’s arm without looking at him. “All of Gotham knows what you’re after, and there’s nothing that my parent’s company found that could help you bring back your wife.”

“I’m a scientist, not a fool. I assure you, I know what it will and won’t be able to accomplish. I wouldn’t be wasting my time with you children if it couldn’t do what I ask of it,” Mr. Freeze said, his suit buzzing harshly.

“I promise—”

Freeze tilted his head forwards, eyes flashing with the reflection of the warm lights still beating down on Tim and Bernard.

One of the thugs moved forwards. With a single gesture from Freeze, he crossed the room and snatched Tim’s arm, and Tim couldn’t do anything but let himself be dragged towards Freeze. 

He’d be risking retaliation if he did, and he wasn’t sure he’d recovered enough from being frozen to actually hold his own in a fight, much less protect Bernard too. And Bernard could fight, but not against guys like this.

“You will give me the information I want,” Freeze said.

Gritting his teeth as the thug wrenched his arm, Tim shook his head. “I don’t even know what you’re hoping to get from this. They never researched that illness or anything like it. Drake Medical was mostly about building the tech.”

For a beat, Freeze just stared down at him.

It felt like locking eyes with a wild animal at the zoo. Like knowing in your bones that if you looked away first, you’d die, but not being able to meet their gaze for one more second.

“Fine,” Freeze said, slow and cold.

In one smooth move, he drew his freeze gun and pointed it at Bernard.

Tim jolted forwards, but he had nowhere to go, the thug holding him tight. The only thing he accomplished was making Freeze’s finger drift to the trigger.

“If you won’t give me what I need to bring my love back, then I will take yours.”

Lifting his arm to block his wide-eyed face, Bernard let out a strangled sound that cut Tim to the core, and then Tim was nearly blinded by the burst of light from Freeze’s gun as it went off.

The guttural, broken noise that clawed its way up Tim’s throat died on his tongue as the thug let go and shoved him towards Bernard.

He stumbled for a moment before finding his footing, head jerking up to look.

There wasn’t a giant block of ice. There wasn’t a new sculpture where Tim’s fiancé had been two seconds prior.

Just Bernard, slumped in a pile on the floor, lips blue and skin slowly creeping towards purple.

Tim’s knees splashed in a puddle as he hit the floor beside Bernard, frantically pulling him close and cupping his face with one shaking hand.

He wasn’t breathing.

Tim checked again, desperately pressing his fingers under Bernard’s nose, but he didn’t get so much as a puff of air.

“No, Bear, c’mon.” Tim muttered. “C’mon, don’t fucking do this to me.”

He moved his hand down to Bernard’s wrist to check his pulse, gripping Bernard’s hand tightly to keep it steady. The cold metal of Bernard’s engagement ring bit into Tim’s skin.

It was faint, but he could still feel a heartbeat. 

He still had time.

Freeze’s eyes were on them, a heavy weight on the back of Tim’s neck and in his chest, so thick that Tim had to force himself to breathe evenly.

All he wanted was to stand up and bash Freeze’s helmet in, to smash the glass into shards. But that wouldn’t help Bernard.

But what would?

Giving in, letting Freeze take the information? Helping him? Would that do anything other than give Freeze less motivation to keep Tim alive?

And yet, at the same time, he knew that the chances of Freeze bluffing about taking his love were slim.

If he didn't help, then Bernard was dead.

Tim jerked his gaze up towards Freeze.

“Save him,” he said, his voice breaking. “Get him warm, fix this, and I’ll give you the research you need. I just need a computer and I can get you everything I still have access to.”

Freeze narrowed his eyes. “I’ll be monitoring you. Not one word to contact anyone.”

“Yes, fine, deal, just please—”

With a gesture towards Bernard, Freeze cut Tim off.

“Save him. You, Mr. Drake, will be coming with me.”

The henchmen scattered around the room began to move closer, the few scientists heading straight for Bernard. One of the goons grabbed Tim’s shoulder and yanked him away.

Squeezing Bernard’s hand one more time, feeling the ring digging into his palm, Tim forced himself to take a deep breath.

He’d nearly lost Bernard twice in only a few hours. He was still at risk of losing him this time if he stepped out of line. There wasn’t any room for fucking around, only for going in, getting the bit of data Tim still had from his parents’ company, and handing it over.

It wasn’t dangerous information, nothing that he thought Freeze could possibly use to hurt anyone, but it still felt horribly wrong to give anything up to him.

He just didn’t have a choice. Not with Bernard hurt and no clue if anyone would be coming to save them soon enough. 

Bruce would probably realize they were gone, there’d be security footage of them in the parking garage, but it would take a while for him or Babs to be able to track Freeze to Drake Industries of all places. It’d been nearly a decade since the company went under, the building was lucky to even still be standing with all of the destruction Gotham had gone through since Jack lost it.

And if the choice was putting potentially risky information into Freeze’s hands or losing Bernard, then Tim would never think of that as a difficult decision to make.

With one last glance over his shoulder at the bit of Bernard’s sprawled body that he could see past white lab coats and hurried motions, Tim let himself be dragged into the hall, him and the thug hurrying along to keep up with Freeze’s long strides.

Each yard of distance made Tim feel dumber and dumber for not having recognized the place sooner. There was new carpet and the walls had been painted, but it was definitely his parent’s company underneath it all. The square paneled walls and the arrangement of the rooms made it obvious.

Then they reached an old room by the elevators that Tim remembered riding with his parents as a small child, and he was pushed inside.

It was much smaller than where he had been with Bernard, but there was furniture instead of just a bare room. Cubicles stretched for fifteen feet, where floor-to-ceiling windows looked over Gotham, and each cubicle had its own isolated desk.

The thug shoved him into the nearest one, moving to stand off to the side.

Tim tried to ignore the fact that Freeze was staring at him from the doorway as he slid into the desk chair and pressed the power button for the computer.

It lit up after a long second.

“Okay,” Tim said, rubbing his hands together to try to warm his fingers enough to type. “Okay, my parents’ old files.”

Never before had he thought to be glad that everything that happened with Drake Industries had gone through his parents’ old email addresses, or that he’d been forced to learn the login years ago when he’d had to close his dad’s bank accounts after his death. All of Drake Industries’ remaining files, research, and data was accessible using just Jack’s business address, including anything that would even come close to what Freeze needed.

If it wasn’t, Tim would’ve been forced to either try to convince Freeze that he didn’t have access, or log in to the Batcomputer remotely to dig up everything without tipping off anybody that he wasn’t exactly using Chrome or Firefox.

He began tapping through the computer to start the login process with a deep, careful breath. The thug leaned in to look over his shoulder, but kept a distance that Tim suspected was self-preservation in case Freeze decided to just shoot Tim without warning.

Email. Log in. Search bar.

Trying to move slowly enough to buy the Bats more time to find him without making Freeze angry was difficult, but Tim did his best, mistyping his father’s old password with a forcefully nervous oops.

But there was only so much that he could stall. The folders popped onto the screen eventually, and then the thug grabbed his shoulder, spinning the chair back towards Freeze.

“Prepare the information to be uploaded to this device,” Freeze said, pulling a phone from a pocket in his suit. “It will automatically transfer the data to my possession, and you and your partner will be free to leave.”

Tim gritted his teeth, reaching out to take the phone. Freeze dropped it into his hand with a thin frown.

It wasn’t hard to gather every piece of information that Freeze could want. Everything had been separated into clearly labeled folders years ago, and just to be cautious, Tim copied and shared every single one that could be even remotely related to Nora’s illness. Some were overkill and he knew it, like the data on the costs of the research, but he didn’t want to take the chance that Freeze would think he’d left anything important out on purpose.

Thankfully, he didn't seem to be monitoring the computer too closely, because he wasn't rushing Tim along like he or the thug would've been if they were really watching. Neither of them called him out for stalling.

But eventually, a small bar appeared on the screen, marked 0%.

“It’s started uploading,” Tim said quietly.

“You will remain until it completes,” Freeze said. “If anything should happen, know that your head is the cost.”

Clenching his fists, Tim shifted away from the computer so that Freeze could see he wasn’t touching anything. The goon made a small, huffed noise and moved his hand towards the gun on his belt.

The tension in the room rocketed, but all Tim could do was sit still and hope that the upload didn’t fail.

He couldn't afford Freeze or that thug getting suspicious of him.

But even his worry that one of the guns in the room, ice or bullet, would go off any moment didn't stop his thoughts from drifting back to Bernard.

His beautiful, handsome fiancé sprawled out and unbreathing.

Someone had to have been able to save him.

Right?

Tim closed his eyes tight, his head abruptly thick and warm.

Out of all of those scientists, someone had to have been able to save him, Tim told himself.

He couldn't believe otherwise. Not if he wanted to make it out of this room without launching himself at Freeze and getting frozen solid all over again.

And this time, he had a sneaking suspicion that there wouldn't be any helpful heat lamps waiting to thaw him.

The only real hope Tim had was that one of two things would happen.

One, that the upload would go through and that Freeze would let him race back to Bernard, then let them both go. That Bernard would be stable enough for Tim to move him.

Or, the second option and Tim's distinct preference, the file he'd managed to share with Barbara's personal email address when he began sharing files with Freeze's device would tell her exactly what she ought to be looking for.

The blueprints for Drake Industries. More than obvious enough for Oracle to figure it out.

Tim kept his eyes on the upload bar as it began to fill, percentages ticking by in small chunks.

5%.

7%.

11%.

16%.

20%.

Just as he was beginning to doubt whether he'd typed the email address properly, or if Babs even used that one still, a shadow flitted by the windows.

Tim’s stomach dropped, his entire body bracing as he forced his eyes to stay on the upload bar.

He knew what that meant. 

Knew it better than almost anyone, could pick out a bird versus a plane versus a bat even when all he got was the barest glimpse.

"Mr. Freeze," he said, voice carefully restrained.

A buzz of acknowledgment was all he got, and it just made his muscles tense more, his hands clenching.

"I probably would've been more cooperative if you'd just asked for my parents' research instead of kidnapping me and my fiancé."

When the shadow rippled past again, Tim was ready to duck in an instant, covering his head as the sound of glass shattering filled the room.

For a moment, it was too loud even to hear himself think with the thug yelling, Freeze barking orders, and several pairs of boots hitting the floor as a part of Tim’s family tucked and rolled through the demolished windows. He jammed himself under the desk and kept his arms up to protect his face.

It was almost impossible to hear where anyone was, but eventually, he managed to locate Bruce’s voice above the din. “There are better ways to help your wife, Victor.”

“So you have claimed many times, Batman,” Freeze said somewhere near the windows. “And yet I have yet to find one, and you have yet to offer.”

Tim lost track of their voices as gunshots rang out closer, curling further under the table to try and protect himself as best he could. Without his Robin suit, any kind of body armor, or real cover, he was a sitting duck if Freeze or that thug decided to make one last ditch effort at taking him out or using him as civilian leverage against the Bats.

But before long, he registered a familiar set of thundering footsteps, only for a hand to thrust under the table a second later.

Steph swung her head down and into view with narrowed eyes and a batarang in her other hand.

“C’mon!” She barked.

Tim gripped her arm firmly, letting himself be hauled to his feet.

The room around them was a mess of sound. He couldn’t focus on it, could barely register anything happening, his mind going straight to planning what to do next. The others undoubtedly had a plan of his own, but he didn’t want to follow it. Not when he could still feel Bernard’s limp hand in his.

Once Steph got him out of this room and he wouldn’t be in immediate danger in his armor-less suit, Tim could lead her straight to Bernard. It’d be easier than hoping someone found him, and doing something to help Bernard would stop his brain from spinning with all of the terrible theories about what might be happening.

With a deep breath, Tim let Steph drag him out of the cubicle, both of them ducking just enough to keep their heads out of sight from across the room.

It wasn’t a large enough room for it to do much, but with all of the chaos happening around them, anything that could help even a little was better than nothing.

The double-doors leading to the hallway were only a few steps away. Steph reached for the door, Tim right behind her.

And then he let out a strangled gasp, an explosion of ice melting through the skin of his back, so cold that it felt like fire.

He stumbled over his own feet as he tried to recover his breath. Steph’s hand was still latched onto his arm, but it let go after only a second, dropping him to the stiff carpet. She shouted something he couldn’t understand before twisting like she’d thrown something.

With a brittle choke of air, Tim watched the doors in front of him be thrown open. Thick boots and baggy pants swam in front of him before he was yanked to his feet and shoved forwards, his head nearly hitting the door until a gloved hand shielded his forehead.

“You all owe me so much for this one.” A modulated voice said.

It took Tim a long second to place it as Jason, but by then, they were already in the hall and half-sprinting, half-stumbling away from Freeze and the fight.

There was a mechanic click, then a slam, and all of the noise was cut off like someone had hit mute as they faltered to a stop.

“He’s not bleeding, is he? No signs of a real injury?” Steph asked.

“Hang on,” Jason said.

Tim groaned, forcing his eyes open as he was lowered to sit on what he could barely squint out were the building’s stairs. They hadn’t changed since Tim was younger, just as blinding white and silver as ever, with a fire extinguisher and an exit sign hanging by the door they’d just barged through.

Beside him, Jason was crouching to prod at his back, while Steph peeked through the door’s small, boxy window. Her hand was on her belt by the batarangs, like she was expecting Freeze to come after them at any moment.

“He looks fine. There’s an ambulance on the way for the kidnappee’s, they’ll take a proper look,” Jason said.

“Here, watch the door,” Steph said.

A second later, she was at Tim’s side, while Jason slipped away.

Her hand on his shoulder made Tim’s head swim dizzily, the warmth sinking through his shirt and into his skin a sharp contrast from the cold he’d been dealing with for who knew how long.

She said something, but Tim didn’t catch it, letting his head drop forwards as he sucked in a stuttered breath.

If she and Jason were there, that meant that the others probably were too. Cass and Damian and Duke, definitely Bruce, considering the barked conversation Tim had heard. They were probably taking on Freeze as Tim sat there shivering.

A few of them had probably split off to round up Freeze’s henchmen too, checking for anybody else who’d gotten kidnapped.

They’d probably find the scientists.

They’d probably find—

“Bernard.” Tim choked.

His head jolted up, but it still felt like a million pounds, and he swayed into Steph’s grip.

“Easy, c’mon,” she said. “Signal and Robin are getting your fiancé now, but we’ve gotta get you out first. Freeze is after you and your parents' work, right? Oracle hacked into the cameras and heard everything Freeze was telling you in the computer room, we know about the medical stuff.”

“He wasn’t—Bernard wasn’t breathing.”

Steph’s eyes widened, but with only a quick glance up at Jason, she said, “Don’t worry, okay? Signal and Robin have everything under control. They’ll save him.”

Hands jerking up to grip Steph’s arms, Tim shook his head.

She put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed back.

“Tim,” She said, voice dropping, “You’ve gotta focus. We’ve got a window right now where B and Cass are handling Freeze, but getting you out means one less thing they have to worry about, and they’ll kick his ass quicker. That means that the paramedics can get in here to look at Bernard sooner.”

A choked noise bubbled up in Tim’s throat, but he managed to swallow it, squeezing his eyes shut.

Bernard would be safe. 

If Steph said he’d be safe, if Jason wasn’t denying it, then he’d be okay.

Duke and Damian would get him out, Bruce would handle Freeze, and Bernard would be okay. Then, once they were all back at the manor, Tim would figure out a way to ensure that Freeze never touched him or Bernard again.

For now, he’d go with whatever Steph and Jason ordered him to do, playing the role of panicked civilian as best he could.

It didn’t feel too hard right now.

“There’s an upload.” Tim forced out. “All of the information Freeze wanted is being uploaded right now from the computer I was working on. If you stop it—”

“On it,” Steph said firmly.

“I’ll get him downstairs and out of the way,” Jason said.

With a nod, Steph squeezed Tim’s arm one more time, stood, and moved for the door. It swung shut behind her before Jason even moved to get Tim.

“C’mon,” he said when he started down the stairs. “Can you walk?”

Tim forced himself to reach up and grip the handrail, hauling himself up. “I’ll manage.”

Before he could even make it a step down, Jason’s arm was shoved beneath his, bracing him.

When he gave Jason a look, all Jason did was shake his head.

“I’m not gonna let you bash your head in, I’d just get thrown under the bus for not helping.” He jerked his head back towards the door. “She’s not gonna keep her mouth shut about me being the one responsible for you.”

Silently, Tim leaned forwards, letting Jason take more of his weight.

If they were gonna walk all the way down to the ground floor and Jason refused to let him do it himself, the least Tim could do was take him up on the insistent offer.

Fortunately, the glimpse Tim caught of Gotham through the computer room’s windows earlier said that they were only a few floors above ground, not enough to make Tim pass out from sheer exhaustion. He could do it with only a few brief pauses between floors.

And six stretches of stairs later, he had.

Jason finally let him stand on his own, pushing the exterior emergency door open with a quick glance through the small window. Tim took a deep breath as he waited for the okay, then followed Jason out with a hand pressed to his heavy, aching chest.

The burst of chilly January air outside made him suck in a breath. Glancing up and around, he took in the vaguely familiar exterior of the side of what used to be Drake Industries.

Some of the same trees were still there, planted in the center of cement plant-beds that doubled as benches. Tim remembered half of the city buildings that lined the roads across from Drake Industries, past the giant hedges that separated the road from this courtyard.

Jason led Tim towards the front of the building with one of his guns drawn, but resting near his thigh, not quite primed to shoot.

“The ambulance should be here soon,” Jason said when they reached the corner, where Tim could just barely see the front of the building. “Stay put until they or the cops show up, then do the whole scared civilian routine, they’ll take care of you. Hide if you see anybody wearing a fish tank as a helmet or carrying a giant Slurpee machine as a gun.”

“Where’re you going?” Tim asked hoarsely.

“Back in. Batman and Batgirl have Freeze under control, but there’re other people in there. Someone needs to make sure that these guys learn a lesson about kidnapping people, and I really don’t think Signal’s gonna start cracking skulls, so it falls to me.”

With a weak shudder, Tim crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall.

“Should’ve made Spoiler come with me. She wouldn’t have ditched.” He mumbled, sinking slowly down.

“What, do you need a babysitter?” Jason asked.

Tim didn’t reply, pulling his knees up and shivering against the wind.

He definitely didn't need a babysitter.

He didn’t even need company. 

The whole thing would be wrapped up soon, then Tim would probably get taken to the hospital where he’d crave this alone time.

But the second Jason left, Tim knew that there was only one place his mind would go, and it was to Bernard.

The last thing Tim had seen of Bernard had been his sprawled, oxygenless body surrounded by scientists. Not even doctors, nobody who Tim could trust to have saved him, but scientists.

What if they hadn’t been able to revive him? 

What if the henchmen with him had heard the commotion and decided to use Bernard as leverage to get out, threatening him all over again?

They could’ve even had orders to kill Bernard regardless as soon as Tim was out of the room.

Freeze had never been the type to kill for the sake of killing, but Tim’s mind was always prepared to find the worst case scenario, especially when it came to Bernard’s safety.

With a shuddered breath, Tim reached up and gripped his hair with both hands.

His mouth was painfully dry.

He wasn’t sure if he could handle waiting all alone until the EMTs and GCPD showed up. Already, he could feel a familiar, panicked flash of heat working through his blood.

Either he’d work himself into a full blown freak-out or he’d go racing back inside to find Bernard for himself, and neither would be helpful for anybody.

Fortunately, a beat later, he heard Jason’s modulated sigh, and felt the thump of Jason’s back hitting the wall beside him.

“Your face is fucked up,” Jason said. “Did he punch you, or did that happen from the cold?”

“Huh?” Tim asked, lifting his head reluctantly.

It felt like it weighed a million pounds, throbbing painfully, and wasn't anything he wanted to be moving.

But Jason was looking down at him to motion to his own face with a fist, knuckles circling around his nose, and he asked, “The blood?”

“Oh.” Tim presses his wrist to his upper lip. It came back red and shiny. “Didn’t even notice.”

It must’ve been from the cold, dry air upstairs. He didn’t remember anything that would’ve given him a bloody nose. It wasn’t dry enough to be from when he was unconscious in the ice either, and Bernard would’ve said something about it. Even exhausted and shivering, Bernard would’ve realized.

He always saw that sort of stuff. Scrapes, wounds, injuries, everything. The tiniest little things to the biggest.

With a sigh, Jason reached into his pocket and yanked out what looked like a package of tissues. It took Tim a second to realize—Jason commonly worked with kids. Kids had runny noses when they sobbed their eyes out.

Of course Jason would have tissues on hand.

Tim took one when offered, tilting his head gratefully.

The silence stretched on after that, but Tim couldn’t manage to find a way to fill it, figured Jason probably didn’t want to. He was only there to play babysitter until the EMT’s were there to help Tim, nothing else. Certainly not friendly banter or brotherly chit-chat.

“So.” Tim coughed anyway, wiping his nose free of blood as best he could, and glanced up at Jason. “Are you coming to my wedding?”

“Does this look like the time?” Jason asked with a grimace that Tim could tell was there, even through the helmet.

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s a no until your face doesn’t look like it got into a fight with a cinderblock.”

“You’re here, right? You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t at least give a fuck about me and Bernard, and if you give a fuck you should come to the wedding.”

“I showed up because Oracle and Signal both called me to say you’d gone and gotten yourself kidnapped, and it’s a Monday.” Jason shrugged pointedly. “What else would I have to do?”

“Our wedding’s not on a Monday, but it’s not like you’ve got a social life anyway. When’s the last time you even went on a date?”

"I can still ditch you here, y’know.”

Tim opened his mouth to respond, swiping the tissue over his nose one more time, only to be cut off by the distant sounds of sirens. Jason pushed off from the wall.

“That’s them,” he said. “C’mon, time to get you handed over so I can go do something productive.”

With a groan, Tim shoved the tissue into the already-fucked up pocket of his pants and readied himself to stand. His head swam nauseatingly as he managed it, but Jason didn’t even pause before moving to check around the corner of the building one more time.

Pressing his hand to his stomach and blinking harshly, trying to get rid of the weird little sparks behind his eyes, Tim moved to brace his hand on the wall.

It missed, and Tim blurted out, “Jay?”

“Names, kid.” Jason gestured for him to move. “What?”

All Tum could do was shake his head.

With a groan, Jason turned, catching Tim’s eye just as his vision began to blur.

“I think m’gonna puke.” Tim choked.

There were hands on his arms a second later.

Distantly, he felt himself be lowered to the ground. Someone spoke, but it was drowned out by a hollow ringing, and Tim couldn’t make his mouth move to ask anyone to repeat themselves.

The only thing he could even force himself to think about was Bernard, a dull panic flooding his entire body.

_ _ _ _ _

Hypothermia.

A mild case, all things considered, the nurse had said. But still hypothermia.

Bernard was released from the hospital after a quick check-up, but it took Tim almost a full day of laying in a hospital bed and drifting in and out of consciousness to finally be discharged into Bruce’s care.

He was carted carefully downstairs and helped into the car by one of the nurses, Bernard hovering worriedly behind him and Bruce already waiting in the backseat.

Not even five minutes into the drive home, Tim let his head loll onto Bernard’s shoulder, a thick blanket around his shoulders. Bernard pressed a careful kiss to his forehead that Tim barely even felt, and then they were at the manor.

It was all one giant blink. Everything after passing out felt like a blur that Tim couldn’t begin to pick apart.

He knew he felt arms slipping beneath his back and his legs, the familiar feeling of Bruce lifting him after an injury and carrying him into the cave. Bernard was beside him again shortly after, his hand squeezing Tim’s, and a low murmur that carried through Tim’s mind without a single word registering.

But eventually, Tim was able to sit up, drink tea, even mumble out a half-coherent conversation with Bernard.

And by the late afternoon, he was able to actually sit by the Batcomputer with everyone else as they ran over Freeze’s kidnapping.

“There was a string of break-ins through similar companies to the Drakes’. I’m going through all of them now, trying to track how many of them were actually Victor,” Bruce said grimly, tapping at the Batcomputer’s keyboard.

New photos of a few different buildings popped up, with Drake Industries’ former location right in the middle of them all. Tim leaned into Bernard, who was standing beside his chair, and Bernard squeezed his shoulder before asking, “Wouldn’t someone have noticed a bunch of ice everywhere?”

“There wasn’t any. Victor either covered his tracks or sent some of those thugs to do his dirty work instead.”

From over the speakers, Babs said, “I did manage to figure out when he escaped Arkham, so at least we have a timeline now. “

“And we got all of those kidnapped scientists back home, too,” Duke said. “A lotta people got saved yesterday.”

“But what’s to stop him from going after Tim again?” Bernard asked quietly.

From across the room, sitting beside Damian, Steph shook her head.

“He got the information he wanted,” she said. “I wasn’t able to stop the upload, which means Freeze already has everything he could get from Drake Industries. He isn’t gonna waste time on Tim again when he knows it won’t help his wife.”

“So that’s it? He’s safe?”

“As safe as he ever is,” Damian said.

With a deep breath, Tim forced himself to sit up a little more. “I’ll know to watch for him now, just in case. And when he breaks out again, I’ll be more careful. There’s no reason to worry over this. It’s all done with.”

“He says, wheezing with every word,” Duke said.

Tim grimaced tightly, making a face at him.

“Yes, Bernard. Tim will make a full recovery and Freeze doesn't pose a threat to him anymore,” Bruce said firmly. “Alfred will continue to monitor him for a few days, but he should be fine to go back to your apartment or the boat shortly. No lasting damage so long as he follows instructions and nobody else is waiting in the woodworks to go after him for his parents.”

“They really didn’t get involved in that many things,” Tim said, tilting his head back to look at Bernard.

The way Bernard was biting his upper lip, eyes uncertain and flicking from Tim to the Batcomputer made Tim’s heart sink, and he put his hand on Bernard’s.

“I’m gonna be fine.” He murmured, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. “I promise.”

With a soft breath, Bernard leaned over and pressed a kiss to his hair.

“You’d better,” he said quietly.

_ _ _ _ _

Bernard wasn't in bed.

Still half-asleep, it took Tim a long, stretching moment to realize that he'd woken up alone. The bed was cold beside him and the weight was wrong, not like when they were both laying there and Tim found himself tilting towards Bernard’s side.

He scrubbed his face tiredly before pushing the blanket away, sliding his legs over the side.

Even with the socks Bernard had forced him to put on before he’d gone to bed, the floor was cold, prickling through his skin and up into his ankles as he stood. His legs were weak and wobbling, but he managed to make it to the bedroom door without falling on his face.

If he hadn’t already known it, that would’ve been enough to convince him that coming back to the apartment had been the right idea. There was no way he would’ve been able to stay on his feet with the ground bobbing under him like on the boat.

But the apartment had its own problems. One glance at the bedroom’s ensuite bathroom said that Bernard wasn’t in there, which meant that he was probably downstairs.

And that meant that Tim had to fumble his way down the stairs to find him.

He thought blearily about going back to bed, letting Bernard do whatever he was doing without interference, but he’d seen this movie before. He already had a pretty decent idea of what he’d find.

Carefully, quietly, Tim leaned against the wall and started downwards one step at a time. He let his hand ghost over the railing, a tribute to how bone-deep his exhaustion was, because he never would’ve normally bothered. When he finally reached the last step, he glanced around.

Everything was dark and silent. Totally normal for—the stove clock said four in the morning when Tim was close enough to read it, and he wasn’t surprised.

He wasn’t surprised to find Bernard on the couch, either.

Neither of them said a word, and even though Bernard had to know that Tim was there, he didn’t move from where he was staring hollowly at his reflection in the dark TV. He was completely quiet as Tim slipped around the couch and sat.

The main floor was always colder than upstairs, but Tim forced himself not to shiver while he waited for Bernard to make the first move, to say anything at all.

He wasn’t very successful based on the tired, helpless look Bernard gave him.

With a deep breath, Tim gave up.

“Nightmare?” He asked, voice low, and Bernard’s eyes slipped closed.

After a long moment, he got a jerky nod in response.

Tim already knew the answer, but he reached out and carefully took Bernard’s hand anyway, asking, “What happened?’

“The standard stuff.” Bernard mumbled. “Just a little more ice than normal.”

Grimacing tightly, Tim smoothed his thumb over Bernard’s hand. The shaky squeeze he got back made his heart twist.

It wasn’t rare for them to wind up like this. The standard stuff in Bernard’s nightmares chased him right out of bed and all the way downstairs plenty often. He didn’t want to wake Tim up, hated the idea of being too needy regardless of how many times Tim asked him to be, and even though his nightmares had become more manageable with time and space, there were always going to be things that made them flare up.

Like being kidnapped again.

Tim slipped his hand down Bernard’s, rubbing gently at his wrist, and the way Bernard stiffened was enough to tell him he was right.

“It’s just me, Bear.” Tim murmured, his left hand coming up to join the first. Their fingers intertwined easily while his other hand massaged at old scars scattered over Bernard’s arm. “Look at me?”

With a barely audible huff, Bernard took his free hand and scrubbed his face.

A long, stretching moment later, he glanced up.

His expression was about as distant and fragile as Tim had expected.

Neither of them spoke for a beat, Tim letting Bernard choose, while Bernard just stared in hollow silence. He gave Tim’s hand another small squeeze, and Tim took that as his cue to say something instead.

He went for the first thing on his mind, 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you myself,” Tim said quietly.

Bernard gave him a weak smile, face flickering. “It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t you, Tim. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Swallowing everything he wanted to say, Tim kissed Bernard’s knuckles and one of the jagged little scars on his forearm from the Children of Dionysus, then let their hands slip back down to rest on the couch between them.

There was a second where Tim thought Bernard would say something more, that he wanted to, but all he did was squeeze his eyes shut and close the distance between them.

Slumping against Tim's chest, Bernard shook his head.

His arms slipped around Tim and clutched him tightly.

It was one of those desperate hugs, the ones where Bernard let himself go limp, little cracks splitting across him to let his feelings out until Tim could practically feel them seeping into his skin too. It always felt like he was getting the chance to take some of the weight off of Bernard’s shoulders, however temporarily.

He squeezed, cupping the back of Bernard’s head.

Bernard let out a huffed breath against his shoulder.

"Hey," he said, and Tim closed his eyes.

With a little tip of his head towards Bernard's, he echoed, "Hey."

"Promise me something?"

A curl of worry went through Tim's chest.

He swallowed it, humming quietly.

“No more drama, okay? No danger, not for a little while." Bernard murmured.

“I know, Bear."

“No, Tim.” He pressed closer. “Promise me, no risks, no danger, no Robin at all until you’re back to one-hundred percent.”

And that said something about how upset Bernard was, how splintered he must feel if he was willingly asking Tim to adjust something to do with Robin.

He'd never said it, but Tim was confident that the careful way Bernard always suggested things to do with Robin was on purpose. A deliberate way to make sure that Tim never thought he was trying to get between Tim and his job.

As if Tim could ever think Bernard would do something like that.

Like he didn't know that Bernard was his biggest supporter.

“I promise,” Tim said softly.

For a rehearsal dinner, Tim had to admit, there wasn’t a whole lot of rehearsing going on.

They’d gone through everything once with their wedding planner when they’d first arrived, but it’d been his idea to have the majority of the night be devoted to having dinner with their closest guests, just to have a night together before the actual wedding the next day.

But it’d been Bernard’s idea to go back to the restaurant where they’d met that first night with the Chaos Monster.

After Tim stopped rambling incoherently about how terrible of an idea that was, Bernard pulling him down into his lap with a sympathetic grin, they’d had an actual discussion about it.

“You’re too paranoid,” Bernard had said, tucking Tim’s hair behind his ear.

“You’re too cavalier.” Tim mumbled. “And I’d prefer that you not get kidnapped again the night before our wedding.”

“I’ll have you there to protect me.”

And now here they were, sitting on the very same outdoor patio where Tim had nearly lost Bernard before he’d even been able to have him. Where he hadn’t been fast enough, strong enough, good enough, to save Bernard.

Tim’s chest felt like a squeezed lemon, mangled and tight.

All of the anxiety and worries that he’d managed to keep mostly under control in the past few months were bubbling up in his throat, but he forced it down and squeezed Bernard’s hand, glancing over everyone seated around the table with them.

It wasn’t just their wedding party. They were there, of course, but so was the rest of Tim’s family, along with Babs and Steph. Bernard hadn’t wanted to invite anyone in particular, but he was grinning widely just talking to Charlie and Darcy.

From where Tim and Bernard were sitting at one end of the table, Tim could see the row of tables where they’d first sat five years before. He could see where the Chaos Monster had first shown up.

Between the two of them, Bernard should’ve been more concerned about coming back here, but he looked as calm as ever. He’d barely even glanced around when they arrived, while Tim had felt like he had to take in every possible nook and cranny of the entire place before he was willing to sit down.

It didn’t help that Tim had had plenty of time for thinking about how everything could go wrong. He’d caved and agreed to have the rehearsal there weeks ago, and he’d spent a decent amount of that worrying.

There’d been tons of other things to think about, like their bachelor parties, planned by Dick and Charlie. Tim had been surprised with a trip to an arcade, like he used to go to when he was younger. Bernard had gone to play laser tag.

And even still, Tim had managed to find the time to be anxious about this.

He’d spent their short rehearsal clinging to Bernard’s hand like a lifeline, then did the same when they sat down at the restaurant, only letting go when they actually ordered food and Bernard had to use his hands for his utensils.

It felt like the second he let go, Bernard would slip away. Like history would repeat itself and he’d lose Bernard all over again. The Mr. Freeze attack had been bad enough, Tim didn’t need the Chaos Monsters coming back and wreaking havoc during their last meal together as fiancés.

Eventually, though, it got to the point where Tim was pulled into a completely separate conversation from Bernard, and they almost had to move away from each other.

Tim swallowed the creeping feeling in his throat and tried to focus on what Kon was telling him about the Kents’ latest crops. Ignored the fact that Bernard wasn’t even visible in his peripheral vision.

When Bernard mercifully bumped their shoes together, Tim wanted even more to tug him close, but he just asked, “How’s Ma’s hip been doing?”

“Good. It’s only been a few months since she fell, so all things considered, she’s healing real well,” Kon said. “I’ve been busy, but Jon and Clark are taking good care of everything around the farm so she doesn’t have to worry too much.”

And from there, it was a spiral of conversation after conversation, of giving the groomsmen their rehearsal gifts, of everyone congratulating Tim and Bernard here or there. Tim caught several people taking quick photos of the table, only a few of which were posed and probably came out well.

Then Bruce slid out of his seat and motioned for Tim and Bernard to follow him.

With one quick nudge from Tim, Bernard excused himself and they headed towards the corner of the patio, crossing into the shadows where Bruce was leaning against the railing as he waited.

He had a small box in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket.

"I know the gifts tonight are about your bridal party," Bruce said quietly, "but I have something for you, Bernard."

Bernard leaned into Tim's side, eyebrow raised as he lowered his voice. "Is this a Bat thing?"

That earned him a chuckle as Bruce set the box in Tim’s hand.

"Not quite."

With one quick glance up at Bruce, Tim clicked the lid open, tilting it towards Bernard so that he could see without having to lean over Tim’s shoulder.

It was a pair of silver Cufflinks nestled into a black pillow.

Familiar ones. 

Tim had a pair. So did all of his siblings, along with Bruce, Kate, and Alfred. Kory had a matching necklace. Mar’i would have something of her own when she was older.

"The Wayne crest," Bruce said. "Welcome to the family, Bernard."

With a deep breath, Bernard squeezed Tim’s shoulder, then held out his hand for Bruce to shake.

It lasted all of a second before one of them drew the other into a standardly awkward, genuine Bruce hug.

Tim swallowed hard.

“Thanks, B,” he said.

“Thank you. Seriously, this is huge,” Bernard said. “Do I get to wear these tomorrow?”

“That was the idea, yes,” Bruce said.

Grinning, Bernard slipped his arm around Tim’s waist and cupped his hand around the box. Tim closed the lid softly and let Bernard take it.

The thought of seeing Bernard in his wedding suit wearing Tim’s family’s crest the very next day was almost enough to turn the tangles in Tim’s chest into butterflies, instead.

_ _ _ _ _

When everyone left the restaurant, Tim and Bernard were the last ones left at the table.

It was late enough that the breeze coasting through the city chilled Tim’s skin through his jacket, making him lean closer to Bernard over the arm of their chairs, and Bernard slipped their hands together as they watched the sky past the patio railing.

After a few, quiet moments, Bernard pressed his lips to Tim’s hair. “So, we made it through. No kidnappings.”

“Yet.” Tim mumbled.

“That doesn’t sound like you telling me I was right, but I’ll take it anyway.”

Tim sighed, shaking Bernard’s hand gently in his own and tilting his head up to look at him.

“I’m not gonna say you were right until we’re out of here,” Tim said quietly. “But I’ll admit that it wasn’t as bad as I was worried about.”

“Eh, close enough.”

Rolling his eyes, Tim ducked away from Bernard’s huffed laughter, but Bernard easily caught him around the shoulders.

He held on until Tim actually looked up and caught his eyes, then loosened his hold to softly ask, "So will you trust me when I say that our wedding will be fine?"

The look on his face was enough to make Tim pause, his anxiety unraveling just a little as he watched Bernard’s eyes flick between his own.

All of the conversations they’d had about the wedding, about Tim’s worries and paranoia, flitted through his mind.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Sure, Bear.”

With a quiet sigh, Bernard kissed Tim’s forehead one more time. “Are you sure you’re okay separating tonight? You can still come back to the apartment, then head to the manor tomorrow. It’ll be close enough.”

“You wanted to do the full deal, and that includes not seeing each other ‘till the first look.”

“Not if it just makes you worry more.”

Tim squeezed Bernard’s hand.

As much as the thought of leaving Bernard made his chest ache, especially with recent events, the idea of swapping up their plans now just to make Tim sleep easier was even worse. Bernard was already making enough concessions for him, there wasn’t any reason for Tim to force him into making more now.

“I’ll be fine,” Tim said, bringing Bernard’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. “You have fun at the apartment and get ready with Charlie and Darcy, okay?”

“You’re sure?”

“Confident,” Tim said softly.

Bernard’s face flickered, but as he moved to stand, pulling Tim gently with him, he nodded. “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know when we get back to the manor, okay? And you text me when you’re home.”

“Course.”

With a smile, Tim pulled Bernard in, kissing him firmly before slipping away.

Chapter Text

For the first time in a long time, when Tim woke up, he was alone.

It took his brain a full minute to figure out why. To put together the pieces and remember.

Bernard was staying at the apartment for the night. 

Tim was at the manor.

For their wedding day.

Sitting up, his blanket pooling around his waist and his heart in his throat, Tim took a deep breath.

The dissonance between the remnants of a teenager's room around and the fact that he was about to get up and ready for his actual, legitimate wedding made him feel a strange disconnect from his own body.

He felt simultaneously fifteen and twenty-five, like a kid and a man who was about to be a husband at the same time.

The clock on his bedside table read ten, just late enough in the morning for light to be streaming through the windows and hitting his posters on the wall opposite like it used to when he lived there full time, but Alfred wasn’t at the door chiding him for not being up yet.

He had on a pair of loose boxers and a t-shirt just like what he’d worn to bed as a teenager, but when he went to stand, he was taller than he’d ever been when he lived at the manor.

All of his belongings were exactly where he’d left them, except for his new suit, hanging from the back of his closet door. 

It was the same and completely different, all at the same time.

He slipped into the bathroom and washed his face, and it just made the feeling stronger, the same old washcloth scrubbing over the new scar on his neck and the stubble he wanted to shave away from his chin before the ceremony.

Tim had showered the day before, but he turned on the water anyway, taking off his shirt before pulling out his razor, a newspaper, and his shaving cream that he’d brought along for this specific reason. The newspaper spread easily over the counter, held in place by his old toothbrush holder.

The wedding organizer had sent them all a rough schedule for the day, one that he and Bernard had approved together. According to that, he had until three PM before he’d have to settle in to try to get his hair to cooperate, but until then, he was free to do anything he wanted.

The only problem was, he had no idea what he wanted.

Breakfast? To go back to bed? To go sit in the library and read the newspaper with Bruce and Titus, like old times?

Once he had his chin and neck properly coated with shaving cream, Tim grimaced at his razor and started carefully sliding it over his skin.

It felt like he ought to do something symbolic to acknowledge that it wasn’t just a regular morning, but he had no idea what that would be without Bernard. Even just hanging out with his wedding party like Bernard would be doing didn’t feel right, not when it was just his siblings and one of his best friends, who he’d hang out with any other day if they were around.

His mind drifted towards the actual wedding as the minutes slipped by. How Alfred would probably have people out getting everything set up shortly, how the decorations would look once they were all up, how the cake, food, and other desserts would handle sitting outside.

There was so much to do, maybe he shouldn’t worry about symbolism at all and go straight for overseeing the work. Even Alfred couldn’t be everywhere at once, it’d be better if he had someone else with him, helping to make sure everything went smoothly. The vendors could have questions and the organizer might want last minute opinions, stuff that Alfred wouldn’t be able to handle solo.

Tim wiped his face clean and poked at the one spot where he’d managed to nick his neck, but let it go when he didn’t see any blood.

It wasn’t hard to finish cleaning up, and then he went ahead and got into the shower, sighing as the water washed over his face. The last few strands of his stubble gave up on clinging to his skin.

As much as he wanted to just stay in there for the rest of the morning, soaking in the steam until it made him light-headed, he settled for grabbing the shampoo.

The right thing to do after his shower was probably going to eat. Tim normally wasn’t as much of a breakfast guy, not when he typically ate after getting home from patrol, but he was pretty sure he ought to make an exception this once.

Except his stomach was tying itself into such knots that the idea of eggs or toast or even just cereal made him want to crawl back into bed, and he knew that Alfred would’ve made something much larger than just that. Big occasions always made him go straight for big meals, something that Tim normally appreciated.

He turned off the shower with a deep breath, tugging a towel down from the shelf and wiping his face.

The bag he’d brought his stuff in was waiting for him when he made it back into his old bedroom, and he quickly brought out a t-shirt, his most comfortable pair of jeans, and everything else he’d need for the time being. Everything got dropped onto the bed so he could scrub his hair dry.

Instead of bothering to stuff the clothes from before into his bag or to sit down and check his phone for all the notifications he knew he’d have, Tim headed for the door as soon as he was properly dressed. Out of the room, down the hall, and to the back stairs that would lead him straight down to the most lived-in area of the manor.

He could hear clattering in the kitchen as his hand smoothed down the railing, too much for it to be just Alfred in there. A couple different voices floated up towards him, Kon and Duke’s rising above the rest. Damian said something Tim couldn’t catch, followed shortly by Steph.

Tim’s chest squeezed, and he paused just before the squeaky fifth step from the ground.

He couldn’t explain it, but there was a silence surrounding him, a distance between himself and the rest of the world, and he didn’t want to break it. Didn’t want to walk into the kitchen and be flooded with even more nerves when he realized just how close he was to getting married.

Of all the things that Tim had ever done, from dodging bullets to jumping between rooftops hundreds of feet above the ground to fighting mass-killers, this was one of the most nerve wracking.

He’d been anxious before, but never anything like this. Not a bubbly, giddy, all-consuming cyclone of jitters that made him want to head back to the apartment, grab Bernard, and hide out until everything was over. It wasn’t dread, but he’d almost rather it was. Dread, he could handle.

But so much excitement that he almost felt sick with it?

Part of him wanted to just call Bernard and hope that hearing his voice would help as much as it normally did, but he was pretty sure Bernard would be with Charlie and Darcy right now, the three of them having fun while they waited for it to be time to head to the manor.

Instead, Tim reached the base of the stairs and slipped down the hall away from the kitchen, bypassing that part of the manor completely in favor of heading for the old mudroom.

It’d been years since the majority of the rooms in this wing of the house had been occupied, meaning that he didn’t have to worry about keeping his footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor or avoiding the creaking spots. Nobody would be close enough to hear it anyway.

The old mudroom door stuck, paint cracking in the corners as Tim forced it open. The step behind it that led out into the manor’s sprawling backyard was mossy from disuse.

Tim’s tennis shoes sunk into the still-dewy grass, leaving behind indents where he walked.

He was only half certain where he was going until he got there, but it wasn’t a big surprise to reach the path worn through the lawn, and then the actual stones of the Wayne graves.

Tucking his hand into his pocket, the other drifting towards his neck, Tim silently slowed to a stop.

When Janet Drake’s body had been brought back to Gotham to be buried, they gave her wedding ring back to her family. Jack had taken it, locked it away where it couldn't remind him of what he'd lost, of how quickly and horribly his life had changed.

And then he'd died too, and Tim had two more wedding rings and two less parents.

He'd hung them on a thin gold chain, tucked it down the front of his shirt whenever he went to an event he thought his parents would've gone to had they lived, or anything where he thought they might appreciate the acknowledgement.

Not for the first time, he wished he'd been able to save Dana's ring from Bludhaven's remains, even if he couldn't save her. 

It would've fit right over his heart with theirs.

The first parent to really be there for him, day in and day out. The first one who didn't have an ancient civilization they'd rather visit or a new pamphlet for a boarding school after every summer break.

Jack and Janet had loved him. Dana did, too, but she also liked him as much as someone could like having a stepson. She didn't have to fumble through asking about his interests, didn't try to convince him to try out for sports, helped him make soup for Steph when she was sick.

And now…

"Bruce," Tim said quietly.

Footsteps swished through the grass, a shadow looming at his side.

It should've been intimidating.

The hand that landed on his shoulder, large and heavy, should've been a threat.

But all Tim felt was safety.

"Tim," Bruce said. "Saying hello?"

With a nod, Tim patted the rings one more time. Then he slid his arm around Bruce and leaned into his side-hug.

"Do you think they would've approved? Of me and Bernard?"

Bruce sighed.

It carried decades of grief, but Tim was an expert at picking apart his Batman's buried emotions, and he could hear the fondness.

"They would've loved you kids," he said. "Tim, I don't know if you understand how much my father would've been amazed by you.”

Tim blinked up at the letters etched into stone, spelling out Thomas' name. Deep and dark and well-loved by the elements.

"He was a doctor, as you know. A brilliant man. The kind who would've played chess with you and laughed when you managed to beat him. Who would've taught you what you did wrong when you didn't." Bruce smiled faintly. "He was terrible in the kitchen, and I can imagine you, Cassandra, and my father sitting in the dining room and playing cards as you waited for the others to finish cooking."

There was a lump in Tim's throat.

He swallowed it as best he could before asking, "And Martha?"

"My mother—"

Bruce paused.

"My mother," he started again, quieter, "would've adopted you before I could."

He pulled Tim closer with another sigh.

When Tim glanced up, Bruce smiled softly. "They would love Bernard."

_ _ _ _ _

At three-thirty, just as Tim was finishing with his hair, the photographer arrived.

It was Kon who led her in, a huge camera bag over one shoulder while she carried her actual camera around her neck. Dick went to help her choose a place to put her stuff in the guest room Tim had taken over to get ready in, while Cass helped Tim fluff the front of his hair so that it was sitting properly.

Tim wasn’t sure if he’d used this much hair gel since he was running around with Young Justice, but it seemed to work. Even Duke purposefully poking at it just to fuck with him wasn’t enough to make it dislodge.

From there, it was a mess of photographs. She spent nearly ten minutes getting a photo of Tim by the window, sunlight streaming through and lighting up his cream suit, the altar and chairs just barely visible in the lower corner of the photo. The others took just a little less time to get ready, so they were helping Tim get his shoes, his watch, anything he could possibly need. Several times, Tim glanced up and spotted Cass or Kon tidying up the room so that nobody lost anything in the bustle.

This photo here, that photo there, call Bruce so she can get a shot of him tying Tim’s tie, are we on schedule, time for a group photo.

One of the nice things about the photographer they’d hired was that she made a point of showing Tim some of the photos, just enough to keep him from going off the rails with uncertainty. Cass struck up a quiet conversation with her at one point, which led to her being allowed to lean carefully over the photographer’s shoulder a few times and give Tim a thumbs up for certain photos.

It all felt surprisingly natural, honestly. None of the poses were uncomfortably stiff, she didn’t make any of them hug unnaturally or crowd together, and the others barely seemed phased by the camera being there at all.

By the time the photographer left to go take photos of Bernard, Charlie, and Darcy as they got dressed, Alfred had arrived to usher Tim downstairs and into the library.

It’d been Bruce’s suggestion to use it for their first look. It didn’t match the decorations they’d chosen for everything outside, but it was quiet and private, and the dark browns would fade seamlessly into the background of the photographs and videos with the contrast of Tim and Bernard’s cream suits. There was even already a fire blazing in the fireplace to make the room feel alive as Tim sat in a nearby armchair to wait.

He used his extra time to check his phone for practically the first time all day, ignoring most of his notifications in favor of making sure he didn’t have anything important.

Even though he knew there wouldn’t be, it still hurt a little not to see anything from Bernard.

But knowing Charlie, he’d probably stolen Bernard’s phone as soon as he could get his hands on it, effectively stopping him from saying anything impulsively. Tim and Bernard were on lockdown from each other for a few more minutes, when they’d finally see each other in their suits.

Tim’s mind had been trying to paint a picture of what Bernard’s could possibly look like for months, but he was sure the image wouldn’t look anything as good as the real deal.

Even just the fact that Charlie and Darcy, two of the most opinionated people Tim knew, had agreed on it made Tim feel more confident. And that wasn’t even counting the fact that Bernard could show up in a pair of sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt and Tim would still be glad to see him.

His heart felt like it was going to squeeze itself into dust by the time someone finally knocked on the library door.

“Tim?” Darcy called. “We’ve got your groom, close your eyes for a minute while we get you guys into place.”

The library’s large double doors slid open as Tim closed his eyes, lowering his head so he couldn’t accidentally blink and ruin it for himself.

Moments ticked by, filled with footsteps and quiet murmurs before a hand landed on Tim’s arm and Kon said, “C’mon, man. I’ll show you where you need to stand.”

Tim let himself be tugged to his feet and shuffled along. The warmth from the fire place faded, and thanks to the worn spaces on the carpet from years of people and pets walking on the same paths through the library, Tim knew exactly where he was in relation to each wall and bookshelf. He wasn’t surprised when Kon brought him to a halt almost in the middle of the room, turning him so he was facing away from Bernard.

“Okay, gimme a sec to get outta the way,” Kon said, adjusting Tim’s tie. “Photographer and videographer are both set up, Bernard’s right behind you, anything else you need?”

With a shake of his head, Tim clasped his hands in front of his waist, the vague outline of Kon’s shoulders visible through his squeezed eyes.

“Count ‘em down!” Duke called from over by the doors.

Tim bit the inside of his cheek, holding in an idiotic grin. The quiet, happy mumbles from near Duke were infectious, turning Tim’s chest into giddy knots.

“On five,” the photographer said loudly.

Before he even turned around, Tim’s eyes were prickling, but actually seeing Bernard in his suit made Tim snort, hand moving to cover his eyes with an abrupt breath.

He looked like a painting come to life.

None of it was anything incredibly special. A gorgeous cream suit with a high waist, a well-pressed white dress shirt, and a carefully arranged cream bowtie. Bernard’s dark shoes were spotless, but plain. The deep, wine red flower on his chest was the only thing that technically stood out.

Even his hair was basically his normal style, though it looked like someone had managed to get it to agree to stay out of Bernard’s eyes for the day. 

But it was Bernard, and he could make the most boring thing in the world something Tim would gladly worship, much less something as important as this.

What really made the lump in Tim’s throat grow, though, were Bernard’s cufflinks.

A set of silver cufflinks with a swirling W, identical to the ones each new addition to the Wayne family received.

Because they were getting married. Because Bernard was a few hours away from legally joining the family.

Tim’s lungs spluttered, forcing him to lean forwards with a swipe at his eyes.

With as close as they were, he nearly bumped into Bernard, who reached up to cup his cheek with his lips parted and his eyes wide.

“I like your suit,” Tim said. “Very handsome.”

Like Tim hadn’t even spoken, Bernard brushed a thumb over his dampening cheek.

It was gentle, soft, and yet it carried the weight of all of the racing thoughts Tim could see behind Bernard’s eyes. It took him a long moment to blink and take a deep breath.

“You’re gonna make me cry.” Bernard managed eventually, pressing his lips to Tim’s hairline. “I said I wasn’t gonna cry.”

Tim smiled and put a hand over Bernard’s heart. “I knew you would.”

He could feel every thump of Bernard’s pulse, every breath, and he knew the exact moment that Bernard’s chest hitched. They pressed together into a wordless, clumsy hug.

Rumpled suits and flowers or not, Tim was going to hold Bernard. The morning had already felt like enough of an eternity, and that was before Tim saw Bernard’s face. Now, he was sure it would take an Amazon or a Kryptonian to pull him away.

“I love you.” Tim told Bernard’s softly padded shoulder.

Bernard tucked his face into Tim’s neck and mumbled out something that sounded close to an I love you too.

_ _ _ _ _

Too soon, Tim and Bernard were shuffled away from each other, taken outside to the manor’s wide front lawn for wedding party photos.

Tim clung to Bernard’s hand for as long as he could before he was waved over to stand with Dick, Kon, Duke, and Cass under one of the manor’s thick, draping trees. The photographer positioned them all in a line with Tim in the middle, Dick at his left hand and Kon at his right.

That was the first of about a dozen too many different poses and places and photographs.

It felt almost silly to take so many, especially when Tim knew they’d only take more later once the guests arrived, but he just slipped an arm around Cass’ shoulders for their duo photo and let the photographer work.

They filed through the rest after that, then swapped out for Bernard, Charlie, and Darcy before doing one with all of them together.

“Just the grooms for this one,” the photographer said eventually, waving.

As the others slipped out of the shot, Bernard put an arm around Tim’s waist and pulled him close. Tim mirrored him, both of their bodies tilted inwards towards the other, smiling brightly at the camera.

When the photographer paused to adjust her settings and the lens, Bernard softly murmured in Tim’s ear, “Too bad you couldn’t just take the photos.”

Tim shuffled a little to the left, following the photographer’s hand motions as his chest twisted.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know about how much Bernard hated having strangers take his photos, barely even tolerated it from people he did know, but it was always different hearing Bernard talk about Tim’s photography.

He’d barely even call it a hobby if asked, but his photos were something of his from his civilian life that he’d always enjoyed. His parents used to bring back photos from their trips, and one of Tim’s favorite things had been having ones to show them, too. It was a good day when he could pull out his old camera and take any kinds of photos, even just at the marina or the apartment.

And of all of his subjects, his favorite almost had to be Bernard. He had files of candids and of posed photos both, of vacations, of dates, even just of Bernard half-asleep and clinging to Tim mid-yawn. They were the ones that Tim loved to just sit and flick through for a smile.

The idea that Bernard was comfortable having Tim as his photographer made something in Tim’s heart melt.

Instead of saying that, Tim pressed his face into Bernard’s shoulder, smiling widely for the camera. “I’ll be in charge of our anniversary photos next year.”

“Deal,” Bernard said with a little grin, squeezing Tim’s waist.

_ _ _ _ _

By seven, the guests were arriving, the back lawn was fully decorated, and Tim and Bernard were hidden away in Tim’s old room, laying carefully on the bed to avoid wrinkling their suits.

If Tim had thought he felt outside of himself that morning from the combination of his teenage room and his wedding day, it was nothing compared to now.

He entwined his fingers with Bernard’s, staring up at the slowly rotating fan. “Thirty minutes ‘till the ceremony.”

“Having cold feet yet?” Bernard asked quietly.

With a quiet snort, Tim let his eyes sink shut.

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Fortunately, it’s kinda hard to bolt when your fiancé is right next to you.”

“You dunno, maybe I’ll run with you. We could just ditch and let everyone eat the cake without us.”

“I don’t think anybody would be too impressed with that.”

“It’s not their wedding, is it?” Bernard asked.

Tim nodded, chuckling to ignore the way his stomach twisted.

But it was Bernard he was laying next to, who could see through Tim’s thin disguises, and a moment later, he squeezed Tim’s hand.

He gently tightened his grip until Tim let his head loll.

Bernard was already watching him, expression soft enough to make twisting turn to summersaults. He brought Tim’s hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, and Tim took a deep breath.

“This is gonna be great.” Bernard murmured. “I promise, Tim.”

It was all Tim could do to nod again, forcing a nervous smile.

He wasn’t surprised when Bernard sat up and scooted closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, hand smoothing over the back of Tim’s hair. Tim shifted so that his head was practically in Bernard’s lap.

For a moment, he just let his eyes sink closed and relaxed into Bernard’s hand.

Everyone downstairs would be sat and waiting soon. The wedding party would be ready, the officiant setting up by the altar. 

They really ought to be getting up and heading that way too.

Tim tilted his chin up so he was looking at the underside of Bernard’s, taking a deep breath. “You ready?”

“Are you?” Bernard asked softly.

“If you’re with me, then yeah. I’ll manage.”

With a quiet snort, Bernard kissed his forehead one more time. “Then let’s get moving, Boy Wonder.”

Tim let Bernard slip out from under him first, watching him smooth his suit where Tim laying against him had creased it.

Then, when Bernard offered him a hand, Tim let himself be tugged over and then off the bed. He adjusted Bernard’s tie before letting Bernard fix his suit for him, and together, they headed for the open door and down the hall.

It wasn’t much of a decision to slip down the back stairs instead of the main set. Without knowing where everyone was, it was easier to err on the side of caution and go where it was sure to be less crowded by the kitchen. 

And besides even that, it was closer to the back lawn, where everything had been set up. If they went through the mudroom, they could sneak up behind the entire wedding and see everyone mulling around as they waited. If they went past the kitchen, they’d find the main double-doors leading directly out to where they needed to be.

When Tim and Bernard reached the base of the back staircase, they could hear distant chatter, voices drifting in and out over soft, instrumental music.

“Time to head to the altar, I guess,” Tim said softly.

Bernard grimaced, smoothing his thumb over Tim’s hand. “Do we have to call it that? It sounds a little sacrificial.”

With a twitch of his lips, Tim tipped their foreheads together, squeezing Bernard tight.

“The officiant, then.” He murmured.

“Yeah,” Bernard said. “You’ve got your vows?”

Tim pressed a hand to his pocket. “Right here.”

“And Kon’s got the rings?”

“If he doesn’t, he’s looking now, I’ll bet.”

Snorting, Bernard kissed Tim’s forehead lightly. “Okay, then. Everything’s good to go.”

“I hope so,” Tim said.

_ _ _ _ _

When Tim and Bernard had decided on their venue, their decorations, and their overall theme, Tim hadn’t had a very clear picture of what it would look like.

Wayne manor’s back lawn was huge. There were too many options to arrange all of the things they’d need, from the altar and chairs for the actual ceremony to the temporary wooden pavilion that Alfred had researched and had built specifically for the occasion.

But he could see it now. Right in front of them, where they stood by the window in the wedding party’s entrance room.

A ginormous temporary wooden pavilion frame stretched over a carefully built floor. Tables were arranged underneath, while clear plastic panels laid over the top to keep out any rain. Their wedding organizer had said that the tables would be moved aside for the reception, leaving only a few, with tables lining both of the long sides of the pavilion to provide seating.

He could also see the lights woven through the pavilion’s beams, turning the entire thing into one large fairy tale. The glow lit up the deep red and cream floral arrangements nestled in their green leaves in the middle of each table, tea lights creating an uplight from where they were resting on the white tablecloths.

And even closer and easier to see, were the altar, the aisle, and the chairs filled with their guests.

All of the chairs were white, while the aisle itself was made of light-colored stepping stones, leading directly up to the dark wooden frame of the altar itself. It had been draped in cream, deep red, and gold, with the flowers they’d chosen in the same colors tucked carefully into the frame. Dark green ivy curled down the sides.

It was everything Tim could’ve imagined and more, his hand squeezed tight in Bernard’s. He almost didn’t want to go out there, didn’t want to realize anything was wrong with it, because it was a little too close to a dream.

But as the music slowly swapped to their wedding march and Tim’s groomsmen readied themselves to start down the aisle, he didn’t have much of a choice.

Cass slipped out of the double-doors first, every guest in the audience twisting to see her glide down the aisle towards the officiant at the altar. Only a few beats passed before it was Duke’s turn.

Almost before he knew it, Bruce was at Tim’s side, a hand on his shoulder and the other gesturing gently to the door. Tim gave Bernard a soft smile before stepping into the doorway to the respectful applause of almost everyone he cared about.

It was easier to see them all from the end of the aisle. As he and Bruce began to walk, Tim’s eyes ghosted over people’s faces and took them all in as best he could.

There wasn’t just one side for him to look at, thanks to him and Bernard deciding to veer away from the traditional split-down-the-middle seating arrangements, which made it a little harder to place everyone in the remarkably short walk down the aisle.

He could see his family, Bat and Wayne, that weren’t in the wedding party sitting in the front rows. Damian and Kory, Mar’i and Kate and Jason, even Babs, her father, and Steph. There was a seat open for Bruce to sit down as the father of one of the grooms, with another beside him for Alfred. Behind them sat Young Justice, even Snapper, Ray, and the Red Tornado in a human disguise courtesy of Bruce asking Zatanna. Red’s daughter Traya and her mother sat beside him.

Ives was there, of course, while Digby and his wife being able to make it were more of a surprise. He’d sent their invitations as almost a courtesy, though he couldn’t really complain about them being there. Digby was a big help for the short time he worked with Tim.

Another unexpected duo was Connor Hawke and Kyle Rayner, two people Tim would call friends thanks to team-ups over the years.

The Kents were sitting in the middle of the right-hand side of the crowd, while Dinah and Helena sat only a couple of rows behind them. Oliver Queen was Dinah’s plus-one, something Tim was sure Bruce was half-amused, half-exasperated with.

One of the few people Tim was really surprised to see show up was Ted Kord, who he knew Babs had invited for him, but never could’ve imagined would actually be there. Trying to keep his cool about Ted being there felt like trying to put a lid back on a shaken soda.

With a deep breath, Tim and Bruce reached the altar.

Tim nodded to the officiant, an elderly man with silver hair and a kind smile, before slipping into place beside Dick. Bruce squeezed Tim’s shoulder once before taking his seat.

After Tim and Bruce came Darcy, which gave Tim another moment to survey the crowd, though it was harder when all he could see were the sides and backs of people’s heads.

One person who was easy to recognize just thanks to her unnatural paleness, even without her powers being active at the moment, was Laura Fell.

She was someone that Tim had trouble with when dealing with the invitations.

Getting in touch with her hadn't been the hard part. With a few favors, he’d tracked her down, cornered her until she heard him out. But convincing her to come to the wedding, evil powers or no, had been an entire debate. She seemed convinced that she'd ruin it for them if she came.

Tim had told her that was nonsense.

He didn't completely believe himself, but for Bernard, he'd lie through his teeth any day.

And in the end, she wasn't the one he really struggled with. Not when the Dowds were on the invite list.

Bernard hadn't been convinced at first, not by a long-shot, but he’d admitted himself that he wanted them there. Tim was willing to risk drama at their wedding if it meant he could give Bernard even one good, peaceful moment with his parents. 

The ball was in the Dowds’ court, whatever they decided to do with it.

But they weren’t the only family Bernard had in the audience. There were cousins and a few aunts and uncles scattered around, people Tim hadn’t even known existed until Bernard decided to dig out their numbers and send some texts, just on the off chance they wanted to come. He’d been shocked with the first positive RSVP, but by the third or fourth, he was practically bouncing off the walls.

It stung, how convinced he’d been that he was alone other than Tim. The Bernard he remembered from high school was nothing like that. He’d been so outgoing and confident that it was still almost impossible to place the pieces to figure out how he’d gotten from point A to point B.

Tim would never change it, though. Not for the world.

That Bernard might’ve been impressive, someone Tim couldn’t help but take an immediate liking to from their first conversation outside of Louis E. Grieves, but that was Tim’s friend.

It wasn’t the Bernard he fell in love with.

Not the one he was marrying.

It would always be a part of him, but the man Tim was marrying was older, softer, so beautiful inside and out. He’d grown from an overly cocky teenager into someone that Tim would trade anything to protect, who was so much more comfortable with himself than he’d ever been back then. There were bad things about that growth, the trauma and the loneliness and everything else, but there was so much good to it too.

And as Charlie reached the end of the aisle and Bernard appeared in the doorway, Tim’s chest twisted until the space behind the back of his eyes was burning.

He’d just seen Bernard not even two minutes prior, but it still felt like he was seeing him for the first time. Just the sight of Bernard pressing his hand to the flower on his chest forced Tim to take a deep breath to avoid any stray tears from bubbling over.

There wasn’t any explanation for it. No real reason. That was his fiancé, soon to be husband, and he was going to cry about it.

Bernard started down the aisle, drifting gracefully and beaming so brightly that it looked like he was hand-crafted from sunshine and gold.

Beside him, Alfred looked as dignified as ever. He smiled softly when he saw Tim, glancing at Bernard and back with a small nod, and Tim grinned.

When he’d suggested Alfred accompany Bernard down the aisle, Tim had had a little sliver of doubt that it would work well. Alfred was so stiff and professional most of the time that it could be unnatural, and that wasn’t exactly the dynamic you wanted at your wedding.

But it looked right.

And if Tim took special note of the Dowds’ faces, he was only slightly proud of the way they were pinched and tight.

Then Bernard and Alfred split apart, Bernard slipping easily into place opposite Tim.

All together, the final picture of the scene from Tim’s perspective was incredible. The crowd to the side, Bernard in front of him, flowers and carefully draped cloth hanging around them. Charlie and Darcy were visible beyond Bernard’s shoulder, both wearing cleanly pressed black suits, same as Kon, Duke, and Dick, while Cass was wearing a deep red dress. Darcy, Kon, and Duke all had on the same red ties, while Dick and Charlie were wearing gold as the men of honor.

The officiant began the ceremony with a clear of his throat and a gentle gesture for the guests to remain quiet, but all Tim could focus on was the way Bernard’s eyes were flicking over him, like he was trying to soak everything in.

Part of Tim and Bernard’s preparation for the wedding had been okay’ing a ceremony that wouldn’t rely too heavily on religion, but Tim was pretty sure that he could be listening to someone preach about the holy effects of rubbing gasoline on his skin to exfoliate and he still wouldn’t even blink.

Only when it came time for Tim to speak did he remember to actually breathe, the officiant saying, “The grooms have prepared their own vows.”

Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper he’d written his final draft of the vows on, unfolding it carefully, and smoothed it with one hand. He glanced up, earning a soft smile from Bernard.

All he could hear was his own heart pounding as he swallowed.

And with a clear of his throat, he began to read.

“Bernard, for as long as I can remember, my life has felt unstable,” Tim said, projecting his voice as best as he could without letting it wobble. “I moved around a lot when I was younger. We lived in apartments and condos and houses, or I was at a boarding school, never really settling in one place.”

One hand moved to the red flower on his chest, making sure it was still there, his engagement ring pressing into his chest through his suit.

"Then I grew up, and I moved in with the Waynes, and I went to my apartment, then the boat. It was all so busy, so hectic, and the hits just kept coming. With everything I’ve lost and everything that I’ve done, I’m not sure I ever fully understood what feeling safe meant,” Tim said, his chest squeezing. “But now I do.”

He swallowed hard, continuing, “The day we talked on the phone, agreed to meet up after not having seen each other for so long, I—Bernard, I was a wreck. I was so lost. I felt like I didn’t even know my own name.”

The breeze picked up, Tim slipped his hand away from his chest to cup Bernard’s cheek, lowering the paper.

He already knew the next part.

“So many people were asking me what I wanted. My friends, my family, everyone I cared about seemed to be pushing me to decide everything in the moment, like there was some deadline that I’d missed. And then you were there, a surprise and a gift that made everything slow down again. It was just you and me.”

Their audience rippled. Overhead, the last bits of sunset were fading away, making the fairy lights dance across Bernard’s hair. He smiled, soft and teary, and leaned into Tim's hand.

It felt like getting hit with a truck, how quickly Tim’s breath hitched.

“Bernard, I—” Tim stopped. Closed his eyes, forced himself to inhale. “I don’t think I believe in soulmates. I don’t believe in much, honestly. There’s a reason we’re having this wedding in my dad’s backyard.”

That earned him a chuckle from the crowd.

Bernard’s lips brushed against his palm.

"But if I were to say I had a soulmate, if I were to say I hoped I found someone again in a new life, it would be you. I would choose you everytime. You’re my home, my light in the dark, and I promise you, I’ll do everything I can to give you the kind of safety that you’ve given me for so long. I love you, Bernard, today and forever.”

He folded the paper one-handed, slowly letting his hand slide away from Bernard’s cheek. His vows went back into the pocket where he’d taken them from as the officiant gestured to Bernard.

Anything he might have been saying to introduce Bernard’s vows washed right over Tim, a station he wasn't tuned into, and then Bernard was shifting in place.

Tim pressed the back of his hand to his mouth.

Bernard hadn't even said a word, and he could already feel the tears prickling at the back of his eyes. He wasn’t sure when the last time he’d cried so easily even was.

"Timothy Drake," Bernard said, and it sounded like honey and wine and a baby's first laugh wrapped together in the wind. "You're the reason I am the man I am today."

The first sob bubbled past Tim's lips. He grasped at Bernard's hand, eyes squeezing shut.

A gentle thumb came up to smooth his lip, paper brushing his cheek.

It coaxed his eyes open just enough to see Bernard's smile. "When we first met, I was insecure, confused, and deeply, deeply closeted."

Tim laughed wetly. He heard Kate's snort, the scattered chuckles. Bernard's lips twitched up.

"I knew I wasn't straight. I knew I liked boys, that I wasn't normal, that I liked Lady Gaga songs just a little too much. But I shoved it down deep, crushed on girls like Darla Aquista just because she was so unattainable that nothing could possibly happen."

Down in the crowd, Tim could practically feel Laura preening.

"And then you walked into my life and sent me into a tailspin, making me question everything I thought I could hide." Bernard's thumb traced over one of the faint, silvery scars on Tim's chin. "I thought my life was over, but it was just beginning."

The pause between Bernard’s sentences felt like an eternity. Tim tried to tattoo every word into his brain, prayed that the videographer was catching everything, wanted to double-check that Bernard had a second copy of the written version somewhere safe.

“There are a lot of things in my life that I regret, but the thing that I’m most proud of? The one that I’d never, ever be willing to change? It would be the day we met, when I chose to stop you and make sure you noticed me. I know now that it wasn’t as smooth as I thought it was back then, but I’ll never stop being grateful that you looked past it.”

Bernard took a deep breath. "Tim, every day that I'm with you, I want to be better. I want to be good enough for you. I'm standing here right now, your ring on my hand, and I still don't know what I did that made you love me, but I know that I'd do it every day if it meant you stayed."

Heart lifting into his throat, Tim put his hand on top of Bernard’s, but Bernard just tilted his head.

“But I also know now that I didn’t do something to deserve you, because you helped me realize that I don’t need to do anything to deserve love.” He smiled softly. “Tim, the fact that you’re mine feels like a miracle, but it’s better than just something that the universe gave me, because we both chose to be together. We choose it every day. You were my friend, my boyfriend, my fiancé, and now you’re going to be my husband, and I promise to keep choosing you just like you choose me.”

Tim let out a puffed breath, squeezing Bernard’s hand. The officiant’s voice washed over him, just background noise to Bernard’s words playing on loop in his mind, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the gentle expression on Bernard’s face.

There was a bit of shuffling to Tim’s side, and he realized dimly that Kon was passing the rings to Dick, who was passing them to the officiant. Tim took one in the palm of his hand.

Having Bernard present his hand for the ring to be slid on felt like a dream. Tim half-expected his own hand to slip right through Bernard’s like smoke when he moved to hold it, but it stayed firm as he gave Bernard his wedding ring.

Then it was Tim’s turn, his hand trembling even worse than Bernard’s had been when he placed it between them.

Bernard’s skin was warm and grounding as he held Tim, squeezing gently, and slid the ring into place. 

And then it was over.

The vows. The questions. The pause for objections.

"You may kiss the groom."

Tim pressed forwards, hands finding the sides of Bernard's face like they belonged there. He felt Bernard's nervous laughter on his cheek for all of a second before their lips met.

It felt like kissing a dying star.

Everything was hot and cold and bursting with light, Tim's chest swelling until he thought he might pop, gravity distorted to the point that, when he began to tip, he thought it was in his mind.

Then he realized Bernard's hands were steady on his body, that this was a move they'd done a billion times in their kitchens or on the boat's deck. That he was being dipped.

Any thought beyond Bernard, Bernard, Bernard pounding along to his heartbeat flew right out of his mind as he relaxed, completely confident in Bernard's ability to keep him upright.

Tim really hadn't thought anything could beat their first kiss, but this was at least a tie.

And then the sounds of cheering and hollers flooded back in. Tim could feel the sweat under his arms again, the cold breeze on his face, and he let his eyes flutter open as Bernard twisted him back onto his feet.

"That wasn't in the rehearsals," Tim said breathlessly.

With a sheepish chuckle, Bernard pressed their foreheads together. “Sorry. Got excited.”

They pulled away after a long, stretching moment, clearing their throats and gesturing for the ceremony to proceed. Bernard slipped his hand into Tim’s, both of them squeezing at the same moment.

As the officiant moved to proclaim them as Mr. and Mr., Tim smiled softly at Bernard, earning a gentle nudge.

They'd had about a million conversations about their names and what they would choose, both silly and serious.

Ones where Bernard teased Tim for being so fancy with his Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, Tim asking if that made Bernard Dowd boring. 

Others with them mumbling stupid combinations back and forth over their pillows in the middle of the night. Wowd. Doyne. Drayne.

Once, Tim made a joke that they just call it a day and find some random last name that they both liked, abandon the hyphens and everything altogether.

And as tempting as that had been, in the end, they chose to go for the full deal.

Timothy and Bernard Drake-Wayne-Dowd.

For the sake of simplicity, they'd shorten it when needed, choose whichever one best fit the situation. Tim was sure he'd be forced to break out Wayne at galas and in front of Bruce's investors. Bernard would probably keep using his own at work. There would be people who'd never quite view Tim as anything beyond a Drake. Who already didn't.

But when they got home every night, when the lights were off and it was just them, hands entwined and breaths mingling as they laughed, Tim would be thinking of himself as Dowd.

_ _ _ _ _

It took an hour and a half altogether to sign paperwork, take photos with family, and sit down for dinner with all of the guests in the pavilion, but before he even knew it, Tim was seated beside Bernard with their hands clasped together on their table.

It was officially dark at that point. The lights strung overhead made everything feel ethereal, putting off a soft glow that bounced off everything in sight. The pavilion almost looked like it was in a spotlight, everything past a few yards from the edge fading into shadow, only tea lights visible from where they lined the path back up to the manor.

They were sitting at the very end of the pavilion, directly in front of the tables for their wedding party and family. The rest of the guests were spread throughout, more than a few of them mingling with the other guests that they knew, while some like Bernard’s distant family were chatting quietly with each other at their tables. It wasn’t too much of a surprise to see Dinah by Babs, or Kon by the rest of Young Justice. Mar’i was sitting with Dick at the wedding party table, while Kory spoke to Bruce and Damian where they were sitting with the family.

Dinner went quickly, especially thanks to the way Tim’s excitement had reduced his appetite to about the size of a mouse’s. He spent most of the meal watching everyone else and sneaking long glances at Bernard.

His husband, Bernard.

The aftermath of the ceremony had had Bernard running his hand through his hair, which left it curling slightly into his face now, just a little messy. He’d loosened his tie after the photos and taken his jacket off to leave it over the back of his chair, but his cufflinks were still securely in place, and everytime he caught Tim looking, he gave a smile that didn’t look nearly as exhausted as his appearance would’ve suggested.

And when they went to stand to cut the cake, Bernard slipped his jacket back on, smoothed his hair, and tightened his tie right back up for the photos and video.

Their cake was already waiting for them on a table by the edge of the pavilion, beside another table of fruit tarts and carefully decorated cookies. Tim squeezed Bernard’s hand when he saw it, only letting go when they were already behind the table, so Bernard could reach for the cake cutter.

It was exactly what Tim had imagined. A tall, multi-layered french vanilla cake with buttercream icing spread thinly over the sides in an almost rustic, naked-style way. Flowers in their wedding colors were arranged in careful clusters on the top and sides, dark green leaves spilling down to make a contrast.

Putting his hand on top of Bernard’s to cut through the top layer and pull out the first slice felt like magic, both of them laughing as they fumbled to get it cleanly onto the plate.

Everyone was watching them, but it felt like there was an entire dimension between Tim and Bernard and the rest of the room. Like, when Tim used a fork to pick up the first bite and held it up to Bernard, it was just them in the entire world.

Bernard’s smile was soft when he took the fork to do the same. Tim swiped carefully at the corner of his mouth when frosting smeared there, only for Bernard to reach up and wipe it away for him.

The raspberry in the cake was the first thing Tim tasted, tartness fading slowly into french vanilla and buttercream, then the almonds and the hazelnuts in the icing.

When he finished chewing, he glanced up at Bernard, who took his hand with the one not holding the cake plate.

“It doesn’t have anything on Fir Pri.” He murmured. “Not a rainbow sprinkle in sight.”

Tipping his forehead against Bernard’s, Tim smiled. “At least it isn’t half-concaved."

“That was the charm of it.”

With a snort and a shake of his head, Tim let Bernard pull gently away, putting both hands on the plate.

They cut another slice before slipping away towards their table. Alfred was in charge of overseeing the rest of the distribution, which would help speed the process along a little, but Tim was glad to have another moment with Bernard to eat without quite as many eyes on them. 

He was honestly tempted to just pull Bernard away from the pavilion entirely to eat somewhere in the shadowy abyss where no one could see them laughing together, but he settled for pressing his shoulder against Bernard's, their elbows bumping gently with each bite of cake.

They’d have plenty of quiet, soft moments in the rest of their lives together. Tim could handle this not being one of them.

And before he even knew it, almost everyone was seated, and it was time for the speeches to begin anyway.

Not exactly something Tim and Bernard could skip.

Charlie stood first, giving his speech as Bernard’s best man. Tim leaned against Bernard through it, snorting when Charlie talked about the stuff they’d done in college, but squeezing Bernard’s hand when the mood shifted into Charlie talking about the kind of man Bernard was.

When he said, “Tim is the only person I’ve ever seen make Bernard light up, the only one who’s able to get him to really express himself like a kid again,” Bernard laid his head on Tim’s shoulder.

He signed off with a soft smile for Bernard and a thank you to Tim, then congratulations aimed at both of them, and took his seat.

Which meant that it was time for Dick to stand, taking the microphone with a piece of paper in one hand, though he didn’t open it yet.

"My brother Tim—" Dick started with a smile. "—is an asshole."

There was a smatter of laughter, Tim closing his eyes and grimacing to hide his grin.

"He's the most egotistical genius I know, which is saying something, because I know our father." Dick glanced at Bruce. "But Tim is also the kindest, most empathetic man I could ever imagine someone who's gone through his tragedies could be."

Bernard's hand slipped into Tim's.

"When we met, it was at the circus where I grew up. I'd gone back as part of my delayed teenage rebellion." Pausing for the next wave of chuckles, Dick said, "Haly's circus meant a great deal to me. I was there to see it before it went under due to a loss of funds, and instead of saying goodbye, I said hello to the boy I'd come to see as my baby brother."

With a gesture to Tim, Dick continued. “That basically sums Tim up, though, doesn’t it? He’s always there when you need him, even if you don’t know it. He’s got a heart that anyone should be envious of, he’s loyal to a fault to those that deserve it, and I’m grateful every day to Bernard for giving him a reason to be selfish.”

Glancing at each other, Tim and Bernard squeezed their hands at the same moment, and Tim scooted his chair even closer to Bernard’s.

“If I had to describe a perfect partner for Tim, it would be Bernard every time. Someone who grounds him, who reminds him of what’s important, who will drag him to do the fun things that slip his mind with how busy he is,” Dick said. “And I may not have known Bernard for as long, but for five years now, I’ve seen him be a wonderful partner and a good man. It’s not just anyone who can be an EMT in Gotham, but Bernard does it with a smile on his face.”

Turning a little more towards them, Dick said, “Tim, through every fight we’ve had, through every rough patch, through every time either of us have messed up, there hasn’t been a day where I haven’t been glad that you’re my brother. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, and I hope that you know that as well as I do.”

Tim smiled softly, his eyes burning, as Dick glanced to the side.

“And Bernard, you won’t ever know how glad I am that you and Tim found each other. You’re the reason Tim’s the man he is today, shaped by your relationship and everything you’ve gone through together. I’m proud to call you my brother-in-law.” Dick tucked his paper into his pocket. “Welcome to the family, Bernard.”

He paused for a moment, microphone in one hand and attention on the Waynes’ table.

Even though Tim knew the progression, knew that after the men of honor came the parents and that he was the only one who was both alive and trusted with a speech, Tim’s chest squeezed when Bruce stood.

Instinctively, Tim drew Bernard's hand up, pressing his lips to warm knuckles.

He wasn't sure what he was hoping for.

It was Bruce. Warm and emotional wasn't exactly his thing, but neither was a funny sort of speech. In all honesty, Tim expected it to be Brucie Wayne's voice that came out.

Until Bruce took the microphone from Dick, letting him return to his seat, and said, "My son, Tim, came to me during a very difficult period in my life," which was somehow worse.

Bernard's arm slid around his shoulders, pulling him close. 

"I was still mourning another son. A piece of my heart had shriveled and died with him, with Jason, and I could barely look at Dick without that grief staining everything. I spent days in bed, wallowing. I spent nights working endlessly just to avoid my feelings and my ghosts."

Taking a deep breath, Bruce continued. "With most of my children, I found them when they needed me the most. With Tim, it truly felt the opposite."

The audience was quiet and still as Bruce looked over them. Tim could barely make out their expressions under the glow of the fairy lights overhead, but there were a few that he didn't have to. Dick and Clark, who had been there, who knew. Young Justice, who had heard the stories. Bernard at Tim's side, holding him like he was glass.

He felt like glass. Like he was holding his breath to keep from shattering.

"Tim was a blessing on me and on our family. He was a precocious, well-meaning boy who stumbled in and swept us up in his gravity whether we liked it or not. It was like trying to fight the pull of the moon," Bruce said, and the first burning tears welled up in Tim's eyes. "And if Tim is our moon, then Bernard Dowd is his sun."

Bernard swallowed hard in Tim’s ear.

"I remember sending Tim off for his Junior year, where he met Bernard for the first time. I remember that just a few weeks prior, I made a mistake that nearly cost me our relationship. I nearly drove away another son."

With a breath, Bruce shook his head.

"Tim has always been too forgiving for his own good, but for once, I was glad to see it. Because without his forgiveness, stubbornness, and his ability to look past an old man's faults, we wouldn't be standing here, and I wouldn't be able to see the man he's become. That wasn't our first fight and we certainly haven't had our last, but I'm grateful that I was given the opportunity to take Tim in, to be a father to him."

He turned, looking at Tim with a soft smile. "I said I was proud of you at the time, Tim, but I said it for the wrong reasons. I'd like the chance to correct myself."

Tim gripped his tie. Blinked harshly.

"Since I met you, you have grown up right in front of my eyes. You've gone from the little boy I first met to a man who inspires me every day." Bruce slid around the table and put his arm around Tim, Bernard slipping his own arm down so he'd have room. "As a father, I want nothing more than for you to surpass me, Tim. To be a better man than me."

Squeezing Tim's shoulder, he finished, "you've made yourself a family that anyone would be proud of, and no matter how many times I see how you’ve grown, I'm somehow more amazed than ever. I know you'll do great things, and I know it will be all the greater with Bernard at your side. I love you, son, and I'm proud to call both of you my family. Congratulations."

_ _ _ _ _

Standing with Bernard and watching as the caterers moved most of the tables out of the pavilion, Tim couldn’t help the way his mind was spinning, rolling the speeches over and over in his head.

It was only finally cut off by Bernard slipping their hands together, squeezing gently.

Tim glanced up at him. “Yeah?”

All he got was a little smile and a tilt of Bernard’s head.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Tim looked around instead, scanning the pavilion for everyone.

Kon had already split away from the wedding party to go talk to his family. Lois was adjusting his tie for him, saying something that Tim couldn’t squint out, and Clark was sipping his drink as he spoke with the twins, Ma, and Pa.

Beside them stood Jon, with his arm around his husband Jay, who Tim knew vaguely from the news and from the couple of world-ending threats that Gossamer had shown up to help with. Bernard had been a big fan of the Truth, and Tim was pretty sure he still had the rambling voicemail he got from Bernard after Jay’s identity got revealed.

On the other side of the room, Bruce and Alfred stood with Dick, Kory, and Mar’i. Mar’i grabbed Bruce’s hand, and he crouched to see whatever she was showing him.

Damian, Duke, and Cass were by the dessert table again. Kate was standing by them with Babs, who was gesturing like she was in the middle of some sort of an explanation, and Cass and Steph were across the room.

Jason was leaning against the wall by the cake, talking to a dude with brown hair that Tim vaguely recognized as one of Bernard’s distant cousins that Bernard had a photo with in his phone gallery.

As Tim watched, Jason smiled, making the scars he hadn’t bothered to cover crinkle. The dude laughed, head tipping back.

Of all the things Tim had expected Jason to spend his night doing, talking to random people wasn’t one of them, but he wasn’t about to object as long as they both looked like they were having a good time. It was definitely better than Jason getting bored and deciding to either ditch or linger to shoot Bruce dirty looks. It wouldn’t be the first time for either.

The music kicked in shortly after. Dinah crooned out the beginning of a jazz-adjacent song as a favor for Tim, one that would be replaced with their first dance song playing over the speakers as soon as Tim and Bernard were ready.

With a small tug of Tim’s hand, Bernard started towards the floor, giving each other a quick grin. 

Their wedding schedule said that they had another few minutes to talk to everyone before they ought to do their first dance. It was Tim’s idea, but Bernard had been more than glad to agree. He’d said that he wanted to make sure they got a chance to actually talk to their guests outside of just their wedding party.

It was easy to think of who they did want to talk to, Tim aiming straight for Young Justice while Bernard drifted towards one of his uncles with one more squeeze of Tim’s hand.

Anita spotted Tim first, jabbing Cissie in the side and pointing. Bart, Greta, and Cassie followed her gaze to grin at him. Kon must’ve split away from his family at some point, because he was between Greta and Anita, Greta holding his arm like she always held onto whoever she was with. Like she’d fade away again if she didn’t, even after so long.

“Hey,” Tim said, reaching Cassie’s side. “Having fun?”

“There’s cake, so yes,” Bart said.

“We’re doing damage control on that, don’t worry. He brought snacks.” Cissie crossed her arms. “Ditched the husband already?”

“He wanted to catch up with some of his family.”

“Aww.” Putting an arm around Tim’s shoulders, Cassie said, “It’s kinda funny how many guests you have. I never would’ve really thought of  you two as the big wedding kind of guys.”

“Yeah, this isn’t what I expected,” Anita said.

“Is that bad?” Tim asked.

“Nope. We’re happy with it as long as you and Bernard are,” Cissie said. “And as long as we get to steal a dance with you later.”

The corners of his mouth twitching up, Tim asked, “All of us? Just one big dance together?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Greta said softly.

“It’ll be fun, I’m sure you can make room somewhere in the schedule,” Cassie said.

“You can’t deprive us like that,” Kon said.

“Fine.” Tim grinned. “One big Young Justice dance. Why the hell not?”

With something that would be close to a squeal if it wasn’t Cassie, she squeezed Tim’s shoulders, only letting up when something popped.

“Do we even count as Young Justice anymore?” Bart asked. “Wouldn’t it be closer to, like, Mid-twenties Justice?”

“We’re not doing this again,” Anita said.

“I’m serious, though, it doesn’t make any sense anymore.”

“It didn’t even make sense at the time. Young just-us? Who calls themselves that?” Cissie asked.

“We do!” Bart crossed his arms. “That reporter guy is the one who messed it up.”

Tim sighed, loosening his tie just a little to intercede before Bart could start getting frustrated, only to freeze when Kon’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

“Tim,” Kon said sharply.

Glancing up, Tim caught Kon’s nod towards the other side of the pavilion and turned. The others craned their necks to look.

Tim’s stomach dropped seeing Bernard, arms crossed and back rigid, talking to his parents.

His uncle was still there, but he didn’t look any happier with the conversation. His hand was on Bernard’s shoulder and his expression was tight.

“I gotta go,” Tim said.

Pushing away from his friends, he just barely restrained himself from bolting across the floor.

It was more than a little difficult when he could see Bernard’s entire body tensing up like he was ready to haul back and punch his dad in the gut, but he knew Bernard, and he knew he would want to crawl into a hole and bury himself if his run-in with his parents became a spectacle.

They’d known this was a possibility when they invited the Dowds, but somehow, Tim had still had a little shred of hope that they’d be the bigger people and let Bernard have one night where they didn’t make him feel miserable about himself.

Five feet away, and Tim could see the half-frozen expression on Bernard’s face well enough to know that wasn’t gonna be the case.

But if nothing else, at least the Dowds’ knew how to dress for an occasion.

Bernard's mother was wearing a maroon dress and black jewelry that matched her husband's tie. He had on a nicely pressed pair of slacks and a dress shirt, a navy jacket buttoned over top. 

Tim could see Bernard in them as he finally reached Bernard’s side, even if he wouldn’t admit it under the worst sorts of torture. Bernard's nose on his father's face. His eyes in his mother's.

And to Tim’s surprise, Bernard wasn’t the only one whose head turned as Tim arrived. 

He’d half-expected Bernard’s parents to just ignore them, but they both gave him a grimace of an acknowledgement, Mr. Dowd nodding while Ms. Dowd stared. Bernard’s uncle smiled tensely before slipping away.

Then Bernard’s father held out his hand.

"Congratulations," he said, only sounding a little hesitant. "To both of you."

Bernard inched closer and gripped the back of Tim's suit.

"Thank you, sir. I hope you and Mrs. Dowd are enjoying the party," Tim said smoothly. He shook Mr. Dowd's hand, firm and deliberate. His instinct was to put his arm around Bernard’s shoulders, but he left it hanging at his side, giving Bernard a shield between him and his parents.

"It's very pretty," Mrs. Dowd said.

"We're lucky to have found an excellent decorator."

With a glance around, Mr. Dowd said, “I can see that. Very well done.”

Tim nodded, Bernard pressing closer, and the Dowds glanced between them.

The silence was about as awkward as Tim would’ve expected.

He would’ve moved to fill it himself if it was anyone else, but a small, petty part of him was glad to see both of Bernard’s parents with that tense look on their faces.

It melted away when Bernard swallowed hard enough for Tim to hear it, replaced by a sharp pang of guilt.

"Thank you for coming. I…appreciate it. This is important to me," Bernard said quietly.

"We only have one son—" Mr. Dowd said, looking at Tim. "—and I imagine you’ll only have one wedding. You two seem to be comfortable, if nothing else.”

Tim bit his tongue to stop a how would you know? from slipping out.

The look on Bernard’s face out of the corner of his eye was a jab to the gut, and after a long second, Bernard managed to say, “There’s a lot else.”

“Bernard wouldn’t marry someone just to be comfortable,” Tim said. “He’s not nearly that shallow.”

A shuddery breath from his side made Tim shift his weight to better shield Bernard, while the Dowds’ faces flickered too quickly for Tim to catch what each emotion was.

“I suppose there’s no going back now,” Ms. Dowd said.

“No.” Bernard slipped his hand down to Tim’s waist, squeezing hard. His voice cracked. “There’s really not.”

“Well.” Mr. Dowd grimaced. “I think it’s time for your mother and I to be leaving. It’s getting late.”

The only thing Bernard did was press closer to Tim’s side.

“Drive safely, sir, and have a nice night,” Tim said.

Bernard’s expression was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his hand on Tim’s waist was shaking so badly that Tim could feel it through his suit.

But he didn’t say a word as the Dowds started away. He didn’t even watch them go, just turned towards Tim with a shallow, forced breath.

“I always thought that they might come around eventually.” He muttered. “Is that stupid of me?”

“I’m never gonna tell you you’re stupid for having hope,” Tim said, cupping Bernard’s cheek.

Eyes sinking closed, head tilting into Tim’s hand, Bernard took one more breath.

“The first dance is next, right?”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “You want me to push it back a few minutes?”

With a jerky shake of his head, Bernard took his hand back and ran it through his hair. “No wonder they wanted to leave.” He scoffed quietly. “No, a distraction would actually be good now. Dancing—yeah.”

“If you’re sure.”

Another nod, and Tim gently smoothed his thumb over Bernard’s cheek.

“C’mon, then,” Tim said softly. “I’ll get everything sorted with Dinah.”

“Have I ever told you your talent for knowing everybody is amazing?” Bernard mumbled.

“Thank Babs and Helena for introducing me to her when I was a kid.”

Squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again, Bernard smiled. It wasn’t nearly as genuine as Tim was used to, but it was better than nothing, and more than a little reassuring.

The Dowds hadn’t managed to completely ruin Bernard’s night.

All things considered, that was all Tim could really ask for.

_ _ _ _ _

Tim wasn’t sure what was making him sweat more, standing at the edge of the pavilion with all of their guests’ eyes on him and Bernard, or knowing that any moment, he’d have to dance.

It wasn’t like he was a complete stranger to dancing. He and Bernard had practiced some, just enough to get it down, and they both loved dancing around at home. He’d had to dance about a million times over the years before he and Bernard were ever even dating.

But that didn’t make him any less nervous about it now, laughing quietly with Bernard.

One bright side of it, though, was that Bernard was laughing too. He still had a distant look in his eyes, but he was holding Tim close and chuckling along as the music began.

Dinah had slipped off the stage to go take her seat, leaving Workin’ On A Groovy Thing by Patti Drew to slowly buh-dah-doh it’s way over the speakers as Bernard pulled Tim tight against his chest.

And with a little wink, he led Tim towards the middle of the floor, turning him into a gentle spin as they hit the right spot.

The lights swelled and shone above them, Tim catching the twitch of Duke's hand out of the corner of his eye, and he stifled a smile.

Everyone with powers in attendance had been banned from using any once the guests arrived. Most everyone knew who they were, but it was still better to be subtle for the couple of civilians present.

Except, apparently, during the first dance.

It was like swaying through a fairy tale, the way the spotlight intensified and the other lights fell away. How Tim could count the freckles on Bernard's cheeks and see his sparkling eyelashes brush against his cheeks. The corners of his eyes crinkled as they began to spin.

And God, Tim could trace the tears that'd fallen during their vows, the speeches, and the conversations after, wanted to reach up and brush away any remnant.

Instead, he leaned forwards and kissed Bernard softly.

When they pulled apart, Tim let his head drift down so they were cheek-to-cheek, both of them leaning into the other. Tim could feel Bernard’s breath on his neck.

Bernard’s hands were laced with Tim’s, the only thing keeping him from feeling like he was drifting away from the ground. Everything around them was fading softly away, the lights, the people, even the music. It was just Tim and Bernard, so far from the nervous expectations Tim had had of not being able to focus with so many people watching him.

Their chests bumped together one last time before Bernard guided Tim into pulling away, their arms stretched between them.

It was easy for Bernard to spin him, but with their height difference having lessened since high school, it was almost as effortless a spin for Tim, too. Bernard let out a breathless snort as he ducked under their arms to turn, and Tim let his head drop back for a giggle.

The music drifted by them as Bernard hooked an arm around Tim’s waist and pressed him close, spinning together.

Before Tim even knew it, the song was slowing down, and he was kissing Bernard to the ending notes.

They pulled apart just as the first quiet pitter-patter of fireworks spread across the sky, ones chosen specifically to avoid bothering any of the numerous people in attendance who didn’t like the sound of explosions, and Tim leaned his head on Bernard’s shoulder.

He could see the sparkles through the pavilion’s clear roof as they drifted down from the peak. Gold and red, green and yellow, pink, purple, and blue. Combination after combination.

While he wasn’t entirely sure if the applause was for him and Bernard or for the fireworks, Tim’s chest was warm and buzzing anyway as he tugged Bernard as close as he could.

The music continued, fading into the next song, and Tim let Bernard sway them in place. He barely registered other people slipping onto the dance floor, knew that they were there but couldn’t bother to care. Another round of fireworks went up, Bernard’s lips pressing against Tim’s hair.

But as nice as it was to stand there together, Tim had his own plans for this part of the schedule.

He tilted his chin up, making it so that Bernard could hear him clearly when he said, “I have a surprise, by the way.”

“Yeah?” Bernard asked softly.

With a grin, Tim pressed a kiss to Bernard’s jaw, then tugged him towards the edge of the pavilion.

It wasn’t hard to dodge everyone else. Most of them slipped out of the way, letting Tim through, Bernard trailing behind him with their hands still held tight.

At some point after everyone had gathered in the pavilion, it’d started to drizzle, a mist that clung to the ground as Tim’s shoes met the grass. His socks and the hem of his pants would be damp, but he couldn’t mind that when he was busy smiling over his shoulder at Bernard.

The surprise Alfred had helped Tim work out was further away from everything, down a steep set of stone stairs with moss creeping over it from disuse. It wasn’t a part of the property that got much foot traffic, which made it perfect for the decorations Tim had asked Bernard to put up.

The fireworks were slowing down, replaced by the steady drizzle of rain, and Tim's shoes squelched charmingly in the muddying dirt as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"We're gonna get soaked," Bernard said, voice gleeful.

"It's good luck for it to rain on your wedding day. It's harder to untie the knot if it's wet, so it's a good omen.”

"Is it?"

"Maybe." Tim admitted. "I've read it is."

Bernard laughed, high and snorting and just a little breathless, as Tim led him gently over the grass towards an old willow tree, the leaves dangling in the pond.

Either Alfred was actually a mind reader in disguise or he'd read more of Tim's notes than Tim had expected, because the tree was wrapped in softly twinkling lights just like he’d wanted it to be. The water rippled with the rain, making the lights swim. A sparse fog drifted through like a dream.

It was just like he'd imagined.

Tim glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Bernard’s grin.

Their footsteps echoed as they stepped onto the wooden dock under the tree. It bobbed, and Tim extended his arm, keeping Bernard in place as he slid around him to stand in a graceful bow.

"Mr. Drake-Wayne," Tim said, "will you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

“I thought we just did that, Mr. Dowd,” Bernard said, tilting his head jokingly.

Rolling his eyes, Tim took Bernard’s hands, pulling him close. Bernard snorted as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to Tim’s lips.

It wasn’t easy to sway together on the dock without bumping together, but it had them both laughing after only a moment. Even as natural as their first dance had felt in the pavilion, even with as magical it had been, there was something about this being just the two of them that made Tim feel even more like he was in a dream.

He squeezed Bernard’s waist and laid his head on Bernard’s shoulder, and Bernard slipped his arms around Tim’s back.

The feeling of Bernard’s ring pressing against his back through the suit jacket made him smile.

Another bob of the dock had them swaying towards the edge, Bernard nearly tripping over Tim’s foot, and Tim huffed a laugh into his shoulder.

Bernard righted himself, gripping Tim’s back to keep him steady too. “Are you trying to make me take a swim?”

“I mean, why not? It’s almost the end of the night.”

“We’re in suits, and that water is so full of dirt.”

“And?” Tim asked.

"Gross," Bernard said. "You first."

Tim let out a fluttering laugh, wrapping his arms around Bernard's waist and dragging him right into the water.

For a second, the splash echoed around them like an explosion, and then they were both underwater. Tim’s suit jacket rippled around him as he searched for footing.

Before he could find it, there were arms around his waist. He let himself be dragged upwards, and the second his head breached the surface, he was laughing again.

“This was a terrible idea,” Bernard said breathlessly, smoothing his sopping wet hair away from his face.

His suit was plastered to his skin and he was just as utterly soaked as Tim, but he was grinning, too. It was one of Tim’s favorite things in the world, the way Bernard’s eyes crinkled and his cheeks went rounder, his entire heart going into the looks he gave Tim.

Bernard's arms around his waist, the willow tree's long limbs skating around them, and the lights shining in Bernard's eyes, Tim tilted his forehead to press against Bernard's.

He couldn't help but chuckle at the little water droplets slipping down Bernard's face.

"Something funny?" Bernard murmured.

Using his thumb, Tim brushed a bit of water away before he could get in Bernard's eye. "Just you. My beautiful husband."

Bernard's eyes snapped up to meet his, and after a long moment, melted into something soft.

They breathed together for a second before Bernard squeezed him tight.

"Husband," he said quietly, reverently. "Tim, you're my husband."

"I know."

"My husband."

Bernard blinked once, twice, and laughed, loud and clear.

And then his arms slipped down from Tim's waist to his legs, looping behind his knees. He was dragged right up out of the water and spun as quickly as Bernard could manage, sending out a spray of droplets with Bernard's whoop.

"Bernard!" Tim laughed.

"We're married, Tim!" He squeezed Tim's leg. "Oh, God, I’m never gonna get tired of saying that.”

“I’m glad, because I’m never gonna stop reminding you.”

Letting him splash back down into the water, Bernard cupped Tim’s face. “You won't need to. Trust me, this has been something I’ve wanted since I was sixteen. There’s no chance of me forgetting once it’s actually sunken in.”

Tim’s lips twitched up even more, his cheeks aching from his stupid grin, and he put his hands on Bernard’s waist.

“Sixteen? Baby Bernard wanted to marry me?”

“You knew that,” Bernard said. “It was his wildest dream.”

“Not so wild anymore, I guess.”

A puff of Bernard’s breath met Tim’s skin from how close they were standing, Bernard practically glowing under the lights decorating the willow tree.

With each beat of Tim’s heart, the expression on Bernard’s face shifted, his goofy grin slipping slowly towards something almost bittersweet.

It was just enough to make Tim’s heart drop.

And then Bernard closed the gap between them. Tim just barely caught a glimpse of Bernard’s eyes squeezing shut before he was being pulled flush to Bernard’s chest.

“Hey,” Tim said, voice softening.

“I love you,” Bernard said hoarsely.

Tim automatically splayed one of his hands over Bernard’s back, the other moving to cradle the back of his head. “I love you, too.”

A spluttered, half-laugh slipped out of Bernard’s mouth. He buried his face in the crook of Tim’s neck.

“I thought I’d gotten used to you saying that,” he said, his lips pressed to Tim’s skin. “I dunno why it feels different now.”

Chest twisting, Tim forced himself to joke, “That better not be a bad kind of different. We already signed the paperwork, the time for second thoughts is gone, Bear.”

“No, it’s—This just feels real, now. You and me getting married. The suits and everything, it never really hit me ‘till now, I guess.”

The wobble in Bernard’s voice made Tim’s heart ache, but he swallowed it as best he could to cradle Bernard close.

Maybe he should’ve expected for them to have this sort of moment at some point. One of them was bound to have to take a second to register the day and everything that happened, and with all things considered, Tim wasn’t surprised it was Bernard.

Especially not once Bernard continued, murmuring into Tim’s neck.

“I never thought I could have this.” He admitted. “The wedding, a husband, especially not you.”

“You have me, though. Today and forever.”

“Tell that to my sixteen year old self, I’d love to see the black eye you walk away with for teasing him.”

“It’s been a decade, Bear. We were younger then. Somehow, you didn’t know how amazing you’d grow up to be.”

Bernard pulled away, just enough to press a kiss to Tim’s collar bone. “You’re the only person who saw it.”

“No.” Tim smoothed Bernard’s hair. “I was just the one who caught you. And now that I have you, I’m not letting go, either.”

He expected Bernard to laugh, to push him away with a roll of his eyes, but if anything, Bernard just pressed closer.

All Tim could do was squeeze Bernard tight, lips finding his hair.

_ _ _ _ _

It was almost amazing how long one day away from the boat had felt.

When Tim finally collapsed into his and Bernard’s bed, freshly showered and exhausted, it felt the same as getting home from a week-long mission with the Titans or the Justice League. His body ached almost as much, his brain lagging the same way.

Except this wasn’t from a fight. There hadn’t been any mental strain from creating plans on the fly just to survive. It was months of planning and stressing and working all come to fruition, leaving Tim tired enough to sleep for days.

Bernard had volunteered to shower second, something Tim hadn’t been grateful enough for until he was already in bed.

If he wasn’t forcing himself to wait, Tim would’ve been long-asleep by the time Bernard crawled into bed beside him, wet hair dripping directly onto Tim's shirt.

With a quiet hum, he laid himself over Tim like a blanket, and Tim wrapped his arms around Bernard's waist.

"Today was good." Bernard murmured into his shoulder.

Tim smiled, half-gooey and all exhausted. "I’m glad."

"All that worrying and stress…over. Finally."

“Does wearing your ring feel weird yet?”

“Nah. S’nice.”

Gently, Tim tugged at a wet strand of Bernard’s hair, curling it around his finger once before letting it drop and moving to smooth the rest. It said something about how tired Bernard was that he hadn’t bothered to dry it.

“Do you wanna stay in tomorrow? Have a quiet day?” Tim murmured.

"Mhm." Bernard's eyes fluttered. "S'nds good, love bird.”

“Love bird?" Tim repeated, eyebrows raising.

“M’a bear, you’re a bird. Just go with it.”

Tim snorted, smoothing Bernard's hair, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Goodnight, bear."

With a jaw cracking yawn, Bernard nodded slowly.

Another kiss, this time to Bernard’s lips, tired and soft. Bernard shifted closer to get comfortable, his face finding the crook of Tim’s neck.

Tomorrow, they’d start preparing for their honeymoon. They’d sit and enjoy their first full day together as husbands. It’d be calm and relaxing and quiet without the stress of planning a wedding holding them by the throats.

But for tonight, Tim was happy just to tuck his nose into Bernard’s hair and soak in the familiar smell of coconut conditioner, Bernard’s arm warm around his waist.

He ran his thumb over his own new ring, smiling softly.