Work Text:
Cousin Tim arrives in a black car, custom-built.
Lisa is almost resentful of the fact that she noticed – all her car knowledge was acquired from an F1-obsessed ex-girlfriend against her will – but can’t help but point it out to her brother and real cousins. That the car is custom and therefore expensive, despite looking plain and black. They mutter about it as Cousin Tim executes a perfect parallel park, then go quiet as he exits the car.
Lisa has seen Cousin Tim before. By virtue of him being mildly famous in America, pretty famous in New Jersey, and nearly royalty in the city of Gotham. Which doesn’t necessarily mean much in Canada, except that when Mom said she'd invited Aunt Janet's son, Tim to the family picnic and Lisa said who?, Mom had said you can Google him.
So Lisa had Googled Timothy Drake-Wayne. And concluded that there was absolutely no reason for Mom to have invited some kind of American Prince that's just going to make them all feel uncomfortable and poor.
At least he's not wearing an Armani suit. Or dressed like he 'had to do it to them'. Cousin Tim steps out of his car in a comfortable looking long sleeve – which is actually insane in the August heat – and black pants that could pass for either workout attire or business casual. His hair is longer than the most recent news photos, almost the length it was when he became a controlling shareholder of a major company. It’s pushed back from his face with one of those headbands with teeth. He is not wearing sunglasses, and so does not take them off stylishly when he reaches the start of the walkway up to the front door. Tim just kind of blinks tiredly, before giving a small smile.
The cousins are all arranged along the walkway– sitting on the bench, the chair, porch steps, or leaning against the house. Maisie, the cousin at the front of the line, breaks rank first and moves forward to greet the interloper.
"Hi, you must be Tim!" Maisie says brightly. “I’m Maisie, Uncle Alan’s daughter.”
“Nice to meet you Maisie,” Tim replies, giving her a firm handshake.
Everyone introduces themselves as Tim makes his way down the line to the door. Maisie's sister Minnie. Uncle Lou’s kids – Thomas and Jazz and their stepbrother Raminjeet. The second cousins in attendance - Jeremy and Mitch. Lisa's younger brother Cooper. And finally–
“I’m Lisa,” Lisa says, leaning against the porch railing with her arms crossed. “But I don’t expect you to remember that.”
Tim’s smile hasn’t faltered once. “Nine names in a row is a lot, but I'll do you my best. It's nice to meet you, Lisa. Aunt Ginny’s your mom, right? Thanks for letting me stay with you guys tonight.”
“You’ll have to move your fancy car to the driveway before two hours are up, or you’ll get a ticket." Lisa makes a show of examining her nails. “Though I guess you wouldn’t have a problem paying it.”
“What type of car is it?” Coop asks, all ten-year-old coltish excitement and complete inability to read the room. “Lisa says it’s custom.”
For the first time, Tim’s expression shifts away from distant politeness. He blinks in genuine surprise. “You noticed? People usually don't. I try to keep it subtle.”
“You painted it black. That hardly hides the body shape,” Lisa snarks.
Tim's smile returns. Perfectly polite. “You should see the one that’s bright red.”
Please, tell us more about the multiple custom cars you own! But before the biting remark can leave her mouth, the front door opens. Lisa's mom, smelling like seasoning and with the distinctive flush of someone working in a kitchen in summer, steps out of the house with a smile that stretches from ear to ear.
“Tim, you made it!” she says, positively beaming, and moves in for a hug.
Cousin Tim doesn’t flinch away or make a face. But Lisa doesn’t like how he accepts the hug either. The same way you’d accept a hand shake. His calm, placidly neutral demeanour only falters when her mom gives him a kiss on the cheek. He seems caught off guard by that, but quickly smooths it over. And Lisa doesn’t like that either. The fakeness.
“Goodness, but you look just like your mother.” Mom keeps her hands on Tim's shoulders, staring into his face. Still beaming, but blinking a lot. Blinking back tears. "It's so wonderful to see you."
“Thanks, Aunt Ginny,” he says softly.
Lisa's stomach twists.
Right. The reason Cousin Tim is obscenely and obnoxiously wealthy is because his parents are dead.
Lisa's not sure how she forgot that part.
All of the Griffiths used to be rich.
In Wales, they were wealthy landowners. They moved to New York in the 1800s, flourished financially until they got bodied by the Great Depression and World War 2, and then split into two branches. Most of the family headed to Canada to start fresh, while a few heirs that had survived the war decided to try and build back the family fortune in Gotham. And in the post-war economic boom, they'd succeeded. But even as they rebuilt their wealth, the vice and perils of Gotham had steadily picked away at the family over the following decades. By the 21st century the American Griffiths, while still wealthy, could be counted on one hand.
On the other hand, the Canadian Griffiths remained a modest, but large family. And they and their American cousins had always made an effort to stay in contact. Communication was sparse by the 2000s, but consistent. A Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving card every year.
Janet Griffith had been the only child of, quite literally, the last remaining male Griffith in the States. And upon her father receiving a Christmas Card from cousins with a daughter her age, had taken it upon herself to write a letter with her email address and a request for said daughter to respond. Which is how Janet became friends with Lisa's mother, Ginny Griffith. A friendship that lasted into adulthood.
Lisa had never met Aunt Janet in person, just over the occasional video call. And none of her cousins had either. And they certainly had never met her son, Timothy. Not until today. And since they're basically the only bio family he has left, Lisa's trying to be more charitable in how she sees Timothy Drake-Wayne.
But he makes it hard.
For starters, he is clearly judging their house the moment he steps through the door. His eyes flit about, taking in everything like he’s never seen a house before– or never seen a house with only two stories before, more likely. It makes Lisa tense as she follows along on her mother's tour, scowling every time Tim’s gaze seems to linger too long on a window, like he’s contemplating escaping out of it.
Our house isn’t even small! But what was a modest suburban home in comparison to a mansion ?
Lisa's honestly surprised when Tim doesn’t seem bothered that he’s not getting his own room. The Canadian Griffiths mostly all live in Ontario but are still fairly spread out. For big gatherings, the more out of the way family will travel down to Lisa's house the day before and spend the night. That way they're not spending hours on a long drive the actual day of the event. So there are a lot of people sleeping over tonight. All the boy cousins are sleeping down in the basement. Maisie, Lisa and Jazz are all cramming into Lisa's room, while Minnie and her parents are taking the guest room, and Uncle Lou and Aunt Vaishali are staying in Coop's room.
“The boys’ll love to have you,” Mom says, as if she can speak for them, “but I don’t want to put you on the spot either. You can take the couch in the living room if you'd like."
Tim smiles, almost indulgent. “This would be a horrible time to learn that I snore. I’ll take the couch, thanks.”
Which technically means he will in fact be getting a room to himself. Of course he will.
Lisa doesn’t realize she’s scowling until Tim looks back at her and his smile falls. His face doesn’t get upset though, just curious, like he's trying to figure her out.
“I'm just surprised to hear you don't know if you snore," she says, bristling. "What, you never shared a room at all those boarding schools?”
Mom looks sharply at Lisa, clearly unimpressed with her tone. But Tim just blinks. Then his smile returns. A different shape to it.
“I sure did," he replies easily. "But I’ve had some health problems since then. And full disclosure, I don’t actually sleep that much at night. Another bulletpoint in my very long, very boring medical file.”
Tim says it in a jokey way, as if he’s not trying to make Lisa feel bad for prying. “I’m just warning you ahead of time; don’t be surprise if you come down for a 2am glass of water and I’m awake in the living room, or if I'm asleep for most of the car ride tomorrow. I tend to micronap a lot during the day."
“But you drove here? From New Jersey?” says Mom, sounding faintly alarmed.
“I’m not narcoleptic, Aunt Ginny," Tim laughs, and it actually sounds genuine. "I pulled over anytime I felt like I needed a nap.”
Mom frets. Lisa continues to feel uncomfy and annoyed at being painted like a bitch again. She retreats, muttering about making sure Coop hasn’t drooled all over Tim’s car, and heads back outside.
“So??” asks Mitch, seventeen like Lisa is and just as nosy. “What’s he like? Is Mr. Drake-Wayne offended because there’s only four bathrooms? Was he shocked by the lack of silk sheets?"
“He didn’t say anything, but I didn’t like the way he was looking around the house," Lisa complains. "I don't know, it was like he was assessing every inch of wallpaper. His whole vibe was 'too polite to comment'." Or well, something like that. Tim was just so eerily focused. Like he was memorizing everything.
"Is he gonna be in the basement with us?" Cooper asks. "I bet he's never had just like, a really fun sleepover before. I bet we could show him how fun it is and what he's been missing!"
"Nope. He's taking the couch, doesn't want so share the basement. Apparently he has 'health stuff'," Lisa says, with finger quotes.
"Does he?" Maisie looks concerned.
"Wait, are all the memes real?" Ramin asks, delighted. And then chagrined under the unimpressed look Jazz gives him. "Uh, I mean. Obviously it's not good if he has health problems. But the memes online are really funny. I didn't think any of it was true?"
There are true facts about Timothy Drake-Wayne that are verifiable. He got shot – true. He spent nearly a year in rehabilitation – also true.
What's less verifiable is Timothy Drake-Wayne is a delicate flower with the constitution of a fragile Victorian maiden dying of consumption.
He's always exhausted. He can't lift anything heavy. He wears a medical mask in most public places. He has to have an umbrella held over him during outside press conferences if the sun so much as peeks from behind the clouds. He cancels all engagements if the temperature drops below 0 degrees. He got startled by a dog barking and was bedridden for a week afterwards, the strain on his heart was so intense.
The stories on the Gotham side of social media are endless. Lisa's read articles and watched TikToks that compile all of the 'funniest delicate flower Timothy-Drake Wayne posts'. No one in Gotham seems to take it seriously; Lisa can't blame Ramin for finding it funny. It's hard to see all the over-the-top memes and think that there could be any truth behind them.
Except...one of the recurring memes is Timothy Drake-Wayne having a fainting couch in his fancy Wayne Enterprises offices and regularly taking naps. Which, apparently, might not entirely be made-up social media nonsense.
"I don't know," Lisa grumbles. "It seems like some of it might be true."
“We could ask him?” offers Coop tentatively. "About what's true and what's not?
Lisa snorts. “When? He’s deployed a free get-out-of-conversation card. He’s not staying with you guys in the basement and is ‘probably going to sleep the whole car ride’.”
“I dunno, at dinner?” Coop shoots back. “Why are you all grumpy, Lisa?”
“I’m not grumpy,” Lisa says, defensive. “I just don’t know why he’s here.”
“He’s here because he’s family. And because Mom misses Aunt Janet.”
Lisa opens her mouth. Shuts it.
There really isn’t anything she can say to that.
There are lots of questions Lisa has for Timothy Drake-Wayne.
Why didn’t Mom get an invite to Aunt Janet’s funeral?
Why didn’t anyone reach out to Mom when your dad died? Or when your uncle bailed?
Why did you emancipate yourself if you were just going to stay with the Waynes anyways? What was the point of literally any of that?
The tabloids don’t have answers to questions 1 and 2, because none of them seem to realize that Janet Drake even had family– or otherwise thought relations were distant enough that they weren’t in contact. But the media has lots of theories around question 3. Theories that also answer Lisa's first two questions.
Why did Timothy emancipate himself but stay with the Waynes? Opportunity, says a bunch op-eds and articles online. It's well-known that the Drakes lost basically all their money in the year or so before Jack Drake’s death. Timothy had gone from being a rich kid in a mansion to a barely middle class kid living in a cramped apartment. And stayed that way until Bruce Wayne had adopted him. Bruce Wayne, who was widely regarded as an airhead with a weakness for blue-eyed, black-haired orphans. And then, after he'd been Bruce Wayne's son for barely a year, Timothy had emancipated himself and taken part of Wayne's company with him. But stayed, somehow, part of the family.
He must have tricked Wayne into it, say the articles. Got him to sign something when drunk or distracted. And as long as Timothy keeps playing his son and acting like he really does want to be part of the family, Wayne will probably never believe he's been fooled. Will let Timothy keep hold of those shares without legal action or trying to vote him out.
Lisa doesn’t understand all the details of what a ‘majority shareholder’ does or how Tim could have gotten it under Bruce’s nose, but all the journalists who do know seem to think the same thing she does.
Timothy doesn’t care about family. He cares about power.
The next day, Tim sleeps on the drive up to the picnic, as promised.
He doesn’t put on noise-cancelling head phones or anything. Just lets his head rest against the window and shuts his eyes. The van’s not quiet; there’s seven of them packed inside. Lisa, Coop, their parents, and the second cousins. Coop’s glued to his iPad but the music is loud even through the earphones. The radio is cranked. The cousins and Mom are playing every obnoxious road trip game that exists. And somehow...Tim is sleeping. Like, actually sleeping. A medical face mask on, but no eye mask. No silken sheets or downy pillows. Not even earplgus. Fast asleep, in all the noise and chaos, without a single luxury in sight.
It makes Lisa uncomfortable, for some reason.
Timothy is, of courses the star of the picnic.
Everyone wants to talk to him. The last of the American Griffiths. The rich boy who's been on magazine covers. An actual resident of the mythically awful Gotham.
And Tim's friendly, charming even. Shaking hands and laughing at jokes. Smiling and nodding along. Not forgetting a single person's name.
And yet somehow, despite being the main attraction, Tim manages to vanish when the family games start. The egg and spoon race is well under way, and Cousin Tim is nowhere to be found.
Lisa isn't surprised. Smalltalk is one thing. Actually playing demeaning commoner games is another thing entirely. He's probably off in some corner, talking to some rich friend on the phone and snickering at their family.
So it's a surprise when Lisa goes to get her mom for the three-legged race and finds Cousin Tim sitting with her.
Mom had stepped away to a quiet, shaded area with the newest family baby, giving the parents a break. The baby is currently being held by Cousin Tim, who is quietly listening to Mom. Neither of them notice Lisa, behind them in the trees.
“–cursing her to high heaven, certain I was going to die,” Mom is saying, laughing. “But Janet wouldn’t hear of anything like ‘physical limitations’, so up I went. Hated her the whole way. But when we reached the top? God. God. I was at the top of a mountain in Wales and felt like I was on top of the world. The view was breathtaking, the kind that they write about in fantasy books. Beautiful. And then I saw Janet's smug face and tried to play it off. 'It's not that cool, can’t believe you nearly killed me for this’. But she saw right through that and was predictably unbearable for the rest of the trip. Understandably so. Because of her, I did something I didn’t think I was capable of. Saw something I never would have got to see. Your mother was like that, forcing you to confront your limits and surpass them.”
“She didn’t settle for less than the best.” Tim's voice is quiet. “And expected the same from others.”
“Well, I don’t know about the best. But…when I knew her at least, she definitely expected the people in her life to be strong. She really didn’t like it when people failed to, let’s say, realize their potential. But I don’t know if ‘best’ is the right word. I mean, she didn’t care if we got to the top of the mountain quickly or beat any kind of record. She wasn’t that kind of perfectionist. Not when I knew her at least.”
Tim doesn’t reply immediately. But when he does, it's with a wry smile. “She wasn’t wrong often. She made a business of being right. I think…that’s where that whole pushing people to their potential thing came from. She'd already decided you were strong enough to make it to the top. So if you didn’t, she’d have been wrong. And she refused to be wrong.”
Mom huffs, a quiet sound of amusement. “Yes, that’s a good way of putting it. That was Janet, to a T. But she was more than just her bossy, A-type personality. She was composed, charming, had a way of looking at you like she was reading your mind, and solid. A slip of a woman who looked like a snowplough couldn't knock her over if she'd decided she wasn't moving. You really take after her so much, Tim. All the good. Maybe all the bad too, but you've done a great job keeping that under wraps."
They both laugh. And then fade into another silence. Long enough that Lisa contemplates retreating, already feeling horribly uncomfortable.
But then Tim asks: “Did you ever meet my Dad? I know…I know you didn’t attend the wedding.”
“Wasn’t invited to the wedding.” Mom doesn't bother disguising the sour note in her voice. “It took me awhile to forgive Janet for that. Or your Father, for apparently turning your mother into the type of woman who didn’t want her less-than-wealthy Canadian cousin at her wedding. Never mind that I'd been her best friend for years. I never did meet him officially, but–,”
“It wasn’t– that’s not it. That's not the reason you weren't invited. It's because the wedding was in Gotham."
“I would have travelled–,”
"Aunt Ginny," Tim interrupts, and his voice is serious in a way that sends a chill up Lisa's spine. "Mom didn't invite you to the wedding in Gotham because it would have meant she'd have to watch you for the rest of time. As the last of her family Mom had money but dwindling influence, and the Drakes were new money without well-established roots in the city. Both she and Dad wanted to get richer, more established, make more connections, and doing that always makes enemies. But they could take those risks easier than most, because they were both only children with dead parents. No family that could be exploited by people they crossed. But if you'd been at the wedding, all of Gotham would have seen that you were important to Mom, and she'd have to always worry about her enemies using you against her. Gotham is a chessboard, and the moment you step into its borders you become a piece in play. And she didn't want that to happen to you."
There's another silence. A tenser one. And Lisa's trying to puzzle out of if Tim's joking. Because– Because he has to be, right? The stories about Gotham being a mix of Game of Thrones and every mobster movie rolled into one are just memes, right?
But Mom doesn't laugh, or accuse Tim of pulling her leg. When she finally speaks, she just says: "Well, Christ."
“Sorry, I didn't meant to–,”
“No, no, don’t apologize. That's– that's good to know. Christ. I guess your dad didn’t know about that Eddie fellow back then? The brother?”
"...no. No he didn't. And you guys don't have to worry though. I promise. No one knows I'm here, and even if they did, the Wayne family is way too well-established for anyone to try anything like that to get to me."
"You're nineteen and you have to worry about–,"
Mom cuts herself off. Takes a breath. "That city. Christ. Anyways. Oof. Anyways. What were we talking about? Your dad, right. Like I said, I never met him, but your mother talked about him a lot before they were married. The impression I got was that he was like her. Driven. Unsatisfied with anything but being the best version of yourself. I asked her if she thought them both having top dog personalities might cause problems, and she didn't seem worried. Got the sense she thought she could handle him more than he could handle her."
“She was smarter than him, and knew it.” Tim says, matter-of-fact. “She assumed she’d always be in the right if they butt heads, and she’d win.”
“Ha! Yes, that does sound like Janet. I'm sure she kept him on his toes–,”
"I don't know if they would have divorced." Tim practically blurts it out, almost like he didn't plan to say it. "I mean– they argued all the time, right up until Mom died. It was like they hated each other. But I don't. I don't know if they would have divorced. They were a really good team, business-wise. Mom was more heavy on the corporate side and Dad on the archaeology, but they worked together in everything. I think they both knew they’d lose ground, lose power, without the other. And if they did think that, they were right, because it's exactly what happened to Dad without Mom."
Lisa's mom exhales heavily. "And if they'd divorced, it would imply that Janet was wrong to have married Jack. And she couldn't stand being wrong."
The baby fusses a little, and Tim adjusts his hold. Stares silently down at the baby's face. The quiet not entirely comfortable until Mom breaks it, saying: "Would you tell me about your Step-Mom?"
Tim blinks. Then smiles. "Dana. She was...have you ever heard the phrase ‘most charitable interpretation?’. That was Dana. She'd always interpret your words and actions in the most charitable way. Would always give you the benefit of the doubt. She wasn't passive, exactly, but she wasn't likely to start or continue an argument. Not that she’d let Dad boss her around or anything, but she didn’t seem to find most things worth arguing about. Mom’s opposite in every way. Dad...Dad was...Dad was a lot happier with Dana.”
The baby fusses some more, clearly waking up, and Mom reaches over to take her from Tim's arms. Rocking her gently, while not looking away from Tim's face. "You know that your dad's happiness wasn't the most important thing, right? It never is when you're a parent. The most important thing is whether you were happy, with Dana and with your Dad when he married her. And I miss your mom to bits, I'll miss her the rest of my life, but Tim, it's okay if you were happier too. It's okay if you were happier in a household without anger and arguing."
"Who says the household didn't have anger and arguing?" Tim asks, in a casual tone that somehow still sounds sharp. "You’re not the only person who’s told me I take after my mother.”
This time, Lisa doesn't linger when the silence falls. She slides away, shoulders hunched up to her ears.
Lisa doesn't want to think about it.
She doesn't want to think about what it would be like if her mom died and her dad didn't like her.
She doesn't want to think of her dad dying in a break-in, because he'd lost all their money after losing her mom and moved them to a bad area.
She doesn't want to think about a nice, kind stepmom being ‘lost’ during a disaster because they couldn’t afford to have her in a better facility.
She doesn't want to think about some random uncle popping out of the woodwork, sticking around for a few months, then disappearing again.
But Lisa can't stop thinking about it. About all of it. Can't stop thinking that maybe, there are some legitimate reasons that a sixteen-year-old would get himself adopted by an air headed billionaire, snipe part of his company, and then emancipate himself. That maybe it's not that Tim doesn't care about family, but that he doesn't trust it to stay.
Lisa thinks about all of that, and her stomach hurts.
At the end of the picnic, they all gather for the family photo.
Cousin Tim immediately offers to take it. Still politely smiling.
"No. We'll just use the delayed photo setting, duh," says Lisa sharply. "No one needs to sit out of the photo."
Tim seems mildly surprised. And still reluctant. Hesitant.
But Lisa no longer thinks it because he's stuck-up.
"We want you in the photo, Tim," she tells him firmly. "It's a family photo, and you're family."
Mild surprise turns to actual, visible shock. Cracks all through Tim's polite mask. And awareness ripples through the gathered family. There's a cascade of voices as they all start chiming in, reassuring Tim that's he's family, that of course he should be in the photo.
"If you think it's weird, just make sure you come back next year," Lisa huffs. "Then it's not like you were the random guy at one family picnic who never showed up again. The more family photos you're in, the less awkward it will be, obviously."
Tim stares at her for a long moment.
Over the past two days, Lisa's made a lot of assumptions about Timothy Drake-Wayne that are probably incorrect. But she's positive that the small smile that slowly blooms on his face is the first real smile he's given her.
“Okay,” Tim says softly. “I’ll be in the family photo.”