#lazarus!tim

If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed the black and blue costumed vigilante was another assassin sent by the League—Nightwing moved with easy grace, easing his way through the window, movement flowing like water and air. But not even the best of the League had managed to crack his security without electrocuting the shit out of themselves.

The room was illuminated by Friends reruns and the Gotham skyline peaking in through the crack in the curtains.

Nightwing ducked and weaved, only narrowly missing a knife through the delt. He rolled back to his feet without a hitch, shocking blue eyes wide and wild with the whiteouts down. The knife stuck in the wall with a satisfying thunk.

Without missing a beat Tim uttered lowly, “Breaking and entering is punishable offense. At the very least it’s C felony, at least 10 years in prison, and upwards of a $250,000 fine.” Not that he could actually get a judge in Gotham to prosecute without a hefty bribe.

Nightwing held up his empty palms in surrender keeping his feet firmly planted. “I’m sorry, we haven’t heard from you and I wanted to check on you.”

Tim discretely adjusted the cashmere blanket across his lap over the pup with a silent prayer she didn’t wake up. “Well, you can tell everyone I’m fine. If I needed help, I would have asked.” He snarks, adding. “But I didn’t.”

I don’t need a keeper.

But that was the thing about bats—they had a tendency to be too nosey for their own good, to pick, and poke, and prod until you were on the verge of wanting to pull your hair out and scream.

Boundaries? I hardly know her.

If Nightwing noticed, he didn’t say anything, opting to remove his domino and tucking it away, his brows were furrowed.

Tim knew how he looked—gaunt, deep purple bags under his eyes, cheekbones sharper than they should be.

Welcome to being a single parent.

“I know you didn’t ask but it’s what family does. I want to help.” Dick sounded painfully desperate earning an eye roll. “No matter what you will always be my little brother.”

Tim scoffed, “If I needed help I would have asked.” What part of he’s fine was not getting through that thick skull of his? Maybe it’s just all the years of vigilante-related concussions. “Maybe in another life we were family but I’m not your brother, Dick,” not anymore , “you don’t even know me.”

Dick breathed a heavy sigh, moving around the overstuffed couch to sit. It took everything in Tim not to bare his teeth and growl. “Of course I know you, Tim. You will always be my little brother.”

“But I’m not!” Tim finally snapped, startling Amalia awake. Her little lip wobbled, her nose scrunched, and Tim went into oh shit mode. Her wails made his inside twist and churn with the need to fix it , as she shook her tiny fists in anger.

He set the empty bottle down and adjusted her so she was upright in his arms to burp her. “Shh, ya Rohee,” he crooned, patting her back.

My soul.

She was his everything—his sun, his moon, to the moon and to Saturn. The only good thing that came of his time with Ra’s after the Council of Spiders and the Pit.

He could feel Dick watching him but didn’t look up, opting to instead rock his infant. She was small, even for a babe of her age, he still had a hard time imagining her anything other than fragile.

He nuzzled her, her patch of almost black, whispy hair tickled his nose, purring softly. It was a little uneven with disuse but it soothed her enough to bring her wails down to whimpers. She smelled milky and soft and like his . He did his best to ignore the hint of spicy incense underlying in her scent from her other father.

She was his and no one else’s. It would change in a few months and maybe he would finally stop seeing him in the shadows.

There was no way she was going down now but he’d lost all hope of that when Dick disengaged his security and decided to sneak in (an issue he would be working on a patch for later).

His eyes felt hot but he ignored it. He didn’t need a nap anyways, right? He’d worked more on less after all. This should be cake , right?

Eventually, as the pup calmed down, Tim dared to glance up at his unwanted visitor. There was a complicated expression that Tim couldn’t quite discern despite all of his training. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. I don’t even know who I am.”

For a long moment, Dick sat with that, a complex flurry of emotions crossed his face before settling on something soft. A fondness, watching the small pup in his arms. “You have a baby?” Talk about understatement of the century.

Tim rolled his eyes, continuing to pat the pups baby. “Yes, last time I checked I did, in fact, have a baby. I have the stretch marks to prove it. You want to see?”

Dick shook his head, “That isn’t what I meant. I just…How old is she? What’s her name?” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees.

Tim had to think for a long moment, back tracking the dates. The escape had been four days following her birth, still sore and as unsteady on his legs like a newborn fawn. There hadn’t been a choice—it was escape or lose Amalia. She had been born weak, words like failure to thrive had been tossed around. Ra’s Al Guhl was gifted with another disappointing heir.

“Well, Timothy, we’ll just have to try again, won’t we? Surely you won’t disappoint your Alpha a second time.” The or else was implied.

He had still been on his back, bleeding from the long birth. His milk supply hadn’t come in and the tiny pup wailed across the room with the wet nurse.

“Tim?” Dick sounded concerned, snapping him back into the present. His grip on Amalia tightened just a hair, her warm weight against his shoulder grounding.

“Amalia,” he said remembering the question. “Her name is Amalia and she’s-“ If he had been in Gotham for nearly a month, days before being found out and the trek from the Cradle to Gotham had taken around two weeks… “Her birthday is July 19th.” He said instead.

Fresh out of the Pit, time was hazy, seasons and dates made little impact on his life and Gotham’s perpetually gray skies.

Dick had a worried look on his face. “What about her other the father?”

“Dead.” Tim said succinctly.

That he made sure of.

Dick made a soft noise of acknowledgement, continuing to watch the baby with a fondness in his eyes. He didn’t push the matter. “She’s beautiful. You did so well.” He croons softly, “I’m sure it was hard for you.” He didn’t know the half of it.

“It was hard,” Tim admitted softly, basking in the Alpha’s praise. Finally, Amalia burped. “I had a few people that helped—Talia and an assassin I saved after-“ before he died, after the Pit, and before Amalia. “After. They made it easier but Talia wasn’t around often. I don’t think she was overly fond of what he was doing.”

“What about the assassin?”

Tim bit his lip, his eyes felt hot. “I don’t feel her bond anymore.” There was a bone deep ache without her. Whether she had cut it herself to save him, or really hadn’t made it out after Ra’s death, was all up in the air. “I’ve looked for her but-“

“But she’s part of the League.” Dick filled in and Tim nodded. He was quiet for a long moment before promising, “We’ll find her.”

Tim looked up from the pup quickly, “What?”

“We’ll find her.” Dick repeated with all of the seriousness in the world. “For you. I promise.”

Tim held his eye for a long moment, gauging the whether or not believe his words but Dick’s resolve never faltered. He felt his pulse pick up and a bright blip of emotion he didn’t want to think about. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. What about Batman? He doubt he’ll be a fan of having a member of the League in Gotham.”

“I’ll handle Bruce.” Dick promised. “Just focus on you and your pup. We will find her.”

Memories were still muddled and murky but there was something about Alfred that stuck out in his mind—a chuckle, a smile, a proper English accent, the scent of freshly baked biscuits and earl grey tea.

Tim glanced over to the sleeping pup still in the bassinet attached to his bed. She was swaddled just right, somehow still fast asleep at—he squints at the clock—11 am. She never sleeps this late—he never sleeps this late, normally too racked by nightmares and insomnia to get more than a few hours at a time.

What should he do? If he didn’t answer, would he eventually give up and go away? Odds are, if he let the door go unanswered, more Bats were sure to follow (because if Alfred knew, the rest of the Bat Clan would find out, if they hadn’t already). But the thought of going back to bed while he still had the option was tempting—just a little while longer, while Amalia slept before the cycle of change-feed-burp-soothe began again.

Tim breathed a heavy sigh and pressed the button for the intercom on his phone, “I’ll be right there.”

Alfred visibly perked up, glancing up to the security camera in the corner. “It is no problem, dear boy, do not rush on my account.”

His voice is like a balm on a wound that has been oozing, refusing to heal, soothing his inner Omega, settling his racing heart just a touch, his voice radiating safesafesafe.

That’s…unexpected. And not definitely something he wanted to prod with a hundred-foot-pole, Alfred in the hall or not.

Tim grabbed a pair of sweats from the pile on the floor, sniffing to make sure they smelled clean enough for company, and a faded Green Day tee. Good enough.

His industrial (read as: vigilante) grade scent patches were on the dresser nearest the door. He slipped on his slippers and shuffled over to riffle through the nearly empty box.

(Note to self: pilfer more from one of the many Bat-stashes the next time he’s out.)

He delicately peels one off the sheet and presses it to the scent gland to the soft meat of his neck, adding an additional to the scent glands on the inside of his wrists.

When Amalia woke, not being able to scent him would make her fussy, but he didn’t trust his emotions when dealing with Bats. And Alfred? Was a wild card.

Tim shoves his collapsible bo in his pocket before pocketing the baby monitor. Something about leaving her alone made his stomach churn. She was alone without someone to protect her. What if something happened? What if someone gets in and takes her?

…what if someone gets in and takes him? She would be alone for who now’s how long, starving and crying and his eyes feel hot.

His chest constricts. Nope, nope, not happening. Not right now.

She’s sleeping peacefully, her little chest rising and falling, deep in slumber, a hint of a smile on her chubby little cheeks.

His apartment was the most secure location outside of the Bats. In fact, since his last patch after Dick unceremoniously and unwantingly broke into his home, he would say his apartment is more secure than the Bats, second only to (maybe) the clock tower.

He could do this.

He could do this.

(In through your nose one-two-three, out through your mouth one-two-three, come on Tim, one foot in front of the other)

His eyes lingered on the pup for a moment longer before he finally forced himself to move, leaving the door open a crack.

He felt like a mouse caught in a glue trap, trudging his way to the front door, doing his best to ignore the piles of clutter and baby supplies scattered throughout the living room.

There was a pile of clean laundry yet to be folded, taking up the majority of the well-loved sofa and a mountain of dishes in the sink. If he’d known he would have company, he would’ve put in an effort to tidy, or at least shove things in the closet until Alfred left.

Tim made quick work of disarming the security protocols trying to pretend like his hands weren’t trembling. He still had time to change his mind—he didn’t have to let the elderly man in. In all actuality, he could go back to bed right now and pretend this whole thing never happened.

But Dick, he reminded himself.

Damnit.

Tim took another measured breath before inching the door open and with it, the warm scent of Beta hit him like a ton of bricks, filling his chest with a warmth he had only felt in his dreams. It was like drinking a hot cup of tea, the way it pooled in his heart, warming his chest and for a moment he felt like he was choking.

He couldn’t move, staring at the elderly man like he was a ghost, liable to disappear at any moment.

It seemed like Alfred went through something similar, a complicated mix of expressions crossing his face—disbelief, astonishment, sorrow, grief, anguish, before settling on something akin to relief.

“Master Timothy, I’m pleased to see you’re doing well. I’m afraid we had far too many leftovers at the manor and thought perhaps you would be open to helping us before they’ve spoiled.” The English accent was soft and comforting and it felt… it felt like coming home. “May I come in?”

Tim fisted the baby monitor in his pocket, a little part of him hoped that now, right this moment, his pup would whimper or cry, and give him some sort of out, but she didn’t. Damnit.

Slowly, he backed away from the door, allowing Alfred to come in, but said nothing. No hi, hello, or even, it’s good to see you, thanks for dropping in but, y’know, a call would’ve been nice. He had zero trust in what would come out of his mouth, so he stayed silent, watching.

With the Beta inside, Tim glanced out around the hallway for any unwelcome visitors, but the hallway was empty. Judging by the overabundance of Chinese takeout menus the past few months, most of this floor had been empty since he moved, back when he was newly back in Gotham, the tiny pup strapped to his chest.

Reassured they were alone, Tim shut the door and busied himself with reengaging the security, trying to ignore the way his hands were now fully, without a doubt, trembling. By the time all was settled and they were locked in, Alfred had already found his way into the kitchen.

If he noticed the dishes (let’s be real, when he noticed the dishes), he didn’t say anything, his sole focus on unloading the “leftovers”, which was beginning to look like a whole lot more than just leftovers. Multiple casserole dishes were carefully stacked, slowly but surely filling his fridge

“Thank you for helping us with these. I’ve grown accustomed to large family meals, but with master Damian out of the house more and more, it seems we have an overabundance.”

Tim knew Titan duties and university had Damian out of Gotham more and more. He had his choice of Ivy League schools and had ended up with early placement in the Cornell University’s College of Veterinary Medicine after graduating from GA a year early (as valedictorian, no less).

Dick was still in Bludhaven, social worker by day, Nightwing by night but came back to Gotham most weekends (or when he wanted to see Tim on random Tuesday nights).

Jason, on the other hand, from what he’d garnered, was with the Outlaws more often than not these days, back periodically for his heats.

Life had moved on without him. He didn’t blame them—couldn’t blame them—but there was still a bitter tinge in his chest.

Tim blinked and when his brain picked up again, Alfred was still talking.

“-thing is labeled with the ingredients and how to prepare each meal, I hope you don’t mind. It is a force of habit with master Dick and master Bruce. You know how they are.” Alfred mused, moving onto stuffing the freezer. “You wouldn’t believe it—the one time I left them alone for the weekend without enough instructions, I came home to a house full of builders.”

You know how they are.

Maybe he did, sometime in the Before. But now?

Alfred glanced over his shoulder and frowned. Tim isn’t sure what he saw but the Beta had a deep look of concern.

“Oh my dear boy,” slowly he closed the freezer, giving Tim his full attention. “Perhaps I should have called but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see you.” I didn’t want you to run.

Which, fair, but it made the ordeal a whole lot more complicated. The way Alfred spoke to him, it was like he was expecting the old Tim, the one who hadn’t been lost to the Pit.

“Did Dick tell you I was here?”

“He did not. In fact, he has warned others not to seek you out, including master Bruce and myself but-“

“But you came anyways.” It wasn’t a question. Alfred opened his mouth to respond but Tim was quick to cut him off, “You being here puts me at risk. How do I know you weren’t followed?”

By Bats, by what was left of the League, pick your poison.

“I assure you, I was not followed.”

“But how can you know?”

“Just because I’m not Batman, does not mean I’m oblivious. I do have a few special skills of my own beyond being the butler for the Wayne family.”

“That’s the problem—you can’t.” Bat or not, there was no way to 100% guarantee. “If you really cared, you would’ve listened to Dick and stayed away. I know you miss Tim but I’m not him.”

“Master Tim, I understand-“

“No, I don’t think you really understand, I don’t remember you. I saw you and I remembered your name, that’s it. Things are a little,” a lot, “hazy, after coming back. I didn’t choose to forget you—I remember blips, but memories are just, not there.” It was like someone had taken a scalpel and cut the out—really, there’s no telling Ra’s hadn’t. “I’m just not him.”

A smile, a stifled chuckle, the clank of fine china cups and saucers.

(I want to remember you—I need to remember you but I can’t)

Tim swallows hard, trying to shove down the sharp fear of rejection, of letting him down, or not being trusted that this is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It makes his chest ache, and his eyes hot.

“Look I-“ and, the baby monitor finally goes off, giving him the perfect out—the soft whimper of his pup waking up alone without her bearer makes his inner Omega stir. “I’ll be back.” Please be here when I get back.

He doesn’t give Alfred the time for rebuttals, rushing off down the hall where Amalia is waiting, trying to pretend he isn’t running away with his tail between his legs.

-

“Computer, lights at 70%,” Tim called to the AI of his own design. The lights go on as Tim pushes into the room. His pup isn’t crying just yet, the soft whimper, a call to her bearer, a cry of changemeholdmefeedme.

“Shh, good morning, ya rohee,” Tim croons in League dialect, carefully lifting her out of her crib. She scrunches up in his arms like a little inch worm and yawns a yawn much too big for such a little thing. It makes him want to coo, and scent, and snuggle her forever in his nest, never letting her go. This is the best part, his favorite part of the day. “How did you sleep, my love? I’m sorry you woke up alone.”

She answers by blinking up at him with wide, deep violet-blue eyes, all his own. There’s still time for them to change from blue to vibrant green, just like her other father, but he hopes they stay. Just like this. All his own.

Tim just smiles trying to tamp down the thought. He—Ra’s—couldn’t hurt them anymore—he was dead, for good this time.

A sword, sawing through sinew and bone, severing his head from his body, the taste of metallic tang on his teeth as he ripped into his throat and the burn of smoke in his lungs.

There’s only so much the Pit could do and what he’d done? That was way beyond even its capabilities.

He just hoped that when the Bats found out, they took care of her, his life, his heart, his soul.

Logically, he knew the daughter of a vigilante and the former leader of the League was a vulnerable asset that needed to be protected. In the wrong hands—a chill ran down his spine.

Batman didn’t harm innocents. His choices weren’t hers so, by all intents and purposes, she was innocent. She didn’t choose her heritage.

Tim tucked her into his neck where normally his scent would be strongest. He just hoped he would keep her safe in his absence.

Amalia snuffled and nuzzled against his skin searching for his scent currently patched over. When she couldn’t find it, her little lip wobbled and clenched her fists.

Pups needed scent to help regulate their delicate nervous systems and they only left the house a few times a month for diapers and formula or groceries (and the occasional Bat safehouse break-in) so she was used to it near 24/7.

The fact that Dick caught him was a fluke.

Just before laying her down on the changing table, Tim breathed out, trying to still his beating heart, and lifted the scent patch up just enough for her to catch a whiff. Almost immediately she went lax in his arms, letting out a huff of air. Any chance of her crying was snuffed out in an instant.

Crisis averted.

Tim took a breath to calm himself and held her there, gently rubbing her back. He guessed, for just a moment, he could have this.

Alfred could wait.

-

Changed out of her swaddle and sleep clothes, Tim shuffled back into the kitchen, the same bitter fear of rejection in his gut. Amalia was settled in the cloth pack on his chest, smacking her lips, making it known that she was ready for breakfast. He, on the other hand, was not.

Breakfast meant facing Alfred but there was only so long he could keep putting it off—put off their conversation.

When he rounded the corner, it was to a clean kitchen. In the time it had taken to get the pup up, most of the laundry was folded and ready to be put away, including pairs of socks he hadn’t seen in months (how Alfred did that, he’ll never know).

The mountain of dishes had been diminished to a clean sink and the dishwasher running. Crumbs and spilled formula had been wiped away and Tim… all Tim could do was stare, a wave of shame is like cold water.

Thank god he’d reapplied the scent patch because this would be embarrassing. Luckily, the carrier smelled enough like him, that, for now, Amalia was settled.

Alfred finished folding a faded band tee and turned his attention back to Tim. Eyes were immediately on his pup and Tim waited for something. Shame? Disgust? But Tim found none of that.

Instead the elderly Beta’s expression softened. “I apologize, I seem to have gotten a bit carried while you were away. A bit of a habit, I’m afraid.”

Tim swallows hard, wrapping a protective hand around the pup, eyes drawn to the unimpressive greige carpet. “I’m sorry it’s been a long week and she’s been so fussy. If I’d known you were coming over I would’ve cleaned up.” His eyes were hot. He was not going to cry—he was not going to cry.

“Nonsense,” Alfred’s voice is gentle and insistent. “It is one of my joys in life to care for my charges. Trust me when I say this is nothing compared to young master Dick’s room, a few dishes and clean laundry is nothing in comparison to the ecosystem I have found on occasion.”

He could tell Alfred was trying to be humorous but it did nothing to ease his conscience. “I shouldn’t need to get caught up. I should’ve just handled it when it happened but I’m just…” Exhausted? Overwhelmed? Missing the pack he doesn’t even remember having?

“I understand and I mean this when I say, I pass no judgement.”

Tim risked a surprised glance. “How?”

Alfred smiled, “I wasn't always just a butler. I was a parent too once upon a time before coming to work for the Wayne’s.” He continued, “Believe it or not, I, too, have a daughter.”

“…you do?”

He nods, “I do, back in England—Julia. We don’t have the best of relationships. It seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I’m afraid.” He chuckled a bit sadly before changing the subject, “Now then. How would you feel about some breakfast?”

Almost as if at the mention of food, Amalia started to wriggle, very obviously done with their dilly dallying. Tim breathed a sigh and nodded. He didn’t normally eat breakfast but it was nearly lunchtime and his stomach was starting to make its presence known in a feed me or else sort of way. “Breakfast would be nice.”

Ding ding ding. By the look on his face, Tim answered correctly. Go him. “Will scones hold you over while I prepare something more substantial?”

“Scones sound…nice.”

Which is how they ended up in the kitchen, a plate of scones with clotted cream and tea in front of him while Amalia went to town on her bottle, ravenous. One little hand was on the bottle and the other fisted in his shirt.

Tim was sitting at one of the bar chairs glancing up at Alfred every so often, watching for something, anything to go wrong, (a dash of poison, or paralytic, Alfred disappearing into thin air) as he cooked up a proper English breakfast.

Before Alfred, his fridge had nothing more than some flaccid celery, a weeks old pizza from Rao’s a few blocks down, and half a bottle of ranch. Now, it was stuffed to the gills with fruits and veggies, eggs, and other household staples.

(No wonder his bags looked so heavy. How he carted them up five stories and a broken elevator was beyond him. Bats, am I right?)

“Her name is Amalia.” Tim said awkwardly after a few minutes of silence. “I don’t know if Dick told you.”

“Master Dick did not mention it but there was some…speculation, that something more was going on, on master Bruce’s part.”

An arch of dread runs through him, “Bruce knows?”

Of course Bruce knows. Why wouldn’t he know? He’s Batman. Alfred being here all but confirmed he knows about his apartment, too. And if that thought doesn't make him want to high tail it out of Gotham.

Hearing the hoarseness of his voice, Alfred looks up, “I am truly sorry. I should’ve listened to master Dick. This was your secret to share and I forced your hand.”

Tim shook his head, “I should’ve known, it makes sense, I just-“ he wanted to pull his hair out and scream. It makes sense. It’s just—he wasn’t ready for a boatload of Bats invading his nest.

Amalia was still so little. Being taken from her at this age… if birth trauma and the subsequent fallout hasn’t hurt her, this will. It could kill her.

“It isn’t alright.” Alfred sounded genuinely remorseful as he pushed mushrooms around in the pan. “I was being selfish and did not take into account the trauma you’ve been subjected to.”

Tim mulled over those words trying to tamp down his inner Omega stirring, wanting to reassure the elder Beta that it was okay, the wanted to bask in the feeling of being cared for. There were whispers of pack at the back of his mind.

Alfred had brought him groceries and meals—he was providing for him, showing he cared, but no, no, no. His arms tightened around the pup.

The old Tim may have been pack but that was Before and this is now—the After. Who wanted a broken murderer of an Omega? One that had broken the Bat Code of Conduct whose number one rule was don’t kill.

Alfred turned off the burner and slid the mushrooms onto the plate beside the eggs and sausage just as the toaster popped. Tim looked up briefly when the plate slid in front of him. After a terse moment, Tim said, “Thank you.” The weariness on his tone almost makes him flinch.

Almost.

“My pleasure, Master Tim.” His inner Omega preened at the title. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Tim glanced down at the pup in his arms, finishing up her bottle. And, before he could think the words slipped past his lips. “…do you want to hold her?”

Safe, the Omega crooned. He wouldn’t let Dick hold her but Alfred… Alfred was different.

At those words, Alfred’s face lit up like it’s Christmas. “Are you quite sure?”

No, Tim wanted to argue, while the Omega practically screamed, yes.

It would make eating easier and here, in his apartment, he was in control. The collapsible bo-staff was heavy in his pocket. In just a few steps, he could have him neutralized if he dared to do anything to harm her, but part of him just knew he wouldn’t.

Tim bit his lip and nodded, “Can you burp her? She isn’t rolling over just yet so she still needs to be burped.”

Alfred gives him a gentle smile, seemingly genuinely happy at the offer. “I would be delighted too.”

There’s a smile on Amalia’s chubby cheeks, kicking his little legs in delight when he leans down and nuzzles her. She laughs in delight, warming his heart and making it that much harder to let go. She smells content and full, making a grab at his too-long hair. “Just a few minutes, hayati, be nice for Alfred, alright?”

In true baby fashion, she squeals when he rubs his nose against her cheek. He finishes off with a a long kiss to her forehead, lingering on the scent of his pup.

It was getting stronger the longer they were in Gotham. She was getting stronger.

Tim carefully untangled her fingers from his hair, pressing a kiss to each finger before looking to Alfred who was standing in front of him, eyes soft. “I am honored you’re allowing me this opportunity. I promise, I will take excellent care of her.”

He didn’t trust himself to answer so he nodded and slowly passed her to his waiting arms, trying to remember to breathe.

At first, realizing she was changing arms, her little lip wobbled, but Alfred murmured something soft in her ear just for them, holding her close and she was all his.

He didn’t stray far, grabbing a burp rag from the pile of carefully folded laundry, staying in Tim’s line of sight. Close enough that if Tim suddenly needed to jump in, he was right there.

But she didn’t fuss. In fact, by the time Tim had plowed through his breakfast, she was burped and settled, her face pressed into his neck, milk drunk and content. It made his heart ache, wanting her back all the more.

He made quick work of rinsing his plate and dropping it in the sink for later. It was the first time in months his belly felt full and he felt like his battery wasn’t running on 5%.

Rushing back into the living room, Alfred had moved to the gliding chair, rocking the cooing pup.

He smiled up at Tim. It was all he could do not to make grabby hands for his pup—his baby. “You’ve done well with her. She is lovely.”

“Can I-?” Without needing to finish the sentence, Alfred carefully passed her back.

“You need not ask, my boy. I am grateful for the moment with her.”

With her in his arms, he could breathe again, squeezing her just the right side of tight to his chest. She was safe, he had her, she was his.

“She will always be yours. I would never dream of taking her from you.” Alfred assured standing up from the rocker. Oops. “I assure you, neither would Master Bruce.” Until he finds out about Ra’s. “Now, I believe you both have had quite the afternoon, perhaps if best you retire to your nest? I have a few things to finish up here and I will be on my way.”

His nest sounded nice but- “You don’t have to do that.”

“As I stated earlier, it’s no chore helping you with these things. Please, let me help you.” Let me help you. Tim’s eyes felt hot again. (Translated to: Let me take care of you)

He was not going to cry… not now, at least.

Okay. This was okay, this was, “Okay.” Tim’s voice is strained but Alfred doesn’t say anything about it.

Instead, he tentatively reaches a hand out, giving Tim enough time to pull away, but he doesn’t. He placed it on his shoulder and squeezed. It’s a warm and reassuring touch, grounding, and now Tim is actually going to cry. Damnit.

Tim has to blink quickly, trying to stave off the tears that will inevitably fall once he’s back in his nest and able to be vulnerable. His instinct is to lean into the touch, to sink and melt, and let himself have this one moment, but he can’t.

He can’t get close.

Tim goes rigid under his touch but doesn’t pull away and Alfred? Alfred smells…happy. Happy in a way that forces Tim to choke down a purr.

“Very good. I know that my coming here was unexpected but it was so good to see you.” He is not going to cry. “You don’t need to make a decision now, but it’s alright, I would like to come back, this time on a day of your choosing. It’s perfectly alright to say no but I’ve missed you so much.” His eyes are wet when he says, “Between you and Master Jason, I have never regretted anything more in my life.”