Chapter Text
It hadn’t been easy, exactly, to convince his parents to let him dance, but it hadn’t been all that hard either.
In the end, his parents wanted him to be happy. Sure, they cared about public image more, but his happiness was at the very least top three and Tim thought that was pretty good. He had sworn up and down that he wouldn’t embarrass them and so, after a stern warning not to slack off, they had let him.
Tim didn’t slack off.
He trained six times a week, getting up ridiculously early so their chauffeur could drive him to the studio. Tim had been excused from PE classes and usually made up three of his classes on the weekends in order to meet the schedule his parents had settled on in communication with the studio.
Two of his classes were ballet classes, since his ballroom teachers thought he would greatly benefit from the techniques. He liked it well enough. Not as much as Foxtrot and Tango, but more than any type of Waltz.
He was good too. Him and his partner, Yekaterina, had won dozens of competitions and were planning on entering the World stage once they turned sixteen.
Being a professional dancer was not what his parents had envisioned for their heir, but Tim argued that dancers burned out fast and that once he stopped being at his peak when his 20s ended, he could take the company. They were alright with that, as long as Tim took Business classes, so he slugged through those on the Weekends too.
Tim was idly stretching, dressed in a tank top, loose shorts over leggings and legwarmers, when his ballet coach called him over.
She was standing next to a dark-haired girl who in turn was standing next to Alfred.
Tim would never, ever, ever forget the day his neighbours’ butler had showed up to a mixed ballroom class that was held once a year for publicity. Nor would he forget how gracefully the man had glided through the room.
“Mr. Pennyworth,” he greeted politely, before curiously looking at the girl. She steadily looked back, dark eyes on him with such intent focus that Tim resisted the urge to shiver.
“This is Cassandra,” his coach said, putting an arm on the girl’s shoulder.
Cassandra went rigid, every muscle in her body coiled and ready to strike.
His ballet coach pulled her hand back.
Right.
Cool, cool, cool.
"She's new and needs someone to show her around a bit. She also exclusively signs and I know you understand it a bit.”
Tim was actually fluent, but he kept his face carefully neutral. After all, he had learned in Crime Alley, both while hanging around with the homeless people, bringing them food and other items they wished for, and while teaching the dance classes his parents most definitely didn’t know about.
“So please take care of her. It’s perfect, since Cindy left and you need a new partner anyway.”
Tim inclined his head. “Of course,” he replied politely.
“Cassandra, this is Timothy. He’ll help you.”
Tim tried not to wince at the full name. “Come on, Cassandra, let’s warm up,” he said, signing along. He wasn’t sure if she could hear or not.
“He’s a good boy,” he heard his coach tell Alfred behind him and he refused to blush.
Cassandra was flexible, copying his stretches easily and with grace. He wondered what her level was. After all, it didn’t matter as much if his partner in ballet was on his level, it wasn’t like he did it for anything other than to supplement his other training.
Once they were done and waiting for class to start, Cassandra tapped his arm and once he looked at her, she signed: ‘Me hear.’
“Oh, sorry,” he replied. “I didn’t mean to assume, I’m just in the habit of signing along. I work with some Deaf kids on Friday evenings.”
She waved her hand, a very small motion. ‘Just you know.’
It was slightly hard to decipher what she was trying to say, which was not aided by the fact that she was signing without expression. Sign Language, he had learned, was a very expressive language.
“You’re just letting me know?” he checked.
She nodded and he smiled.
“Alright, thank you. It’s good to know I’ll be able to talk while we dance. If you need me to pause or something, just tap me, yeah, Cassandra?”
She nodded and then signed: ‘Me, C-A-S-S.’
His eyes widened in understanding. “I’m Tim. This is my Sign Name.” He did the sign for dancing, but instead of having his two fingers outstretched to represent legs, his right hand instead was formed into the letter T, tapping against the palm of his left. One of the kids he taught had given him and he absolutely adored it.
Cass blinked and then nodded, repeating the sign.
“What’s yours?” he asked curiously.
She made the sign for ‘knife’.
He blinked, but then smiled and repeated it. “Nice.”
Despite her face not changing, Tim got the distinct impression that she was pleased by his response.
The coach called for a start soon after. Cass seemed like she was trained in something that wasn’t ballet. She moved with incredible grace, she held positions pretty easily, she was matching the rhythms, but it was clear that she didn’t actually know any of the movements they were practising. That was fine though. Tim whispered adjustments to her. She was a fast learner.
A really, really fast learner.
“Do you want to try this lift?” he asked, slightly sceptically as all around him, pairs moved.
‘You, hold?’ she asked.
“Yeah, I’ll hold you,” he promised. “I won’t drop you. But I understand if it’s scary, especially when you’ve never done it before.”
She pondered this for a moment. ‘Try’ she decided and he nodded.
As soon as he had one hand on her hip, something in her demeanor changed and she slammed her elbow into his solar plexus.
“Oh fuck,” he wheezed, doubling over.
Her eyes widened ever so slightly, which from what he’d seen so far, was probably her equivalent of an alarmed shout and she started to apologise over and over.
“It’s alright,” he assured her tightly. “I should have warned you about where I was going to touch.” He rubbed at his abdomen. “We can try again and I can warn you exactly where I’m going to hold you or we can leave it for today. Or we can talk about where you’re fine with being touched. Or we can just leave it, period.”
She hesitated, eyes fixed on his hands, still rubbing the pain out. ‘No,’ she simply signed and he nodded easily.
“Alright, hold on.” Turning, he waved at his coach. Next to him, Cass went rigid and he felt a pang of guilt and unease. Just what had happened to this girl? “Miss, may I recap the forms with Cass?”
She nodded.
They worked in companionable silence, Cass copying Tim, only occasionally broken by quiet corrections. When she waved, he looked up.
‘Thanks,’ she signed.
“No problem,” he assured her easily.
~•~
“Yes, I’m sticking to the diet plan, mom,” Tim replied, not quite able to keep his annoyance out of his tone.
He was chopping tomatoes to put on his cottage cheese wrap, his headphones plugged into his phone so he’d have his hands free while he talked to his mother.
“Watch your tone, Timothy,” his mother said coolly. “I’m only trying to keep you on track.”
Tim allowed himself to roll his eyes, biting back a sigh. “Yes mom, I know, sorry. Thanks. I’m making my dinner for after school right now and after I’ll have breakfast.”
He yawned, before stretching to get the salad. It was five in the morning for him and nearly lunch time for his parents.
“Alright. I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself, honey,” his mother replied, sounding softer now that he adjusted his attitude. Tim rolled his eyes again.
“I have a new partner in ballet by the way. She’s Bruce Wayne’s newest ward.” It hadn’t been too hard to find out, after all, she’d arrived with Alfred Pennyworth and there had been a press release with her staring blankly into the camera. For a bit, he had considered not letting his mother know. So far, he’d had four trainings with Cass, most of them a bit turbulent, but he found himself really liking the silent, blunt girl who occasionally tried to obliterate him.
However, his mother would never forgive him if she found out from other sources that he’d found an in with the Waynes. Especially not since he’d failed to ‘befriend the street rat before he got himself blown up’, which was a tasteless phrasing. Tim knew better than to argue.
Jason was back now though, scarred and green-eyed, but otherwise surprisingly stable for a guy who had been presumed dead.
How the fuck he was alive, Tim didn’t know and in his opinion, the press release had made little sense. But Tim was far too busy to dig into that, even if he was sure that with the…totally legal hacking skills he was learning from his totally legal, parent-approved programming classes, he could have managed. His parents may or may not know what they signed him up for.
“That’s amazing, Timothy,” his mother gushed. She turned away from the microphone and for a bit, Tim could only hear the crunch of his salad and the low murmuring of his mother telling his father about the wonderful news.
“Don’t fuck it up, son,” was all Jack had to say.
Tim bit back another sigh.
“Language, Jack,” his mother tutted. “But I do agree with your father. We wouldn’t want another repeat of the Jason situation, right?”
Tim crushed the salad leaf a bit too much. He mournfully stared down at it, but added it to the wrap anyway. “No, mom.”
“Perfect. Now, how is darling Yekaterina?”
Tim contemplated adding mayonnaise to his wrap, but then thought of the calories and left it as it was, carefully rolling it up. “She’s recovering from the flu,” he reported obediently.
“Such a sickly girl. We should really find you a better dance partner one of these days.”
It was a well worn argument. He got his overnight oats out of the fridge and started on a banana. “She’s very talented,” he replied blandly.
His mother tsked. “Well, we’ll see how you both do in California in a month.”
“Yes, mom.” He added some cinnamon to his food.
“We got to go. I love you, Timothy. Take care of your body, yes? We wouldn’t want you to be chubby.”
Tim closed his eyes. “Bye mom, love you too.”
It took him five minutes to find the will to start on his breakfast, knowing full well he would need the calories for his morning training.
He wondered if his mother was aware that the two of them had matching Eating Disorders. Lovely mother-son bonding, truly, he thought bitterly as he chewed.
~•~
Cass tapped him and Tim looked up from his cool-down stretches with a yawn. Yekaterina was finally back in full form, so they had gone double the day before, which had left him sore and also scrambling to finish his English essay.
He mourned the lack of coffee in his life. Truly, he could use some caffeine right now.
“Mhm,” he made to show her that he was looking.
‘Tired,’ she signed.
“Me?” he asked. “Or you?”
She stared at him blankly and Tim couldn’t help the small laugh bubbling up in his chest. “Fine, point taken. Yeah, I’m tired. My dancer partner is back and my coaches think we have to make up for lost time.”
Tim rubbed at his temples to stave off the approaching headache.
Cass tapped her finger against her lip, something she had started to do to signal that she was thinking. ‘Saturday,’ she signed.
“Yeah, tomorrow is Saturday,” he agreed, even if he wasn’t sure what she was trying to say.
‘You, sleep?’
He shrugged. “I mean, yes? A bit more than usual. I have training at ten, so I have to be up at eight instead of five.”
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Early. Wake up. Me too.’
“You’re an early riser?” he checked and she nodded again, not looking very happy. After two months of training with her, he was slowly starting to get better at reading the micro-changes in her expression.
He had also learned that she was scarily good at reading him, which was not something he appreciated overly much.
“Timothy, Cassandra,” the coach said.
Cass tapped his arm. ‘Tell. T-I-M,’ she signed.
He frowned at her and lightly shook his head.
“What did she say?” his coach asked and Tim shrugged. Cass levelled a truly frightening glare at him.
“Just that I should tell you that I prefer the name Tim,” he gave in.
“Oh,” the woman said. “But your parents-”
“I know,” Tim agreed quickly, ignoring Cass’ heavy stare on him. “She prefers Cass,” he added, relishing slightly in the brief flicker of shock on the girl’s face.
“Well, Tim and Cass. There is a performance at the end of this semester. I checked with your other coaches and it doesn’t overlap with any of your competitions, Timoth- Tim, so I was wondering if the two of you might like to participate.”
Tim considered this. He didn’t think his parents would appreciate it. The teenager was just opening his mouth to deny it, when Cass nodded next to him. There was a gleam to her eyes that he’d never seen.
“Alright,” he relented, because he didn’t want to destroy the light in her.
Their coach beamed at them. “Perfect, I’ll sign you up then.”
Tim lifted a hand to his hair, carding his fingers through the sweaty mess. Fuck. Well…actually, maybe he wasn’t fucked. After all, he had been instructed to befriend Cass, so maybe he could sell the performance as that.
“Master Tim,” Alfred’s voice stopped him when he steered towards his chauffeur.
“Yes, Mr. Pennyworth?” he asked politely.
“Miss Cass is asking if you would be amenable to joining us for dinner. She wishes to discuss the performance with you.”
Tim was usually good at making decisions, but he found himself torn. It was a good opportunity, but he was tired and hungry and his dinner was waiting for him in his fridge. “I have a strict diet plan to adhere to, sir, so I fear my dinner is already prepared,” he replied politely.
Alfred hummed. “Perhaps a compromise,” he suggested and Tim barely stopped himself from frowning. “How about you send me your meal plan and I will adjust to it for a dinner next week. Would that be acceptable.”
Tim’s eyes widened, before he managed to smoothe his face. “Very well, thank you, sir.”
“Please, call me Alfred, Master Tim. And do include dates that work for you when you send me the plan, yes?” He extended a honest to god business card with his email. Tim blinked down at it. Alright then. “I know you’re a busy young boy.”
“Uh, alright, thank you Alfred. Bye Cass.”
What the fuck had just happened?
He slid into the car.
“How was ballet?” his chauffeur asked.
“Good,” Tim replied softly, before staring out of the window.
The rest of the ride passed in silence.