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It's been two weeks since Next to Normal—since Alfred offered to let Tim stay with him. The first week was filled with more attention and care then Tim really knows what to do with. After his parents canceled their visit (which he had already kind of known was going to happen), Alfred insisted on spending Tuesday shopping for and setting up his room. Wednesday and Thursday were filled with cooking and baking that concluded with an afternnon and evening spent at soup kitchen Martha's synagogue runs. It turns out Martha used to attend the same one as Tim's grandfather did, so it was easy to justify his inclusion in Bruce and Alfred's Thanksgiving tradition. (And maybe it's silly, how happy it made Tim to hear the same community that so easly switched to calling him Tim and boychik and Eli's boy all those years ago tell Alfred that he's a good kid and that they're glad Tim has someone like Alfred looking out for him now, but it really did feel like coming home after a long, cold, lonely winter.)
Since then, Tim has only returned to his parents' house a couple times. He much prefers the warm parlor of Alfred's suite with its comfortable furniture and shelves of knick knacks to the cold, impersonal gallery of a mansion. They've created a bit of an evening routine, he and Alfred, where Tim curls up on the couch with a book or his laptop under the plush throw that lives on the back of it while Alfred sits in one of the matching wingback chairs and knits or reads. One of them (usually Alfred) picks a record to listen to as they relax, and then once it's over they head to bed. It makes him feel warm, this little ritual.
They've just finished Take it Home by B.B. King and Tim is brushing his teeth when he notices a container on the shelf. He's pretty sure it wasn't there before, or, maybe there was a different one? Either way, there's a container on the shelf that Tim hasn't seen before.
Tim finishes his brushing and leans to spit the toothpaste out if his mouth. Something about the container tugs at his brain; he recognizes the white lid from somewhere, but he needs a closer look to really tell where. He rinses his mouth quickly, dries his hands, and then turns to inspect it closer.
He immediately decides he's going to blame the fact that he didn't recognize a clearly labeled sharps container on how late it is.
Now that he knows what it is though, he's not really sure why it's there. Tim picks up the container to shake it gently, then puts it back when nothing happens. It's empty and new... Alfred knows, does he think Tim is on testosterone? He's too young to start on it legally and he's not going to make his own reguardless of the technical capabilities of the chemistry lab in the cave. Maybe he will when he's older, after he's had a medical professional help him get started, but definitely not now.
Why else would it be there though? He thinks. If it... Is for him, it would be a sweet gesture. A nice little way for Alfred to express his approval and support without making it into a big deal.
The older man is the type of person who thinks trash cans are unseemly, and if that applies to the ones in the Batcave then it almost certainly applies to a sharps container in the bathroom.
Tim hums thoughtfully to himself before turning to exit the bathroom. He can just ask. "Hey Alfred," Tim calls as he opens the door.
Alfred is over by the fireplace, making sure the embers actually die before they go to bed. He looks up at Tim's voice. "Yes?"
"Is the sharps container new?" He doesn't want to just come right out assuming it's for him, he's not got that much of an ego.
The corner of Alfred's mouth twitches upwards in a small smile as he says, "In a manner of speaking, yes."
Tim tilts his head to the side and lowers his eyebrows a touch, asking for an explanation nonverbally.
"In the past, I have kept my used needles in a more discreet container in my bedroom, however, I wanted to change that habit so you might feel more confortable if you decide to go on testosterone in the future," Alfred explains.
It's a good explanation except, "You take injections?" Tim doesn't bother to hide his concern, knowing (or perhaps hoping is a better word) that Alfred will take it for the care it represents instead of judgement.
"Every week, like clockwork," Alfred says.
"May I ask what they are?" If his... Tim is struck suddenly by the idea that he doesn't really know what kind of relationship they have. Alfred offered to care for him, called him 'his boy' and 'chum', but.... Does that really mean Alfred thinks of him like a son? Can he? They haven't known each other for very long...
Tim boxes that line of thought up in favor of the current conversation. Find out if Alfred has a medical condition that requires injections now, have a crisis about what to call the older man later.
Alfred is actually smiling now, gently and fondly, as he puts away the poker and turns to face Tim more fully. "Dr. Thompson has been perscribing my testosterone since I was twenty-five."
Oh.
There are precious few people in the world that know Tim is trans. His parents wanted a son anyway, so when he was four years old and demanded they allow him to be one, they didn't put up a fight. He was still young enough to not have attended any Galas and what few pictures of him were out there were easy enough to explain away as fake.
Janet paid handsomely to get his birth announcement edited and his certificate changed, his Doctor was bribed, his nanny signed an NDA, and he was sent to a boarding school in Paris that had never heard of the Drakes before (Though the last part was more because his first language was French instead of English and they didn't want to have to explain that to a school in the US).
By the time he came back to Gotham so his parents could start showing him off during Gala season, no one remembered whether the Drakes had a son or a daughter to start and were too polite to ask.
If someone were to look hard enough, they could probably figure him out, but he's reasonably sure that Bruce doesn't care enough about him to look. Alfred only knows because he helped Tim figure out how to incorporate a safe binding alternative into the Robin suit so he wouldn't have to choose between binding on patrol (extremely dangerous) or dysphoria.
For some reason, Tim never imagined he wouldn't be alone in his gender for the rest of his life.