Chapter Text
It was a small city; Corning, Arkansas. A little more than 1000 people lived in the city. Most of it was farm land. The small neighborhood were houses built from before the 1950s. The one, small, shopping strip only had two stores. A tax building, and a very small grocery store that didn’t have much. There was also a small restaurant.
Tim thought it was perfect. It was remote, somewhat isolated, and you didn’t see very many people. Also, the closest big grocery store was 45 minutes away. It was as perfect as Tim could find for him and the little tiny baby bundled in his arms.
After he confirmed they had brought Bruce back from the time stream, Tim left for Paris.
The underground lab in Paris that contained a baby in a tube of green liquid. A baby girl, still without a name almost a whole year later. A whole year of the baby with his and Kon’s DNA sitting in a test tube in stasis while her failure of father committed international crimes and terrorists acts to bring her grandfather dad’s mentor back to life.
Now here, still settling down in his new, technically old, house with a baby, his baby , in his arms, everything is starting to catch up to him.
His dad died. Steph died, and then Bart, and then Kon. And in his grief, in his stupid befuddled mind, he had tried to clone his two best friends. Both of which have their own personal vendettas against clones.
Bart has an evil clone and Kon is a clone. A clone that his two DNA donors wanted nothing to do with. He hated being a clone.
Tim had promised not to clone him, and yet, here he is. A baby with Kon’s fair skin, curly hair, and dimples. And from Tim, just his eyes.
The old vintage rocker he was sitting on, rocking the 3 month old infant while feeding her a bottle of formula, creaked with every other back rock. He sighs, brushing a thumb against the pink footie onesie his little girl wore.
He made this baby. He made this baby out of grief for the friend he lost. The friend he… l oved for more than a friend .
He stared at his daughter, because that’s what she was, his daughter. She blinked sleepily with the almost empty bottle in her mouth. “Are you done?” he cooed softly. He removed it from her mouth and set it on the table by the rocker. He adjusted the cloth on his shoulder and maneuvered her enough so he could burp her.
She seemed pretty content like this. Laying over her father’s shoulder while her dad patted her back and side to get her to burp. Tim huffed a small breath in laugh as she cooed in content.
He took his time to really look around the place. The old lady who used to live here left her old furniture to him, and he decided to keep it the way it was. It was homey, the feel of it. The living room was small, a giant rug on the ground, a rocker against the back wall, a small table to the right arm of it, and a desk to the other side of the table, a brown couch on the far wall with matching side tables on either side and a matching coffee table in front, a love seat couch at the end of the rug, a single seater couch in front of the small closet by the front door with a small table next to it. A TV in front of the windows with old vintage curtains. So many vintage shelves.
There were only three bedrooms, one leading to the garage-laundry room with a door to the kitchen. There was only one bathroom though. But his personal favorite part of the house was the wooden cowboy swinging doors that separated the kitchen from living room. They were old and creaky. It was nice. It was also sweet considering the old woman’s late husband had made it for their three kids when they first moved here.
Now, it belonged to Tim. Tim and his daughter.
…Who has yet to have a name.
…And burp.
It was close to midnight now. The only light on was the dim white light above the kitchen sink and the yellow light from the lamp on the side table next to the rocker.
“Come on, baby, you need to burp so I can put you down to bed.” As if she understood him, she made some baby coo that he took as a protest for bed. “I know, baby, you have to sleep though.”
While he continued to try and burp her, using the one technique he saw off the internet, he thought of a name. A name for the baby he’s just been calling baby for the better part of the 2 days he’s had her.
What should he name her though?
He didn’t want her name to have no meaning to him, definitely not. He didn’t want to choose a name at random. He didn’t want a common name everyone would be called like Sophia or something. But he also didn’t want his baby to have a name she couldn’t find on a keychain or mug at souvenir shops.
Did he have to choose one name?
He wanted to honor his parents, they, for the some part, raised him and provided him everything. They also loved him a lot.
…But some small part of him wanted to honor Kon too. Even though he didn’t deserve to do any of it.
But how would he honor either of them. He didn’t even know how to honor his dead best friend’s wishes.
But he could honor Bruce too. Bruce’s mother, Martha. He never met her, but through Alfred’s somber tales he could tell she was a good woman, he understood why Bruce did what he did in his mother’s name more than his father.
He didn’t want it to be exactly their names though, Janet and Martha. So…
“Mary-Jane. MJ.”
He heard a burp come from the tiny baby and pulled her back to stare at her. He smiled, bringing her close to kiss the top of her head.
“Yeah, MJ. That’s your name.”
He maneuvered her again, this time to be laying in the crook of his arm, and started rocking her again.
She seemed to refuse the rocking for what it was, which was putting her to sleep. She made a face. Such a stubborn little face that made his heart ache. It looked exactly like Kon’s when Tim gave him a simple order and he was tempted to go against it just because.
Is this what motherhood felt like?
Just as a last resort, just to get her to sleep so he, too, could sleep, he started humming to her. Humming his and her… his and Kon’s song.
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy, when skies are gray
You’ll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don’t take…
My sunshine away…
It… she was asleep. Fast asleep. Tim stood up, careful not to wake her, and walked her to the room at the end of the hallway. The hallway had a giant mirror spanning across the wall, almost like a dance mirror if the hallway wasn’t so small and cramped. In the room was a small closet, a dresser, two nightstands, a bed, and a bedside crib he sporadically bought on the way to the house that sat in the truck with the rest of the belongings he brought.
Which was pretty much just clothes, a toothbrush, toothpaste, brush, his camera equipment, a new computer, a new phone, cash, a card backed up with extra money from his savings he withdrew little by little over the years, and fake documents… mostly.
He had his own documents forged, and a fake ID that claimed he was 21, and he had a blank birth certificate and a card ready to be turned into a social security number.
He needed to forge documents for little MJ. She needed an identity. And they also needed to pick up more things for her. Like wipes, formula, diapers, clothes, and probably a stroller.
Strollers usually weren’t safe though, he could turn away and someone could take her. Someone could take advantage of how quiet she normally was and steal her. Someone could do it while his back was turned. While he was looking at something. Grabbing something. Asking about something. Looking for something. Someone could-
Breathe.
He needed to breath.
He was pacing the room, breathing in barely any oxygen, hyperventilating, at the thought of someone, from a town he didn’t know, people he wasn’t familiar with, taking his daughter while he wasn’t looking.
He needed to breathe.
There were options other than a stroller. He remembers that. Going with Steph to her classes. He remembers learning about baby carries, and slings. Slings were harder to put on and put the baby in, but it was definitely safer because it meant that she was fastened closer to him, he could have direct skin to skin contact with her, and the sling could hide her.
Yeah..
He’d get a sling, because it helps him free his hands from carrying his baby girl, and it also soothes his anxiety and paranoia at the thought of having to set her down or look away from her.
He needed to sleep. They had a big day ahead of them in a few hours. And… if he wanted to take care of her.. He needed to start taking care of himself. Mary-Jane needed someone to take care of her. And how could he be that person if he can’t take of himself.
Sleep, first. He has 4 years of nightly patrols and 6 months of being stuck in the League waking up at every noise to catch up on. Yeah. Sleep sounds good.
His head hit the pillow and he turned to look at the sleeping baby through the net. The small nightlight shined the faintest bit of light on her enough for him to see her soft breathing.
The comfort of knowing she’s in view and reach and the noise of the white noise machine going off on the nightstand was enough to lull him to sleep.