(CR: A small drabble that came to mind after reading the Drakestroke drabble Lectorel wrote earlier. This scene follows right after what she wrote here.)
Tim lifted his head from the paperwork Tam had just delivered to him at his office in Wayne Tower. “What did you say her name was?”
“Janet Grey,” Tam said with a slight shrug of her shoulders.
“Hm… I’ll ask Alfred to run a background check. Can’t be too careful right now.” Despite the calm, matter-of-fact tone to his voice, a melancholy expression crossed Tim’s face before he turned his focus back onto the Neon Knights files in his hands. Tam didn’t miss the look.
“What wrong?” she asked curiously.
“It’s nothing,” Tim said with a shake of his head. There were several seconds of pregnant silence before he stopped pretending to read the file and sighed. “Just… my mother’s name was Janet,” he finally admitted.
Tam felt a pang of sympathy. “Oh,” she said simply. The young woman noticed how Tim seemed to pointedly avoid meeting her gaze. She thought for a long moment, chewing her bottom lip a little before screwing up her courage to voice a small question that had risen to the surface of her mind. “What was she like?”
Tim turned his attention away from the Neon Knights files and glanced over his shoulder at Tam with a perplexed look.
“Your mother,” Tam murmured hesitantly. “What was she like?”
His gaze turned to the nearest window in his office and almost immediately went distant. “She was…” Tim’s brow furrowed slightly as he sifted through his memories of a time of his life nearly a decade in the past. He finally closed his eyes as he turned his thoughts more inward. Tam almost worried that maybe she shouldn’t have asked the question.
Then she noticed the corners of Tim’s lips quirk upward, just a little. The smile was small and sad and nostalgic. The tender expression had the effect of softening the sharp edges Tim’s face, especially around his eyes and made him look younger as he opened his eyes to meet Tam’s gaze…
The expression made him look his own age.
“She was Mom.”
From a nearby hotel room within range of the tiny listening device/tracker planted earlier on Tamara Fox’s bag, Slade and Janet listened in general silence to the conversation Tim and Tam were having less than a city block away.
Janet had been cleaning her rifle as they listened in on the children via a receiver on the table, though as her son spoke, her movements had grown slower until finally her hands stilled on the partially reassembled gun.
“Janie?” Slade said softly, almost setting a hand on her shoulder.
She shook her head to Slade’s unvoiced implied question and quickly went back to putting her rifle back together, the pieces clicking and snapping into place a little more sharply than normal.