The Queen and Her Detective

"I wish I was learning something like magic," Tim said, a bit of genuine happiness slipping into his voice. The comment wasn't forced in the slightest; there was no need for it to be. "I'm learning basic things at Gotham Academy - math, science, history and English. I'll be able to take a language soon as well, but there's still a year before I can."

He noticed how Megara flinched at the comment, but he didn't question it. Doubles didn't mean anything for his world's magic, but Tim Drake wasn't supposed to know about it. Only Robin was supposed to.

"But you're already speaking English?" she said, her eyebrows drawing together, "Why would you learn it again?" Eddie tugged on her arm and lifted his arms up. She picked him up and supported hi with one arm, leaving the other free to use her cane.

"I'm sleepy," Eddie muttered, leaning into her.

"I know," she responded in Naravaki, his native language. He was always calmer when he heard it, and, even though he was taking this 'appearing randomly in an unfamiliar world' thing really well so far, she sensed that might just be because the full weight of the situation hadn't dawned on him yet.

In the back of his mind, he found the comment entertaining - he could have imagined joking about it with Lila later. But Lila was a distant memory at this point, and he knew it was best not to think about what could never happen.

So he kept up his smile, kept up his act, and kept pretending like Tim Drake had very few problems with leading people from other worlds through Gotham.

"When we study English, we're studying English literature," he said, "though I have heard that Gotham Academy offers English as a second language."

Literature. Megara's old enemy and Briar's only...could it be called a hobby? It was similar enough to one, at least for someone like Briar, if there was anyone else like Briar.

Gods, Megara hoped there was no one else in any world like Briar.

She pushed that line of thought from her head and focused on the conversation at hand, "You said 'second language', do people here only speak on language on average?" That might explain some things about Jason. Like how he'd managed to be dumb enough to assume that autopsy scars on his chest were things she would dismiss as just run-of-the-mill everyday things. Like his shrapnel scars could disguise them somehow, or whatever he'd been thinking.

Someone with only one language in his head though with to run his thoughts might come to some of those conclusions.

"It depends on the person and where they're from," he admitted. That wasn't a question he had anticipated, but it was one that he could easily answer. "Most usually learn a second one out of necessity when moving to another country, but most schools also require other languages as part of their curriculum."

Eddie, who Megara had assumed was asleep with his head buried in her shoulder, spoke up then in Naravaki, "We just know how to other-speak," he said sleepily, apparently losing grasp of any kind of grammar as he once again drifted off.

"He says that we already just know more than one language," Megara translated, "It's just something we grow up learning. I know more than most, of course, I'm a linguist, but just about everyone else knows at least two fluently."

It was the one field where she was indisputably ahead of Briar in every way, which was, perhaps, why she'd leaned into it so hard. Briar could concoct the perfect toxin for any given occasion, or beat Megara in hand-to-hand combat, or design new kinds of hidden blades and projectile weapons, or any number of other things, but only Megara could speak to the foreign dignitaries, or lie her way out of a situation without bloodshed, or do literally anything less direct than just killing the person who had become inconvenient. That may also be why she was pretty thoroughly on track to becoming redundant even before she'd gotten the limp and decided to run.

"Knowing multiple languages is a useful skill," he agreed. Lila had known multiple ones, too - English as her first, a little bit of Latin as her second from a few summer courses, and a high school career's worth of Italian classes. He had always been impressed by how well she could remember them all. Back then, he could barely remember the Spanish classes he had taken the year before. And her voice had sounded so beautiful when she spoke in those other languages.

The remnants of a song rose from the depths of his memory - a soothing mix of all three languages she knew. He wished he could hear her sing again, or even just see her face. That would make the heartache more bearable.

But he pushed those thoughts aside. Tim didn't know Lila. He didn't even know Stephanie Brown at this point. The only thing that Timothy Jackson Drake should have been focusing on was figuring out a way to get these two back to their world, and on leading them safely through Gotham's usually dangerous streets.

He looked up.

He could see a row of houses in the distance. All had luxurious lawns and luxurious houses, but his gaze landed on the two most familiar to him: his own home, and the one right beside it. The neighboring one was the Wayne Manor. He would go there, later, if he could distract Megara and Eddie for long enough. For now, they would just go to his house.

As they departed from the tightly-packed streets, Tim fell silent again. It was a miracle they hadn't run into any villain. Or, even better, a miracle they hadn't run into Nightwing on patrol. Tim stuck to the shadowy edges of the property, keeping his eye out for the occasional house caretaker as he led the two towards the side door. As he had hoped, all had gone home for the night.

He led them inside.

It took a little bit of walking to get from the side entrance to his bedroom on the second floor, but it was nothing too strenuous. He softly opened the door and stepped inside, leaving the door open for Megara.

"I'll go grab us some food," he offered. He slipped off his guitar case and leaned it up against the wall. As an afterthought, he opened the door to his almost excessively large closet - grabbing a change of clothes that better fit Tim Drake than what he was wearing. "I'll be right back."

He slipped out of the room - leaving his closet door open just a crack. A box or two peeked out from behind his clothes. They were just the tip of the metaphorical iceberg; more lurked in the depths of the closet, and even more were stashed underneath his bed.

And each and every one of them was filled to the brim with information on superheroes, anti-heroes, vigilantes, villains and supporting characters - even ones that operated outside of Gotham. There were a few with references to groups as well, but they weren't as prominent as singular entries.

The two boxes that were easiest to see had two names neatly printed on the side of them. The only thing that hinted at the wild side of his observations was the coffee stains on both of the labels - dark, messy splotches that had refused to even fade a little with time. The bottom box was labeled "Ian Parker" and the top box was labeled "Jason Todd". Even without seeing all the way inside, it was clear that there was more to the Jason Todd box - the side of a notebook peeked out of the little handling holes the boxes had.

Megara watched their host go and glanced at the closet. She set Eddie down on the bed, where he curled up into a tight ball and went back to sleep, and moved silently to the closet door.

Jason Todd. A small world or a coincidence?

Se kelt down inside and gently lifted the edge of the box. It was made of a strange material, like paper but thicker. She ignored that for now and glanced over the contents. Her eyes settled on the notebook. She slipped it out of the box and returned everything else to its proper order, right down to the exact amount the door was cracked open when their host had left. Tim, he said his name was.

She sat down on the bed next to Eddie and hid the notebook in one of the inner pockets of her coat, usually reserved for letters and other such useful things she used to pick up when she worked for her father. She'd read the notes later, when she knew she wouldn't be interrupted.

His old, worn clothes were hidden away in a corner of the house he knew no one would ever touch. Now dressed in clothes more fitting of Timothy Jackson Drake, Tim lingered in the kitchen. He was planning on getting food for Megara and Eddie before he returned to his room, but there was currently a more pressing issue: how he was going to get them home.

Bruce was doing official business with the League - he couldn't help. Alfred was a possibility, but he didn't know how much the Wayne butler knew about transporting people between worlds. He wasn't supposed to know many other heroes at this point, so there was only one person left that he could go to: James.

James, who he was trying his best to avoid bringing into this situation.

James would know that something was wrong. He would question how Tim found them, question where he found them, and question why he was sneaking around in Gotham at night when Tim wasn't supposed to.

He couldn't risk it.

He would just wait for Bruce to return from his work with the League - he would be back sometime in the morning, and there was no urgency in getting the two back to their world.

He returned several minutes later with a very big bowl filled to the brim with goldfish - he thought it was a good enough snack.

Eddie was using Megara's lap as a pillow at this point, and her cane was leaned against the edge of the bed. When she saw Tim reenter the room, she put a finger to her lips and glanced down at the sleeping Eddie.

Her eyes lingered on the bowl in his hands. It was unclear what was inside it. Little bits of something in the vague shape of fish. Toys? She didn't question it, mostly because Eddie was a fairly light sleeper unless he was extremely tired, and it was always hard to tell how tired he was before he dozed off.

His gaze softened as it looked at Eddie. He had a game plan now. He could focus more on the two in his bedroom, and one of the first things he focused on was how cute Eddie looked sleeping on Megara's lap. Whatever their relationship was, it was clear that they were close. He was hesitant to say they were biological siblings, but adoptive ones seemed likely.

The bed creaked as he sat down beside the two.

He placed the goldfish between them - almost as an offering - and took a large handful of them. He ate them politely, of course, but he was still eager to replace the taste of the horrid coffee in his mouth with something that remained delicious no matter what version of Earth he was on.

"I know some people who can help you get back to your world," he said. "We'll just have to wait until tomorrow before we can meet with them."

Eddie shifted, murmuring something about 'bad guys' before seemingly drifting back into the clutches of sleep.

Megara smiled down at him before looking back up at their host.

The bowl was apparently full of food. She didn't take any. One of the first lessons she'd ever learned growing up with a posions expert was not to eat anything she didn't recognize. She doubted he would poison them now, but she could never be too careful.

"Who are these people?" she asked softly, being careful not to rouse Eddie.

Noticing that she didn't want any of the goldfish, he pulled the bowl closer to him - more for him, it seemed. Taking another handful, he mulled over the answer to the question.

"They're Gotham's heroes," he finally said. He ate a few of the goldfish, chewed, and decided a little more context was needed. "They've also dealt with situations outside of Gotham, so they should be able to help with getting you home. If they aren't able to, they can call in people who can."

She ran that information through her head, twisting it around, examining it. 'Heroes' wasn't very promising. People who thought of themselves as heroes rarely were. Her father thought he was a hero at one time. He also thought that three days or so - she could never be sure just how much time passed - in shackles in the dark without food or water was a suitable punishment for stumbling upon a collection of documents she didn't even understand at the time.

No, 'heroes' weren't people she would trust right off the bat.

She wished she had more of her weapons on her.

"I assume you'll be wanting your room back," she said, glancing around, "Where should Eddie and I stay for the night?"

"There's a guest room a few doors down," he said. "It has two beds in it, so you can either share one or sleep separately."

He could sense that she wasn't entirely won over by his explanation. That was understandable. Heroes were rarely truly heroes. This world - this life - was an exception, and he hoped he could prove it to her by returning her and Eddie to their rightful world.