❝ 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘦 . ❞ [ Batfam x reader headcanons & one-shots ]

a necklace | t. drake, fluff

prompt: a gift can sometimes be more than it appears

warning: light language

word count: 1.2k

pronouns: she/her

══════════════════

second-person point of view. . .

══════════════════

It had been such a treasured gift when he had first given it to you. The pure joy that had coursed through your every vein when your eyes met that shiny piece of gold tucked away in the velvet box was a distant memory. That memory had been so terribly corrupted. Now, that dainty necklace reeked of betrayal and lies. Tim had led with a nervous smile, the one you had grown so used to loving. The meek boyish charm that was woven into every word he spoke lulled you into a daze of devotion.

"I have something for you," he had promised so genuinely.

He had given you a thin, black, rectangular box. You had opened that box with such excitement and child-like wonder. A fragile gold chain with a heart-shaped pendant awaited you, the pendant was thick and had an ornate pattern engraved on the face. It was a beautiful necklace and one you wore with such pride because Tim had given it to you--your boyfriend had given it to you. 

The item had been drenched in sentiment since the first day he had draped it around your neck. You had worn that damn necklace everywhere, even if it horribly clashed with your outfit. It became a part of yourself, molded into the skin of your clavicle. Until one day, the beautiful pendant chipped.

The only occasion you had regularly taken the thing off had been a shower. You had left the necklace on the bathroom counter and had accidentally swept it off the surface with too much force. It had hit the corner between wooden trim and the tile floor, just hard enough to cause damage. Instantly, clutching the towel to your body, you had frantically dropped to scoop up the necklace. You had cradled it gently, inspecting the pendant thoroughly. That had been the moment you saw it. Hidden within the heart pendant, you had seen a dim, red, blinking light. You had known what that light meant.

Tim was seated in front of the massive Batcave monitor, as he often was. His phone was facedown on the desk, at least a foot away from his reach, on silent. That was why he had no idea you were on your way. His eyes, burning from the excessive blue light, poured over the contents of the page displayed on the screen. He was so engrossed in the current case that he almost did not hear someone swiftly approaching. Almost.

He swiveled in the large computer chair to glance in your direction, shocked to find out it was in your direction. His spine straightened up in pleasant surprise, a wavering smile gracing his lips. You were a wonderful sight he had always welcomed. Your hair was damp and your skin was coated with a healthy glow (the one he sometimes envied).

"Hey, (Y/n)," he greeted you, regardless of bewilderment. "What are you doing here?"

"Just swung by to chat," you shrugged your shoulders with a misleading grin. "Whacha been up to today?"

Tim blinked several times in a row, silent and otherwise unmoving. His stare, trained meticulously to observe and analyze, picked up on the anger behind your charming smile. You were not curious or interested in the current case he was working on, you were leading up to something. You were trying to pull him into a false sense of security--to reach out and gently take his hands, and guide him onto the plush rug you fully intended to pull out from beneath his feet. You should have expected Tim to see right through it.

"Just work," he rushed the sentence. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, not much," you let out a heavy sigh. "Only found out my boyfriend doesn't trust me."

"Of course I trust you," Tim insisted immediately, unfortunately meaning his words. "What are you talking about?"

From your jacket pocket, you removed the shiny necklace. The chain wrapped around your fingers and you dangled the pendant in front of his face. It swayed slowly, swinging back and forth like the pendulum of the grandfather clock upstairs in the hall of Wayne Manor.

"Your trackers blink red," you stated with a calm anger, words biting like a frost on a cold winter's night. "You put a tracking device in the necklace you gave me."

Tim recoiled with guilt. Was it guilt over the action itself or guilt over getting caught? You could not decide. From the way he held his hands up and the apologetic expression he sported, you figured he was about to rattle off a dozen excuses.

"I'm sorry, I--" you cut the young man off with no remorse, any justification he could provide would be one you had heard before.

"Did you think I just wouldn't find out?" You wondered aloud, your calm slipping. "I thought you bought this for me because you wanted to, not because you felt like you had to secretly keep tabs on me!"

"You're right, it's an invasion of privacy," Tim admitted, thankfully right out of the gate.

"I don't care if you actually track me!" You clarified sternly with a frustrated laugh. "You just want to keep me safe, I get that. But you should have told me. If I had known, I wouldn't have taken it off for a second because I trust you. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I-I thought that you'd get--get upset," Tim stuttered, stunned by the aspect of the mistake you focused on. "Ironically, I didn't want you to think I didn't trust you. I'm sorry."

He got up out of his chair and stepped into your personal space. You looked at him with a hardened face of anger those blue eyes managed to melt. You knew good and well it was impossible to stay mad at him for long, but you were resolved to remain strong for as long as you could bear. His careful hands reached out to hold your elbows, slender fingers drawing indistinct patterns against your skin through the fabric of your jacket.

"I really am sorry," Tim repeated himself with emphasis. "You're right, I should have told you. I guess I'm just used to... the lack of transparency."

With every soft syllable he was wearing down your willpower, like taking a sledgehammer to a porcelain vase. Those tired, guilt-ridden eyes were the final nail in the coffin; his gaze so kind and well-intentioned. He truly was sorry and he had only wanted to better protect you. Another sigh passed through your lips as what was left of your richeous fury wilted away like a dying weed. That fury was replaced with exhausted irritation, a much milder emotion.

"Please don't do anything like this again," you pleaded with him. "I trust you with my life, Tim, but you have to let me in on what you're planning. Okay?"

"Okay," he nodded, leaning down to press a tender kiss against your forehead.

"You promise?" You insisted, sounding more childish than reprimanding.

"I promise, (Y/n)," he assured you continually, an airy chuckle bubbling up in his throat and spilling from his lips. "I'll tell you everything you need to know."

Your arms suddenly extended, pushing the young man's chest back a few inches. He peered down at you, worrying if he had done something wrong. Your harsh, stern expression had returned to give him one final warning; a threat that was not even close to empty.

"No, you will tell me everything, Timothy," you made a point to change his phrasing. "Or I swear to every god that is out there that I will gut you like a fish."

"It's cute you think you could beat me, but message received."