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There are worse places she could be at at two in the morning on a Friday, Stephanie thinks as she watches Bruce stare down at her and Tim, hands on his hips and glaring like he’s channeling the spirit of a Karen during a Black Friday sale.
Crime Alley, she lists in a vain attempt at comfort. Ninth Grade biology class. That one pizza place that skimps on cheese.
Given the hell Bruce is about to put her and her partner-in-crime through, however, she thinks she’d rather take her chances with those places instead of the luxury couch in the Manor.
“Okay.” Bruce breathes in deep and slow, raising one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Okay. One of you, I don’t care who, explain what happened tonight. Now.”
Tim blinks innocently up at him. “Considering the late hour, don’t you think it’d be better to have this conversation in the morning? When the sun is up?” To give us time to come up with an air-tight cover story, he doesn’t say. Stephanie ducks her head to hide her twitching lips.
Bruce raises an eyebrow and aims a flat look at Tim. “Given the fact I just had to bail you two out of jail? Absolutely not.”
Tim is too experienced to visibly frown as he leans back into the cushions, but he glances at her in the corner of his eyes. Stephanie shrugs, just the slightest lurch of her shoulders. It was worth a shot, even if there was no real chance of Bruce taking the bait.
With an exaggerated sigh, Stephanie twists in her seat and flops down, using Tim’s lap as a cushion while she stretches her legs to invade the rest of the couch. “I want it known that if Douglas Berkley had never been born as the biggest asshole in the history of mankind, this never would’ve happened,” Stephanie declares, scowling at the reminder of brown curls and a sneering mouth. She softens, though, when thin fingers carefully run through her curls, twisting strands into tiny braids.
“Tim, you are fantastic husband material,” Stephanie sighs, relishing in the small snort she gains. Bruce pointedly clearing his throat draws her attention back to him.
“Alright, alright. Douglas is my boyfriend. Well, I guess my ex-boyfriend now. And thank god for that,” she reassures when Bruce’s face softens into concern. “Dude was a total jerk in hiding.”
“I would throw him off a building if we didn’t have a no-killing rule,” Tim agrees, nudging her head until she takes the hint and gives him access to the hair on the left side. “The first time I met him I was wearing one of Cass’s shirts, and it was pink and he gave me this look and was like ‘Are you a girl? Why are you wearing a girl’s shirt?’, and I swear to god I almost decked him right then and there.”
“What?” Stephanie snaps her head around to look up at Tim, ignoring the mournful noise he makes when the motion yanks his half-finished braid out of his hand. “When did this happen?”
Tim purses his lips, and then sighs when she stares hard at him. “It was when you went to the register to order food for us,”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve broken it off ages ago!”
“I dunno! I thought it wasn’t that important! I mean, he could’ve been genuinely asking if I was a girl, though personally I would’ve asked a person for their pronouns if I wasn't sure of their gend—”
“Tim,” Stephanie says firmly, waiting until Tim meets her eyes. “You are worth so much more than anyone I will ever date. If you don’t approve of them or if they don’t feel right to you, then I don’t want to date them. You got that?”
Tim searches her eyes for any hint of deceit, and when he finds none he lets a tiny smile loose. “I got it.”
Stephanie grins back, and then twists her head back to Bruce. “Where was I?”
“Douglas Berkley, worst man alive, deserves to die apparently.”
She snaps her fingers. “Oh yeah! Okay so I broke up with him for reasons that I won’t say—”
“It was bad,” Tim solemnly informs Bruce, scowling as he hunts for his half-finished braid.
“—but I figured that the best way to get back at him was to throw a brick through his window.”
Bruce squints at her. “...Like in How I Met Your Mother?”
“Exactly like that, yes.”
Bruce accepts that after a moment, nodding slowly. “That would explain how you ended up in jail—”
“How was I supposed to know his dad’s half brother’s niece was a cop?!”
“—but Tim,” the aforementioned boy jerks his head up at his name, “why were you arrested, too?”
Tim shoots Bruce an offended look. “Steph’s my best friend, Bruce,” he says scathingly, pressing a hand against his chest. “If she needs me to throw a brick in her name, I’m there, because that’s what best friends do. How dare you—”
“I gave him twenty bucks,” Stephanie interrupts, and has a front row seat to watch the light in Bruce’s eyes die a slow death as Tim gives up on the charade, going back to braiding her hair.
“Tim,” Bruce says the same way retail workers say kill me now, “I’m a billionaire. If you wanted twenty bucks why didn’t you just ask me ?”
“‘Cause I got twenty bucks and the chance to hurl a brick. I wanted the experience, you know?”
Bruce eyes the two of them, twitching when they give their most innocent smiles. Shoulders sagging, he lets his head drop, looking like a broken husk of a man. “And what did you two learn from this?”
“When you throw a brick at someone’s window, always look to see if there’s a police car parked nearby,” Tim answers confidently as Stephanie nods in agreement.
“I honestly can’t believe we missed that.”
“Right?"