oh, my baby | tim drake

004 | finding a place to call home

our song | taylor swift

Tim sat cross-legged on Vanessa's childhood bed, flipping through a notebook full of hastily scribbled addresses and rent prices. Vanessa stood near the window, her hand absently resting over the small curve that would soon become a baby bump.

"I think this one's a no," he said, turning the notebook toward her. "Fifteen hundred a month and no laundry? I'm not raising a kid next to a communal washer that eats socks."

Vanessa didn't laugh. Her eyes were distant, distracted.

"Hey," Tim said softly. "Where'd you go just now?"

She glanced back at him. "Just thinking. About how fast everything's moving. Two weeks ago, my biggest worry was passing history. Now I'm trying to decide which apartment won't kill us in our sleep."

Tim smiled despite himself. "The bar is low, but valid."

Vanessa gave him a small smile, and finally walked over, curling up beside him on the bed. "You really want to do this?" she asked. "Move out? Leave the Manor?"

"I don't want to," Tim said honestly. "But I think we have to."

He turned the notebook around and pointed at a circled listing. "This one. It's small, but it's near campus and closer to the clinic Leslie works out of. Two bedrooms, ground floor. Private entrance. Decent security. And a landlord who apparently likes cash under the table."

Vanessa raised an eyebrow. "Cash under the table?"

"I'm just saying—maybe Red Robin helped move a few things along."

Now she laughed. "God, what are we doing?"

Tim leaned his head back against the wall and looked at her. "We're doing what we have to. Because no one's going to do it for us. Bruce means well—I think. But he's not going to be the one waking up at 3 a.m. to change diapers."

Vanessa looked around her old room—at the posters she hadn't taken down in years, the childhood memories taped to her closet, the version of herself who never thought she'd be in this situation.

"Do you think we're ready?" she asked.

"No," Tim answered. "But I think we're brave enough to try."

Silence fell over them. Then Vanessa reached for a pen and underlined the apartment listing.

"Okay," she whispered. "Let's do it."

LATER THAT SAME EVENING,

Tim packed quietly in his room, folding up clothes, gear, and a small photograph of his parents that Alfred had once restored for him.

Vanessa sat on the floor, folding baby clothes that Stephanie had impulsively bought after the ultrasound. Little socks. Onesies. A soft green blanket with frogs.

They weren't moving into a dream. It wasn't a perfect place. But it would be theirs.

Alfred appeared in the doorway, carrying a cardboard box. "Shall I call a car, Master Tim?"

Tim smiled. "No need. I've got it."

Alfred looked at the couple, then placed the box gently on the bed. "You are doing something very difficult. And very brave."

Vanessa stood. "Thank you, Alfred. For always being kind to me."

He gave a rare, genuine smile. "I expect dinner invitations once the nursery is finished."

"You got it."

As they walked down the hallway toward the front door, Vanessa reached for Tim's hand again.

"Scared?" he asked.

"Terrified."

"Same."

But they walked out together anyway—shoulders touching, hearts full of nerves and quiet determination.