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Tim lockpicked his way into Mr. Doe’s apartment and was rewarded with an empty can of green beans thrown at his torso.
“Knock before you enter!” Mr. Doe barked.
“You gave me a key,” Tim huffed in exasperation as he made his way to the kitchen where Mr. Doe was reheating leftovers.
“And you never use it,” he groused. “You either break in or go through the fireplace.”
“Do you want the Bats to find a random house key in my bag that doesn’t fit the Drake manor locks?” Tim asked with a raised eyebrow.
“It’s the principle of the matter,” he muttered. “Why are you here anyways? You haven't gone to camp on the weekends ever since Bats took you in.”
“Bruce needed to be distracted, so I asked him permission to go to the safe haven for the day. I also didn’t have a full day when we rescued Isabel, plus I didn’t go yesterday; I’m behind on work,” Tim shrugged.
“You still haven’t told me why Chrion gave you yesterday off,” Mr. Doe pointed out.
“I may have blinded fifteen cyclopes when I rescued Isabel,” Tim winced. Mr. Doe paled at the number and a shuddering breath escaped him.
“Right. Of course you did. What else happened?” Tim told Mr. Doe about rescuing Isabel, and the possible trouble he was in at camp for entering Gotham. Tim left out Mr. D’s entire tirade about Gotham demigods, feeling like even talking about it was an unwelcome intrusion into Mr. Doe’s past. Tim bulldozed past the unsaid topic to talk about Jason solving the case and the discussions that followed. Mr. Doe snorted with amusement when Tim said Alfred wanted to give Mr. D some kind of care package.
“That’ll be tricky,” Mr. Doe snorted. “What do you gift a god? I would love to see the director’s reaction if he ever found out a Gothamite gave him a genuine present.” His lighthearted smile fell for a bit as the old satyr visibly steeled himself before speaking again.
“Thank you for saving Isabel, Tim. She would have died without your help. You have shown time and time again that you only want the best for people…I won’t be here forever; I’m getting old, Tim. I’m the last satyr in Gotham and when I die, there won’t be another one for at least another hundred years. If you’re willing, I would like you to be my successor.” Tim pursed his lips. He couldn’t imagine a life without Mr. Doe; the thought of the old goat dying never even crossed his mind. Despite lump in his throat, he nodded. Mr. Doe smiled sadly at Tim’s nod, obviously reluctant to put such a large burden on the young boy.
“Thank you. I’ll tell you the basics and then I can show you the ropes tomorrow. First things first: I know this may come as a surprise to you, but my name isn’t Johnathan Doe. My real name is Florian Bousquet and I’m sorry for lying to you all these years.” Tim couldn’t help but smile at the admission.
“You sure had me fooled with a name like John Doe,” Tim snorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Hush, it’s funny to tell mortals my fake name and they have no choice but to deal with it. That also wasn’t the only lie. I may be the only satyr in Gotham, but I’m not the only nature spirit; there are nymphs in Gotham as well.” Tim’s eyes widened at the new information, and he began to vibrate with curiosity.
“Wait, really? Are they different from non-Gotham nymphs? How come I haven’t noticed them before? Do they bleach their skin to match human skin tones, kind of like how you sawed off your horns? Do they—” Tim clamped his mouth shut with a click as Florian started to laugh at his avalanche of questions.
“I’ll get there, I’ll get there,” he laughed. “Gotham nymphs are different than non-Gotham nymphs. Like me, they have some sort of congenital physical impairment. There are also a few more differences from non-Gotham nymphs; because of the high pollution, it’s bad for their health to stay in a tree or whatever piece of nature they’re tied to for long periods of time. They also look more human because of it—you might notice a bit of green or blue undertone on their skin, but other than that it’s difficult to pick them out of a crowd.” Tim nodded, taking in the information and slotting it into his world view.
“Oh my gods,” he realized. “That’s why the dock and land management jobs are more woman dominated in Gotham compared to every other city—WAIT—” Another realization hit Tim as he thought back to the staff that managed Wayne manor. “The woman who landscapes Wayne manor’s grounds is part of the family that maintained it for like three generations. Is she a nymph?” Mr. Doe cackled at Tim’s question.
“Yep! A nymph has been working right under your nose! She’s been working with the Waynes for decades and fakes her retirement every so often. She’s been dying to meet you properly ever since you moved in,” he grinned. Tim grinned back despite the anxiety in his gut. Tim had several ideas on why Florian hadn’t initially introduced him to her. Despite what Florian may say, he was probably worried Tim would turn on Gotham, just like Ivy and Scarecrow did. Tim didn’t blame Florian for it. Tim will eventually turn, it was just a matter of when. And until then, Tim vowed to do as much good in the world as he could. He just hoped his future self wouldn’t go after the nymphs or Florian. He tore himself away from those dark thoughts, determined to focus on the people he’s charged with protecting.
“What’s her disability? I didn’t see a limb difference or anything that visibly jumped out,” Tim frowned, trying to recall the woman. The only thing that came to mind was Alfred’s glowing reviews of her work with flower arrangements.
“Oh, she’s deaf. She’ll be delighted to have a new person to sign in ancient Greek with.” Tim nodded.
“How many nymphs are in Gotham?”
“Sixty-two.” Tim raised his eyebrows at the number.
“That’s a lot more than I thought it would be. I thought there would be twenty at most.”
“There used to be about two hundred in the 1800s, but the Gotham fire got to a lot of them,” Florian cleared his throat awkwardly. “During the initial development of Gotham, nymphs here were able to put up a heck of a fight and were able to protect a good portion of important land. Other city nymphs don’t leave their homes as much and were unable to protect a lot of old growth because of it.” Tim hummed in acknowledgement.
“So, am I just going to introduce myself? Wait, but you said…” Tim floundered for a moment, trying to recall her name. “Emma already knew about me. Do they know about both Alvin and me?”
“I act as a mediator between nymphs because they consider me impartial. You’ll never believe how many disagreements naiads get into over downstream pollution. Eventually, I want you to mediate as well, but for now you’ll get to know them. Tomorrow we’ll go together to introduce you to everyone, and then once a week I want you to spend at least one hour with a nymph. I’ll tag along the first few times, but eventually you can go by yourself. As for the identity thing, all the nymphs know both your faces, but I haven’t given them a name. I suggest going by Alvin and using that face when you’re with them, but that’s purely for Bat reasons.”
Tim nodded, mentally slotting the responsibilities into schedule. “I’ll make an excuse with Bruce to be free tomorrow; probably a study group thing with friends.” He turned towards the fireplace, about to step in, but Florian started to hop quickly to his bedroom.
“Wait, Lucia gave me Isabel’s favorite stuffed animal.” He went in and soon reemerged, holding a well-loved stuffed red dragon. Tim took it into his hands, cradling it gently and trying to avoid touching the sides where the fabric was practically threadbare.
“Do you think we can set up meetings between them?” Tim hesitantly asked. “I know Isabel can’t enter Gotham again, but maybe they can spend the day together once a week in Bludhaven or something.”
“I don’t know,” Florian sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “The mortal police could get involved and think we’re holding Isabel somewhere.”
“I could run letters back and forth?” Tim suggested. “Establish a drop off point for Lucia’s letters, and drop Isabel’s letters in her mailbox. I could even take a few photos of Isabel so that Lucia would know she’s okay.” Florian was silent for a solid minute before he spoke.
“Maybe,” he conceded. Tim nodded and stepped into the fireplace, trying to reassure himself that he made the correct choices. It didn’t work as well as he hoped, the hidden white streak in his hair feeling like a condemning brand against his forehead. He could only hope the people he loves died before he turns against them, if only so they wouldn’t fall victim to his hands. The comforting smell of woodsmoke reminded him that he hadn't fallen off the deep end yet, and at least one goddess thought he deserved to be loved.