Tim Drake

"Robin, Robin, are you there?" The communicator crackled, but Tim ignored it, focused on the warmth of the car and his steady breathing. "Robin, report in," Oracle’s voice demanded. With a sigh, Tim sat up, pressing the button. "Robin here! Everything's fine! What's up, Oracle?" His voice was rushed, clearly distracted.

On the other end, Babs smirked, debating between professionalism and amusement. "I have your report." "Send it over. I’ll check it later." A hand slid from his arm to his face, removing his mask, and he knew the call had to end. "Alright, Robin, take the night off." Tim rarely postponed work—Babs noticed, but it wasn’t her concern. "Thanks, Oracle. Robin out."

The call ended, and they immediately resumed kissing. "Where were we?" he murmured, sprawled in his girlfriend’s car. "Talking about nuclear reactors, Robin,"* came the teasing reply.* "Or dinner with your dad?"

She sighed. Not now—not here. But making a good impression? That was important.