Title: I thought she liked me Fandom: DCU (Birds of Prey) Pairing: Something like Nightwing/Batgirl, but also Nightwing/Robin Rating: Suitable for adults Summary: A prospective member of the Birds of Prey has to go through a trial period. This is how it goes. Notes: They're not mine. The setting is in the rather indeterminate but not far distant future. Oracle blinks at her latest email, smiles, and starts a trace. Whoever this person is, her application for membership in the Birds of Prey looks pretty promising. Her list of references is impressive, even if her stats are a little on the short and scrawny side. The first trace doesn't come up with anything except a lot of anonymous relays, which is definitely a point in favor of the applicant, except that the Birds don't need another tech whiz. One communication to some of the best minds in the business, and in an hour, max, Oracle will have her data. While she's waiting, she writes back with a lot of hedges, contingencies, and the occasional unenthusiastic maybe. Might as well keep it bland, not encourage her, but there's no reason not to respond. It's not a ringing endorsement, but it's not a flat-out no, either. She sends it, checks the account responsible for the second trace, and hears the chime informing her that she's got mail in the first account. It's a reply to her latest email, with the same anonymity, reading, "When your trace goes through, we'll talk." "Cocky, huh?" Oracle looks over the list of references again. A few cross-references on files, and she has a list of ten names that are known to have worked with each person. It might also be an unknown quantity; she can't trust her data too much. Every file has missing parts. The trace, when it comes through, makes her laugh, check the list of names, and pick up the comm. "Oracle here. I got your email." "Oh, good." "I'll send you interview materials." There's a pause on the other end. She wonders if it's a smiling pause, or not. It's really hard to say. "Excellent. Thank you." "You didn't fill out all the basic identification on the app," Oracle says. "The gender box, for example." "After your alliance with Kord Enterprises, I wasn't sure it was necessary." Oracle smiles. "We haven't been equal opportunity employers, but it may be time to expand our operations slightly." "I would be honored." That's the closest to a smile she's heard since the beginning of the conversation. "We'll discuss this further after your interview. The materials should arrive tomorrow." Oracle turns away from her keyboard and starts looking for the appropriate boxes. "I look forward to it." "Sure you do," Oracle says, grinning to herself. "Right now, anyway. Tomorrow -- we'll discuss it." "Certainly. Robin out." * "When can I change back?" Robin asks Oracle as he dresses in what passes for his lair, via the bird-shaped earrings and choker that carry his new comm system. "I'll let you know." Robin checks the wig in his dingy mirror again. It won't fall off -- the glue will see to that. And it's exactly the right shade of red. As if Oracle would give him anything else. The falsies fill out the suit the way they should, distorting the yellow bat on his chest. It shouldn't feel like more of a target than the huge amount of yellow he usually wears, but it does. The blue is better camouflage than red, certainly, though he misses the weight and darkness of his normal cape. "And you're sure Batgirl's going to be busy in Star City for the rest of the week?" Cass would -- he's not sure. Laugh, maybe. Call Batman, maybe. "Positive. The 'haven needs you, B.G. Get out there. Huntress is over by the docks, getting into trouble." The boots have taken a lot of getting used to, but the heels are sharp enough to do a lot of damage. And the Batcycle was included in the package, so it's not like he has to walk that far in them. "''B G.'?" he asks Oracle. "Would you answer to 'Batgirl'?" He looks at himself in the mirror again. The eye color is wrong, but he has contact lenses. If he's going to play the part, he should definitely play it right. While he looks through his supplies to find the right green, he considers Oracle's question. "It would be a bad habit to get into." "Exactly. B.G. it is. When can you meet up with Huntress?" He blinks, settling the contacts into place, and checks the mirror. Better. "Ten minutes, by bike, or fifteen by line. How urgent is it?" Oracle's laughter is flatter with the voice modulation than it is in person. "Go flying, B.G." * "Huntress, I'm here," Robin says over the comm, just before he drops off a roof onto her fourth and fifth opponent. She takes out the others with a few well-placed kicks and grins at him. "Good one, B.G." "You're all going to call me that?" "Can't call you anything else in that outfit, can we?" Huntress shrugs. "Let's get these goons tied up." "Leave it," Oracle says over the comm. "You have to get back to Aerie One now. We're heading for Gotham immediately." Robin raises an eyebrow at Huntress, who looks stunned and mouths, "I don't know," at him. More hazing, or a real emergency? "We'll pick you up," Oracle says. "Get to the top of the building, now. Fuck the flight plan, Zinda, we have to get there. No one's going to argue." "What's going on?" Huntress asks. "Multiple breakouts at Arkham, and Batman's apparently been abducted. He's not answering any of my attempts at communication." Huntress gives Robin a pitying look, and he shrugs a little. It can't be worse than No Man's Land, and Batman had refused help for too long then. As soon as they get into Gotham airspace, Alfred may turn them back. Or Nightwing, if he's still there. But there's no time to wonder about it when he's scaling a building to get to the top, or climbing a ladder into Aerie One while they're accelerating. It's not until he falls into a seat and feels the weird jiggle on his chest that he realizes he's not dressed for Gotham. He gets up again, wobbling a little on the heels for the first few steps because he's thinking too hard about where to put his feet. He walks over to Oracle, but she's typing at some metahuman pace, and is too absorbed in her files to notice him. He can change when the crisis is past. It's not like there's a shortage of Robin suits in Gotham. * "The Riddler's going to be deaf for the next week," Black Canary says over the comm, "but he's down. And he hasn't got Batman." Robin subvocalizes, "Great. Two more to go." "One," says Huntress over the comm, breathlessly. "The Mad Hatter's out of commission. And he hasn't got Batman either." Robin tightens his fingers on the edge of the roof where he's sitting overlooking the Hilarity Headquarters, a company that manufactures all sorts of gags. "Then it's got to be the Joker. And he's here." "Don't go in there alone," Oracle and Nightwing say over the comm, overlapping each other. "You can't help, Nightwing," Robin says, standing up to his almost-familiar augmented height and not even wobbling. "It's going to be a hell of a fight, and you're not fully healed yet." "B. -- Robin's right," Oracle says firmly. "Stay where you are, Nightwing." "You can't send him in alone," Nightwing protests. "I'll be there in five," Black Canary says, and Robin takes a deep breath that makes his costume shift strangely. He's not used to having a bosom to heave. "I can wait, Canary. Thanks." * The Arkhamites have come up with some weird ways to kill people over the years, but Robin suspects that "buried in whoopee cushions" is among the more ludicrous. But the Joker straps down Batman at the end of a conveyor belt making the things at triple speed, and they fall with sophomoric noises until it's almost enough to cut off breathing. A good Canary cry takes out the goons and the lunatic in one fell swoop. Handy to have it on the team, really. Batman's ears were sort of protected by the whoopee cushions, but he's still speaking more loudly than usual when he says, "Robin. Thank you." Not a moment's hesitation, damn it. Robin wonders what the flaw in the costume is. He helps Batman up, and Batman gives him a little shoulder squeeze that could mean anything from "I really miss Barbara" to "I'm tired." "Going back to the 'haven tonight?" Batman asks, still too loudly. It's an exhausting thought, and while Aerie One has nice bunks, there are lots of empty, wide, stationary beds in Gotham. Surely he's earned one for a while. "Tomorrow night. I -- I need some rest." Between the Birds' training and the problems with the Arkhamites, he hasn't gotten any sleep in three days. When he realizes how many hours it's been, he can feel the adrenaline fall out of his system. He yawns. "We'll find you a place to sleep," Batman says, and he's losing the command voice. That was almost Bruce Wayne. Or Robin's falling asleep. Definitely falling asleep. But Batman will catch him. * When Robin wakes up again, he's still wearing the Batgirl costume, except someone took off his boots at some point. The sun is out behind the blinds, and he's definitely in one of the guest rooms in Wayne Manor. There's nowhere else with portraits quite that forbidding on the walls of places one allows guests. He sits up in the bed and pushes his cowl back, taking the wig off. It needs to be brushed pretty badly. He could just leave it off, but that might mess up the whole initiation process. Besides, Bruce knows. How much more embarrassing can it get than that? Alfred left a full set of toiletries on the dresser, anyway. Everything from a razor -- which Robin puts to good use -- to eyelash curlers. He'll have to ask Oracle about those, but he didn't notice the effects in any old Batgirl pictures. The hairbrush works just as well on the wig as on his hair. He doesn't have to put it back on. But his eyes are still green, and no one brought him anything else to wear. Without the wig, the Batgirl suit looks a little off. He sighs and puts it back on, pulling up the cowl. Then he puts the boots on, wincing a little as he resettles into the tilt of the heels. They sound strange on the wood floors, and echoing in the bathroom where he goes to take a shower. Alfred's been there, too, with the right shade of lipstick. Sometimes having a valet is scary. The boots' heels clack strangely on the tile in the kitchen. Alfred isn't there, but Dick is. He hasn't been fully briefed, from the way he stands up, all lightning reflexes and wide, shocked eyes. "What the -- Tim?" Right, he's not exactly Robin at the moment. Tim smiles at him -- that Batgirl smile, brightened by the lipstick, easy enough to fake -- and waves. "Hi." Dick stares at him. "Hi, yourself. Why are you wearing that?" Tim shrugs. "When the Oracle speaks, it's a good idea to listen. Do you think Alfred would mind if I made sandwiches?" "You're working with Babs? In that uniform?" Tim's stomach growls. Emergency rations are all very well, but he wants some of Alfred's chicken. "Yes. Where else would I get one? Anyway, I could really use some protein." He opens the refrigerator. "What do you think I can get away with?" Dick stands up and comes over to look. Well, not to look. To touch. To touch Tim's cheek, apparently, and his wig. "You look amazing." This is going to be really interesting to analyze when he's not listening to his stomach lining digesting itself. "I had help from the best. Those chicken breasts look perfect." He takes out the tupperware and gets halfway to the table before Dick hugs him. Hug isn't the right word. More like 'crushes him against his broad chest and kisses him until he can no longer breathe, but struggles for air.' Hug sounds a lot more neutral and probably wouldn't make Tim hard. He's practiced blocking that response around Dick for years. "Dick," he says, when Dick pauses for breath. "Wait." Dick's eyes are darker than normal, and he's definitely breathing hard. "Why?" It would be too easy to lie, if it wasn't Dick, and say, 'Because I don't want this.' Or 'Because this is too weird.' Too weird is for people who haven't spent years wearing someone else's identity. "We're in the kitchen," Tim says, listening to his pulse race. "This isn't the best place." And it's not exactly the best idea in the world, but it's Dick. It's been too long since he saw Dick really smile. If this works, it's worth the weirdness of doing it in the Batgirl suit. "Oh." Dick lets him go and backs off. Tim's going to have a talk with Oracle about reinforcing the crotch of the Batgirl suit to deal with this sort of problem. No, he really isn't. "Also I'm starving." He waggles the tupperware at Dick. "Give me five minutes to eat." Dick's eyes narrow. He may be injured, but it hasn't changed his instincts, and it definitely hasn't changed his trained reactions. It doesn't take a lot of detective work to figure out that Tim's going to be easy to convince, as long as he's got food, and Dick works it out immediately. Batman would be proud. "Three minutes. No. Eat on the way." He takes Tim's free hand and starts walking. Tim pops open the tupperware onehanded, tucks it into the crook of his elbow, and starts eating the chicken. Alfred makes poultry taste like heaven. Also he's ravenous. He could practically orgasm from the flavor, except not really. "Where are we going?" he asks Dick. He could pull his hand free, but there doesn't seem to be any point. He could take Dick down, if this is some villainous influence -- especially with his injuries, at the moment -- but -- "My room," Dick says, and starts up the stairs. "Okay," Tim says with his mouth full of the last of the chicken. The tupperware slips out of his arm and he leaves it, because Dick's walking faster. Alfred would know it was missing anyway. He may as well find it in the hallway as anywhere else. Dick opens the door to his room and gives Tim a push inside. "Batgirl, huh?" "It was Barbara's idea," Tim says, and Dick kisses him again, hard and hungry. Dick's touching his wig, his falsies, and the padding Black Canary had insisted on for his hips. "It's just right. You're beautiful." Tim snorts. "You think blue is my color?" "Definitely," Dick says in his ear, and tugs him down onto the bed before kissing him again. "You should keep this look, B.G." He can't have overheard, or he'd have known, before, and he didn't know, so Tim's not sure where that one came from. "I --" he says, and then Dick nibbles on his ear and he loses the rest of the sentence. "Gorgeous," Dick says, and Tim's getting dizzy. Breakfast hasn't kicked in yet, and Dick seems to half-remember that playing with falsies is no good for the person wearing them, enough of the time that he's stroking Tim's cock about as much as his not-exactly-breasts. It's getting pretty uncomfortable, really. "Let me get undressed," Tim says in a rush when Dick gives him a chance. Dick's unfocused, or hyperfocused. "Why, Batgirl?" He tangles his fingers in the red wig and kisses Tim again. It's sweet and fast and slick, and it makes Tim groan. "The suit's not comfortable," he tries to say, when Dick breaks the kiss again, but he gets the first two words out before Dick starts nuzzling his neck. "Will you take your pants off?" Dick asks, nibbling his neck until Tim's sure he's going to need a turtleneck under the suit. "Please, B.G.?" "I have to take the boots off, first," Tim says, and tries to push Dick off so he can sit up and do that. Dick takes the opportunity to bite his ear again and say, "You're all flushed. Are you okay?" Apart from being weirded out and pretty seriously molested? Tim doesn't say. He says, "I'm fine. I just --" there goes one boot, and the other. "I think we should get naked." Dick pauses. "Are you sure?" That wasn't a Batgirl thing to say, and that was exactly what Tim was afraid of. Tim pushes the cowl back. "Yeah, I am." "We don't have to do anything," Dick says, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt and pretty significantly not looking at Tim at all. Tim bites his own lip hard and lets the pain clear his head a little. "If you're only interested in 'Batgirl,' maybe you should call her. And I should go." He gets up. Dick grabs his wrist. He's serious again, but it's the kind of serious that goes with jumping off of buildings into gunfire. "I'm interested in you, like this. Sit down." Tim sits down, trying to figure out where the next move is coming from. Dick might be talking himself into something sincerely stupid. It wouldn't be the first time. And Dick kisses him again, slower this time, one arm around Tim's shoulders and the other undoing his belt and pushing down his leggings. "Oh. Well," Tim says, and buries his face in Dick's shoulder for a second, letting himself believe it. If it's not just the wig, the padding, and the Batgirl mystique, he can take a little bit of it for himself. Except Dick isn't going to let him relax into it. He says, "It really does look good on you," and Tim has to laugh. "You'd probably flirt with a mannequin in this outfit." Dick has the grace to look chagrined, which makes him look completely kissable. After a minute, Dick breaks it off and says, "Well, maybe, but only until I figured out what was going on." "A couple of hours, then?" Tim says, and Dick tousles his hair. Wig. Right off. "You're going to pay for that one," Dick says, and starts tickling his sides, up under the tunic. Tim pushes him away and Dick tries harder, ends up sitting on him and then they're kissing again and Tim can't stop laughing. "You really would." Dick swats him in the shoulder. "I really wouldn't." He sits back and starts unbuttoning his shirt. "And this really isn't just about the suit." Tim raises an eyebrow. "Of course it's not." "We don't have to do anything." Dick folds his arms and tries to look serious and elder-brotherly like he's not straddling Tim's chest and flushed. "You can go have dinner." "I already ate." Tim tucks his hands under Dick's shirt and strokes his stomach, feeling the lines of scars and the underlying contours of muscles. "And if it's not about someone else, why would I want to leave?" Dick's grin is small and crooked and would work better under the Nightwing mask. Without the domino, his eyes look too naked to be that hurt. "You can stay if you want." There's at least three hours worth of discussion there that Tim doesn't want to have, so he unbuttons Dick's pants and starts to stroke him as a distraction. "Great. I think I will." That makes Dick close his eyes, and he says, "God, Tim." Which is better than 'Batgirl' by a long shot. "I still think this would be easier naked," Tim says. He can hear his voice shaking a little. Dick doesn't seem to mind. He traces the outline of the yellow bat with his fingertips, which would tickle if it weren't over kevlar and fake breasts. "Sounds good," he says after a moment, and reaches up to pull his shirt off. Tim hasn't gotten a good look at his shoulder yet, but the places where Dick hesitates in taking off his shirt are really telling. It's got to be some serious damage if it's slowing him down this much, but Dick grins as performer-bright as ever when he's done. "Your turn." Tim wrinkles his nose. "Get off me for a minute." "Aw." Dick makes a face and Tim pokes him in the thigh. He moves, and Tim sits up. "The worst thing about this," Tim says, peeling off the tunic, "is how weird it looks in between." "You think so?" Dick runs a hand up his side, over the bra, and tousles Tim's hair. "I was just thinking lipstick was a good look on you." Tim blinks and puts his hand on Dick's shoulder. Without the Batgirl suit, without the wig, there's not a hell of a lot of illusion left, but he may as well use whatever he's got. "You think so?" Dick's smile goes a little vague. "Yeah. It's -- the right color." Which confirms Tim's hypothesis, and Dick kisses him again. "The right color," Tim says when they come up for air. "For --" "You," Dick says, and unhooks his bra for him. It's completely uncomfortable in between, so Tim takes it off and sets the false breasts on the nightstand. And the earrings, and the necklace, which he's not going to need. If things get too hairy, Oracle can find Batman, and it's really time to not think that all the way through to its logical conclusion. "For me. Okay." Dick messes up his hair even worse than it was before. "I know -- knew -- Batgirl. And you're not her." "Right." Tim ducks out from under his hand. "I don't think I could be good enough to fool you." "Not in the ways that matter, anyway," Dick says, and kisses him again. This is going to be a fascinating conversation, when Tim gets the stomach for it. Not right now. Maybe not even tomorrow. But just in case Dick has any ideas about talking anymore, Tim gropes him. "You feel so good," Dick says. And just like that, he's vulnerable in ways Tim avoids all the time, but especially when he's naked. Tim's not sure he can respond in kind to this kind of thing, even though it's cliché and not that big a deal. Best to distract Dick away from that, for now, anyway. "I -- get up for a minute." Dick's eyes are hazed, but his balance is as perfect as ever. When he's up, he gets it immediately and shucks his pants before he gets back into bed and starts kissing Tim again. If he's going to do it much longer, Tim's going to have to figure out how to not want it this often. Or maybe he'll just have to start wearing lipstick. Lipstick. Right. There's an idea somewhere in there. Dick's whispered, "God, Tim," isn't helping. Eventually the neurons fire, though, and Tim disentangles. "Hang on." "To what?" Dick watches him curiously. Tim tries for a Batgirl voice, one hand on his hip. "You ruined my makeup." That's enough to distract Dick into laughing, which gives Tim plenty of time to find the Batgirl utility belt and the lipstick. There's a mirror over the dresser, and tissues to blot -- perfect. "Okay." Dick's may be fascinated by the process, but he's not getting it. "Okay -- what? It looks better, but it's not going to last." Tim sits on the end of the bed. "That's not actually the point." "Oh? Then --" Dick breaks off when Tim puts a hand on his thigh. "Oh." "You're --" Tim shakes his head, not sure what Batgirl would say. He settles for wrapping his hand around Dick's cock and stroking, then licking the head lightly. Dick gasps. "That's -- that's nice." Tim grins up at him, not really feeling it yet, but willing to try it on. "I'm probably going to wreck my lipstick." "Pr-- probably?" "Unless I'm careful." Not that he's sure how to avoid smudging. Dick shakes his head and reaches down to run his fingers over Tim's cheek. "Don't be careful." That's definitely something for the conversation they're not going to have right now. Tim takes a breath and licks him again before work his way down, leaving bright lipstick prints everywhere he can reach. It makes Dick writhe impressively. "That's -- god, yes." He tangles a hand in Tim's hair, and -- maybe some other time it can be Tim, choking for breath until he wants to pull away. Now it's Batgirl's lipstick, and she'd push Dick's hand away in a heartbeat. So Tim does. It makes Dick sit up a little to look at him. "Sorry. Sorry." Tim shrugs and sucks harder, making the last "Sorry" into a groan. There's only so much he can take -- more practice is definitely in order, after that discussion -- but he can do this, a hand on the base of Dick's cock, teasing him in a steady rhythm. Dick shivers and says, "Tim -- I -- I'm gonna --" Possibly Tim should get a bracelet that says, "What would Batgirl do?" Except there are two wildly divergent answers to that. He goes for the classic, the one that makes him hold on and choke a little and makes his lipstick even worse off than it was before. "Oh, Tim," Dick says when he's verbal again. "Kiss me?" Batgirl's immediate reaction to that would definitely not be to want a toothbrush. So Tim sits on his chest and kisses him Dick starts laughing in the middle and flips them over with one of those moves that requires grace, skill, strength, dexterity, and a thoroughly distracted opponent. Tim lands on his back and now it's easy and natural to grin up at Dick. "I don't have any lipstick left, do I?" Dick says, "I'm not sure. Let me check." Which is the most obvious excuse for kissing someone Tim has ever heard, but with Dick nibbling his bottom lip and exploring his mouth with painstaking thoroughness, it's really nothing to complain about. Just Dick's sense of humor, after all, and if he couldn't take that, he wouldn't even be here. And what else wouldn't have happened? Nothing he's going to think about, right now, so he runs his hands down Dick's back. "God, you feel good," he says, deliberately quoting. It makes Dick grin. "You really don't do sweet nothings, do you?" Tim snorts. "Not well." "We'll have to get by without them." Dick strokes him, once tentatively, then with a surer movement. Tim wants to be patient, to watch both Dick's concentration and the way his muscles shift. It's not going to happen. Another stroke and he has to close his eyes. "I can't --" he says, and it would be very -- unBatgirl to just give up this easily, but it would feel so damn good. "It's okay," Dick says. Another one of those kisses that Tim could just drown in, before Dick moves down and licks his nipple. Every time Tim decides all this feels perfect, it gets better. Especially when Dick licks a wet, hot line up the underside of his cock. That, he has to watch, or it won't be real. But it's real, it's Dick, looking as focused and blissed out as Tim's ever seen him. Focused on Tim. On doing just the right thing, at the right moment, and Dick's lips are so red from all that kissing, even before he grins at Tim and sucks him. Tim is absolutely positive that nobody could watch and feel that and not lose it. "I'm gonna --" is what he manages to say, incoherent and probably too late. Dick doesn't even react. Tim covers his mouth with one hand to stop himself from screaming or saying something completely, utterly inappropriate. He greys out for a little while, able to watch, but not move an inch. Dick takes advantage of his incapacitation to wipe this mouth on the back of his hand, then lie down next to Tim and begin what feels like a concerted campaign of snuggling. When Tim can move again, he's in Dick's arms, and it doesn't feel like it's worth any amount of effort to get up and go anywhere. "Thanks," he says, and he sounds too faint for Robin, too sleepy for Batgirl. So it has to be Tim. "Thank you," Dick says, and kisses his cheek. "I'm falling asleep," Tim says, trying to express both chagrin and a complete lack of willingness to move. "So am I," Dick says, and reaches for the light. "Well -- there will be places to go in a few hours." Tim sighs. "Right." He wants to say something else, about how it's probably a better idea to get up and move to separate beds, separate rooms, maybe separate cities. But that's part of the long discussion, and it's not going to happen before he falls asleep. * There's a beeping noise that wakes Tim up. It takes a few seconds to place the sound. "Oh." He reaches for the earrings and necklace on the nightstand. "Oracle. Um. Batgirl here." Dick buries his face deeper in the back of Tim's neck with a sigh. Oracle says, "Not anymore, you're not." Tim can feel the cold sweat on his back, even though Dick's still hugging him. "What?" She knows. Of course she knows. "You don't need to wear the suit any more. The initiation's over." Oracle's voice is perfectly calm. Is it just the computers? "Are you firing me?" Tim asks. His throat's dry. "Not at all. You did well as Batgirl, but that phase is over." The juxtaposition of Oracle talking in one ear and Dick sighing in the other is intriguing, to say the least. "When you get back to Aerie One, we can talk about what uniform you want to wear." Tim leans on Dick a little, testing to make sure he's not just dreaming this. Dick gives him a sleepy squeeze. It seems real enough. "Got it, Oracle." "When you're ready," and she's definitely laughing. He's going to have to get the whole story on this, but -- not with Dick nuzzling his ear. "I'll be there. B -- Robin out." Tim closes the channel and puts the communicators back on the table. "What's up?" Dick asks, his voice thick with sleep. "Barbara says, um --" Dick holds perfectly still for a second, then starts breathing shallowly. "Barbara. Oh --" Tim tries to interrupt Dick's fight-or-flight response. "No, it's okay." "Does she know?" Tim shrugs. "She's Oracle." "Right." Dick squeezes him. "Well. And she's not too mad to talk to you." "Doesn't sound it, no." "Good." He takes a deep breath. "So what did she have to say?" Tim smiles a Batgirl smile, wondering how long it will take before he stops feeling like he's using other people's expressions. "Apparently I got the job."
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