Title: Will you be me when I'm gone? Fandom: DCU (Robin, Nightwing) Rating: Blindfolded trainsurfing and sex Pairing: Steph/Tim Summary: Steph goes to the 'haven seeking advice on how to deal with Batman from Nightwing, who is either the best possible or worst possible source of that form of assistance. Notes: Takes place before the series of unfortunate events in Nightwing, as I was not sure when they occurred. This is some time in the handwavy "Months pass" in Robin when Tim isn't Robin. When DC gives me chronology hash, I'll make mashed potatoes. Disclaimer: They are not mine. For the reader disinterested in het smut: The first section before the divider is gen. Thanks to Zee, Jori, Derry, JamJar, and Sivi for copious amounts of handholding. She's used to eggplant being a good camouflage color, but it's amazing what black and just a touch of blue can do in the neon-streaked shadows of the 'haven. She doesn't even see him until he touches her shoulder. "What are you doing here, Spoiler?" She grins, then remembers, right, cowl, of course he can't see. The Robin suit is, at least, more expressive than this one. Tim should get a full face -- no. No, he really shouldn't. And she shouldn't, either. "Looking for you," she says to Nightwing. He has to have learned that scowl from Batman. "Why?" "Did Batman ever ask too much of you? Like you're doing everything just fine, and you know you're good enough, and you can do everything you need to, but he's just not happy?" That softens his scowl into a rueful smirk. "When did he ever stop asking too much of me, is the real question. You've been training with Batman again?" "Yeah." He grimaces. "With -- Robin -- gone?" Steph wishes she could run her hand through her hair. It's hard having new nervous habits and an old costume. "I'm kinda working towards taking over. Actually. If I get good enough for him." That gets her another look. "Yeah?" "I've been working with Batman -- and with, um -- the last Robin -- and training for years. And he must think I'm okay or he would have said something, right? Except he never did and I don't know what he wants from me." Steph bites her lip. He's not her confidant. But he does know Batman better than she ever wants to. Nightwing shifts on his feet. He doesn't have the Bat zen of perfect stillness down either. It makes Steph feel a little better, because he's had a lot of practice. But Nightwing's heading for the edge of the roof. "Come on, kid, this is no place to talk." And he's off the building in what she's learning from Batman is a really ridiculously inefficient flip. She follows, feeling the air differently with this mask than she's getting used to with just the domino. They stop on the roof of some building. She has no idea where she is, but he looks completely at home.  "Wait here a sec." If he disappears, she's going to have to call Oracle to figure out how to get home. And that would be really, really embarrassing. "Where are you going?" He grins at her, and -- damn, he's pretty. "I'll be back in five." Steph wrinkles her nose, remembers the cowl, and sighs. "Okay." It'll be time to work on her Bat zen, if nothing else. She's into the third yoga stance before Nightwing comes back, and she only spots him because he has a white box under his arm. "What's that?" He hands it to her with that dazzling grin, and she peeks. "Oh. Oh, wow." The R is less stylized than she's used to, and the cape -- she pulls it out -- has no black. And those aren't leggings. Nightwing's rocking back and forth again. "Have you gotten to wear one yet?" Now she's glad she's got the cowl on, because she's definitely blushing. "I made one. Not like this. But -- not outside the cave." "He doesn't think you're ready?" She shrugs. "Not yet." "Put it on, and we'll see if you are." Steph pulls her cowl up to give him a really good double-barreled eyebrow raise. Secret identities are overrated. "What, here?" He reaches -- somewhere -- and pulls out a strip of black fabric that he ties around his eyes. "I'm not looking. And no one else is around to see." She makes a face at him, then flips him off, but he doesn't respond. Maybe he's really not looking. "Okay. But -- wait, how is this going to fit? You don't have, um, breasts." Nightwing laughs. "I put the panels in. You should be fine." "Panels?" She pulls her cape around herself and strips out of her leggings. "Yeah. Sometimes I had to go undercover. So it's strategically expandable. It'll fit." Nightwing undercover with breasts is a really interesting mental image. Particularly when she's pulling on his -- briefs? shorts? panties? The reinforcement is definitely not for a girl, but for a few hours, it won't kill her. The boots aren't quite the right size, but they tighten down well enough. She wonders whose whacked-out idea it was to put wings on the boots. She checks that his blindfold is in place before pulling off the Spoiler tunic and slipping on the green, then the bright red one. The suit fits way, way better than it should. Those white lenses must be really good for staring at girls' chests. "Okay, I'm decent," she says, which is sort of an exaggeration. She may as well be wearing a swimsuit for all the coverage she's got. "Don't forget the cape, and the gauntlets. And the mask." Nightwing does a handstand. Maybe he's bored, waiting for her. And if he gets too bored, maybe the deal will be off. Steph pulls on the cape, seals the mask on, and fastens the utility belt. "Okay. Take a look and tell me if I got anything backward?" She puts her hands on her hips, trying out the stretch. Not bad at all. Nightwing undoes his blindfold and looks her over. "It looks fine." He walks around her, flips her cape up -- his cape? whatever -- and gives her another one of those grins. Batman must have paid a fortune for his orthodontics, back in the day. "Fits you great." The briefs definitely don't, but she's not going to complain about that. Now that she can make faces at him, she grins back. "Thanks." "Put your other suit in the box," he says, and helps her fold it up. "I'll put it where this came from." Steph stretches her legs and feels bare. "Where are we going?" "Tell you in a minute." He grabs the box and flips off the roof. She takes the opportunity to get used to the new -- old -- suit and the way it feels. The gauntlets are maybe a little loose, but she can compensate. She tries walking a little ways on her hands. And then he's back. "You could use some work on your form." She pushes off and lands on her feet. "You could give me some pointers." "Not right now. We've got a train to catch." Does he mean back to Gotham? Either way, she still doesn't know where she is, so she's got to follow him. Fortunately, his flips and tucks and twirls slow him down enough that she can keep up without much trouble until they reach the open air train station. It's covered with graffiti -- like everything is in Gotham, too. But it feels gritty and different in ways she can't define. Also she misses her eggplant suit like crazy; how anyone ever survived wearing blood-red and sun-yellow is mind-boggling. "Where are we going?" she asks. "Oh, just around the city. Here comes the train. Get ready, it's an express, and it's not stopping here." She really wants to stare at him and ask if he's completely nuts, but she hasn't got the time. She crouches, gets ready, and springs just when he does. The movement of the train -- there, she catches herself just fine. "What the hell?" she asks. The guy should really have been a movie star, not a vigilante. The teen world would have died for that smile. He's already standing up, perfectly balanced, and she can see the shifting muscles in his oh-so-toned legs. "It's a training exercise." "Right. Like everything else." "Of course." He stands on one foot, and now she really can stare at him. How is he not dead? The obvious answer is, because he's just that good. And if she wants to be that good, she has to get up and stand on one foot next to him. She's a little wobbly, but the wind isn't too bad. Not with the mask lenses. "Okay. I can handle this." Nightwing laughs. "Yeah? When I did this with -- with the last Robin -- and when Batman did it it with me -- we were blindfolded." Cold sweat is much more noticeable when there's wind whipping it off the back of your neck. "Oh." Steph bites her lip. But this is training, which means it's a test. And she's wearing the Robin suit. "Do you have an extra?" He hands her a strip of black and ties one on himself, not waiting to see whether she does it. Steph's common sense says that now would be a good time to get away while the crazy man can't see her go. And then she wouldn't deserve the suit she's wearing, not even for a second. She takes a deep breath -- ow, not the best idea in this suit, however expanded it is -- and puts on the blindfold. "Okay," she says, and finds her balance again. On two feet. It's hard enough. Nightwing puts his hand on her shoulder. "Are you steady?" Funny how he's talking more loudly, now, as if she put the blindfold over her ears. The train's clattering isn't getting any louder. "I'm okay." "Batman hasn't done this with you yet?" he asks, and she can feel a lump rise in her throat. This is a traditional Bat-training thing she's never even heard about, apparently. Batman made Nightwing do it, and Nightwing made Tim do it. And she's not part of the tradition, yet, so she's not part of the Bat thing. "No. He hasn't done almost anything with me yet except make me do ten zillion push-ups and crunches." She didn't mean to sound that bitter, but it's still weird. She was in really good shape before she started trying to be Robin, and there are so many things Tim could -- can -- do that she hasn't even started to learn yet. Nightwing squeezes her shoulder. "You have to start with the simple things," he says, and he sounds sympathetic. It's been a long time since anyone gave a shit what Steph felt, with Tim away and Mom not paying attention. And yeah, she came looking for it, but she didn't expect it from some guy who's spent a lot of years with Batman. It's touching, and she leans into his hand. Which makes him move it down a little, to her lower back. Right, he probably thought she was overbalancing. "It makes me think he's never going to let me get past the basics," she says, and she doesn't, doesn't want to sound whiny. "The train's slowing," he says, sharp and worried. "Bend your knees a little more." "Are we getting off?" "Not here." He leans closer, which, well, the train's slowing, and they can't really yell now. His voice in her ear makes her shiver, even though all he says is, "We're going to go down to the docks, and switch trains." "With the blindfolds?" Oh, man, she did not just squeak. "I'll talk you through it." He's rubbing little circles on her back now. Comforting, maybe, if he wasn't talking about certain death. She shivers again, and he presses a little harder. "You do this a lot?" "Enough. It'll be all right, Robin." So she must not have squeaked, or she wouldn't have gotten that out of him. "Yeah? Okay. If you say so." He chuckles, low and soft in her ear. Steph's toes curl in the boots. "If that's how you take orders, no wonder Batman won't let you out of the cave." "What am I supposed to say, 'Sir yes sir'?" If she does fake-gruff, maybe he won't notice that she's breathing a little funny. The train's starting again, but with his hand on the small of her back -- or, well, that's pretty much just her ass -- it's a little easier to balance than it was before. The jerks of the train as it starts make her push against him erratically, and -- that was definitely a squeeze. "That could work," Nightwing says, and he's talking a little louder now, but still in her ear. "Is that what you said to him?" "No. I don't know if he'd have bought it. Too many years of being a pushy kid. If I tried, he would have --" He switches into a Batman voice so dead-on that if he didn't still have his hand on her butt, she'd be scared they had company. "'Robin, I'm afraid you've been gassed. Hold still while I find the antidote, and think defiant thoughts." She laughs at that, and wonders how many people out there even dare to laugh at Batman. Nightwing is -- well. Not like Tim. It would probably be a good idea to get him to move his hands. She wants help, yeah, but not if he's just doing it so he can grope her. Steph straightens up, and the next time she has to lean back for balance, Nightwing's hand catches her side. Better. "So have you heard from Tim?" she asks. His fingers twitch a little. "No." They're going over a bridge now and the roar of the train shifts notes. "Are you still -- dating?" She shivers. It's almost entirely the shorts. She really misses the leggings. "Yeah. But he's been gone so much, and now he's grounded." And he's Tim, but either Nightwing won't know what that means, or she doesn't have to say it. "Yeah," and that sympathetic squeeze is a little less grope and a little more you-poor-kid. Great, now she's Tim's Girl, and she hasn't even seen him in weeks. Steph shakes her head and takes a step forward on the rocking train. "It wasn't like we ever saw that much of each other. He was so busy, and he couldn't always make time." She hears Nightwing move to stand next to her, close enough that he could definitely help her balance again if she needed it. "A vigilante's life isn't the easiest one for having, um, relationships." There's some serious pain in his voice. One of those stories she hasn't been in with the in-crowd enough to hear. But she's wearing the guy's panties, now. How much more intimate can you get? "Have you managed to make one work?" His laugh is sharp enough that she remembers, right, childhood with Batman. "Once, for a while, before -- well. I guess a demon possession would break up anyone's wedding. And -- sometimes, but -- no." "What?" She wants to stare at him, but the blindfold is in the way. "Tunnel," he says, curt and Battish. She throws herself flat. It's maybe two seconds before the sound and wind shift, and they're definitely in a tunnel, not far enough overhead for what you might call clearance if you were doing anything except clinging to the train. The shift back into open air is a huge relief. "Are we done with tunnels for a while?" Steph asks, not moving. "Yeah, don't worry about it." Nightwing is already standing up again. It takes her a little bit to get her feet under her again, but she's getting her train-legs. "Demon possession? What happened?" she asks, and he does the bitter laugh again. For a guy with a smile that could stop traffic, he's got some serious issues. Probably he gets along with Tim like a house on fire. "Nothing good. And no one got married." Steph shakes her head. "Um, right, it would kinda put a damper on that kind of stuff." "Kinda, yeah." Nightwing touches her shoulder again. "It doesn't always go bad quite so spectacularly, but -- it doesn't go well." "I guess we've been lucky, sort of," Steph says, and pats his hand. "I mean -- no demons, yet." "Give it some time." Steph laughs. "I -- we -- yeah. We haven't done anything -- like getting married, I mean. I guess." He leans on her for a second. "You're young." "Uh-huh." "Give it time," he says, all world-weary for a guy of, what, twenty-five? Steph sighs. "Yeah, well, there's nothing else I can even do. I haven't seen him in weeks." "You should go say hi." And that's a brotherly shoulder-pat. Again she wants to see his expression, but she can't. "Maybe. I don't know if Tim would be glad to see me. I mean, he's busy being Tim, and --" "Go see him." Nightwing rubs her shoulder a little. "He can't be busy being Tim at three in the morning." Steph laughs. "Maybe he'll be sleeping like a sane person." He snorts. "It's Tim." "Well --" She thinks about waking Tim up, and the way he might smile. "Yeah, he can deal with being woken up." "Definitely." She tries the balancing on one foot thing. It's a little weird, but she can swing it. "Okay." "Okay?" "You convinced me." She grins before she remembers he can't see it. Maybe he can hear it, though, because he gives her a pat on the ass. "Great. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you." Steph tries to remember the last time Tim was actually all that enthusiastic. But Nightwing's known him longer than she has, and he must have some kind of boy-connection, not to mention the Bat-connection. "Yeah." "We're going to switch trains in twenty seconds," Nightwing says. "The next one will be going in the opposite direction on a track three yards to your right." Steph can feel her heart starting to beat faster, which freaks her out a little. How could she have gotten comfortable trainsurfing without being able to see? But jumping is definitely going to be scarier, so, bring on the adrenaline. "Gotcha." "And I'll catch you if you need it." Steph laughs. Or she hopes it comes across as a laugh instead of a squeak. "Right." Here comes the other train. "Ready?" Nightwing says. "Jump!" There's a moment of airborne terror and panic and she's going to die and Batman was right and holy shit she's remembering to roll and she's okay and she's holding on to a railing. Then she hears herself saying, "Oh my god oh my god oh my god." So she stops and listens for Nightwing, but she can only hear the train. "Nightwing? Are you okay?" He laughs. So. Yes. "I'm fine, Robin." And he gives her a hand up. "You made it." "Yeah." She can hear the nervous giggle in her voice. "It wasn't that bad, really." "Good." He definitely knows she's lying, but that's okay. "I made a decision." She blinks behind her blindfold. "About what?" The theories fly thick and furious -- he's going to grope her again? He's going to go to Gotham? He's going to tell Batman to fire her? "You should borrow the suit for the night." He pats her ass again. So that was two decisions. "Show Batman." "Um." There's got to be some historical hoopla that's going over her head. "You're doing great. Robin." Another pat. "I want him to know you're learning. And that you talked to me." "He's going to think I raided the case." Nightwing laughs. "So he'll check, and it'll be okay. You're going to be great." She may not have a handle on the history, but she's talked to Tim long enough to learn subtlety. "I'm still learning," and it's not quite humble enough to stop him from tousling her hair. "You'll be fine, kid." Good thing she's wearing a blindfold. Good thing he is, because she's definitely blushing. "Thanks, Nightwing." "No problem, Robin." <center>~^..^~</center> Tim wakes up with a jolt and thinks, "Time to go on patrol," and then corrects himself, because of course it's not. Never again, and that's a weight on his shoulders and a weight off his shoulders at the same time. But something woke him up, so he turns over, making sleeping noises. There's a figure at the window, caped and sneaking in. He shifts into a defensive pose; it could be anyone. Until she says, softly, "Hey, sweetie," and he relaxes enough to sit up. "Hi, Steph." His eyes are accustomed enough to the darkness, now that he's a little more conscious, that he can see her face. And tunic. And shorts. "Um. I mean, Robin." She grins at him. "You like it?" And when she twirls, her cape is all yellow, and the briefs are very, very brief. Tim shifts the blankets strategically and is very glad that she probably can't see him blush, even though she's coming to stand by the bed. "Looks good on you. Where'd you get it?" "Nightwing lent it to me." She puts her hands on her hips. It makes Tim dizzy, because -- Robin. With long, blonde hair. And breasts that are extremely obvious, like her smooth, toned thighs. Now he's definitely staring. "You've been training with Nightwing? That's good." "He said I should visit you." She sits on the edge of the bed, and he edges back to give her space. "Oh." She smells like Bl&uuml;dhaven and long nights on patrol, and also, faintly, like Dick. He knew before, yeah, Steph is training to be Robin. But now he really gets it, because it's not Steph-will-someday-be-Robin. It's Robin is sitting on his bed, all dressed to do the job even if it's a little archaic. And her breasts are right there. And then they're right here, because she hugs him. Even through the armor, she's soft. "It's so good to see you." "Good to see you, too." He should have something better to say than that, but she kisses him and it doesn't matter. She tastes like cheesesteak fajitas, which makes him hungry. She sighs against his mouth like she really has missed him -- like she would have had time. Maybe, even if she's working with Dick, it's not enough; maybe Bruce is being soft on her -- Maybe he'll just have to think about it afterward, because Steph is wiggling out of the briefs now. "It was a good night," she says, between kisses. He can hear the armor thump on the floor when she drops the briefs. "A long train ride, two muggings -- the usual." She pushes him down onto the bed, still wearing gauntlets. Tim wonders exactly how different the material is from the ones he doesn't wear anymore, or from the Spoiler gauntlets, because they feel familiar and wrong. Like Steph's -- Robin's kisses. There's an edge there she hasn't had before. She's still wearing a mask, and he's not. But he knows her under the mask, which is more than she could have said when it was him, but she's still not Steph. Or Spoiler. There's a voice in the back of his head that insists she should have short, dark hair, that she shouldn't be so curvy and round under his hands. She tugs one glove off with her teeth and Tim thinks about beautiful deadly things and she pushes the covers down and away and he can't breathe. It's too much to even hug her and smell Steph shampoo and Robin fighting. She pulls his boxers down and strokes him. Tim hears himself whimper, and she laughs in his ear, dangerous and soft. "It's okay, honey." "I know. I just --" The lies won't come, not even the ones that are partially true. The "I don't want this," the "I never thought it would be like this," the "This is too weird with you in costume." He manages, "Um, there are condoms in the nightstand," and when she laughs again, it makes him shudder. "Why? Does this happen a lot?" Ah, the famed Robin wit. He shrugs and tries nibbling on her ear, which makes her rock her hips against him, and it doesn't matter how stupid her jokes are now because she's soft and she's wet and it's going to kill him. "No," he says. "I just -- prepared. In case." He can see her grin in the faint light from the window. "You're just that good, huh?" She reaches for the drawer in the nightstand, shifting her weight and pressing her breasts into his face. It would be better if they weren't armored, but if they weren't armored they wouldn't smell like the night and sweat and everything he's been trying not to miss. "Mm," is all he manages. She finds the box and opens it one-handed -- her dexterity's improving, and he makes himself not calculate game stats, not when there's a half-naked girl sitting on his lap. There's only so much geekiness anyone is allowed to have, and it's not a good time to be distracted. At least not distracted from her, but she's kissing him again and that's her hand, on him, and there's nothing that could make him stop thinking Steph, Robin, Steph, Robin. Not even long enough to get her out of the tunic, because she's pinning his shoulders again. She says, "Love you, Tim," in a dreamy Steph-voice and that's her hand and she's straddling him, bold and Robin. She feels so hot around him he's not sure he's still sane, and he can see her with his eyes closed, feel her shivering and her breath must be this hot, this sweet, this Steph. Her hands tighten a little on him and he rocks upward to meet her. It makes her gasp. "Is that all right?" She touches his cheek with her gloved hand. "Yes. Like that. Do it again." So he does, trying to duplicate the angle, the depth of the movement, whatever it was that made her gasp and shiver. She runs her fingernails down his chest and grins at him when he opens his eyes. He had forgotten the mask for a second, forgotten the cape that's dragging on his calves. Tim runs his hands up her thighs and feels her muscles shift. "You're beautiful," he says, and he means Steph, and he means Robin. It makes her smile softer. "Love you," Steph says, and she's moving a little faster now. Whatever he's doing isn't enough. She hasn't said anything about the tunic. He moves his hand further up her thigh to the wet curls between her legs and thinks diagrams and anatomy until he finds the right angle to make her groan and squeeze him with her thighs. "God, yes." When she moves like that, he can't think about what else she might want, or anything but stroking her until she does it again and throws her head back, blonde hair on yellow cape. He's seen tapes -- but -- can she really be -- "Don't stop, don't stop," she says, Steph begging, and he tries to do everything the way she wants. She's shuddering and he can't close his eyes, can't quite move right, can't get enough of how focused and hungry and Robin she is like this. She covers her mouth with her gauntleted hand and moans into it, stifling herself. Someday it'll be safe; someday he'll hear her really make that noise when she comes. He says, "Oh, Steph," and she grins at him with an edge that matches the red on her chest. "That was a good start." "Oh." Tim shivers. "I don't know how long I can --" She laughs and tenses around him. "Just keep -- here, move up a little." The way the gauntlet feels on his wrist when she's guiding his fingers to just the right place, just the right rhythm melds with her sibilant "Yes, yes, yes." She's moving his hand, rocking on him in just the right speed for what she wants, and he can be what she needs even though the grimace on her face makes him want her even more. It would break the pattern she's building for herself. It's not what he needs, now, but it's good, great, wonderful to feel her shake and climax again, again, to see her as she is now. Robin takes what she needs, and always has, and always will. "I love you," Tim says. It breaks her rhythm and brings her back, down, closer to him. "Oh -- oh, Tim. I --" Her next movement is tentative, sweeter. "I -- what should I do?" He's sure he's blushing. "That's nice." The imprecision of this description makes him furious with himself, except that she does it again, and nice isn't the word. Nice isn't even close to the luxurious, sensuous wonderfulness that's Robin thinking about him when she rocks her hips and grins at him. "Like -- like that," he says. "Okay." She does it again, a little slower. He covers his mouth to stifle the sigh, not because he entirely has to, but because his fingers smell like Steph and Robin. She pinches one of his nipples lightly. "Oh, Tim." "Please," he says, and it sounds like begging. "Just a little more." She pinches him again, moves a little faster, and he could drown in the way that feels except he's too tense, and it's too good. "Love you, Tim," she says, and he can't find the words to say anything, not even to tell her she's doing exactly, precisely what he needs, at just the right speed and angle and god that's perfect and everything is amazing. When he opens his eyes again, she's grinning at him, Steph and Robin and blissed out. "That was fun." "Fun," Tim says, and he's not sure whether he's agreeing or skeptical. She moves off him and kisses him. It doesn't help him make up his mind. "We should do it again sometime," she says, and honestly, no one should ever be that perky after three orgasms. Tim only had one and he's ready to pass out, but Robin's practically dancing out of bed to grab her briefs and pull them on. "Yeah," he says. "Okay." There's probably some kind of etiquette of dealing with sticky pieces of latex that he's completely missing. He grabs some tissues and hides all the evidence, or at least all the evidence anyone would recognize as such, in the bottom of the trash. Steph comes back over and kisses him again. "I should let you sleep. G'night, sweetie." He doesn't let himself yawn at her. "Goodnight." She's across the room again, and on her way out the window, when she stops. "What the -- oh, man." Steph giggles so hard she has to sit on the floor, a white box on her knees. "What's that?" "I think --" She opens it. "Yep. It's my Spoiler costume." She holds it up to show him, but there's just dark fabric on dark fabric. Tim blinks. "You left it on the window sill?" She shakes her head. "No. I left it in Bl&uuml;dhaven. So --" She gets up and looks out the window. "Huh." Tim winces and wonders precisely when Nightwing left the damn thing. Not that any of this was going to be a secret from anyone for long; there are too many detectives in town for that. It might have been nice to have a few hours of illusory privacy. He gets back into bed. "Maybe you should change back." Steph runs her hands over the suit. "I wanted to show Batman." "It'll make him angry." Tim rubs his eyes. "You could tell him what you did with Nightwing. It'll get the point across without being too much in his face." "I guess. What would I do with this?" She tugs on the cape lightly. Tim reaches for the Robin command voice. "Leave it. I want a reason to talk to Nightwing." She stares at him a moment before she remembers he's just Tim, and she's Robin. She straightens up and squares her shoulders. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" Tim shakes his head and yawns. "It will be fine. I just need -- an excuse, really." Steph frowns, but she's taking off the cape. "All right, I guess. And you really think Batman would get mad?" "Yes," and that he can say with every bit of authority he ever had as Robin. "It would be a bad idea." "Well -- all right." She peels off the armor and the tunic. Part of Tim says, "Yay naked girl!" and the rest of him explains calmly that they have in fact been there and done that, and that it's time to sleep as soon as the naked girl goes away. She puts the briefs in the box and his brain has serious trouble making him stay in bed, but he manages it by tightening his hands into fists. When she's in the Spoiler costume, familiar and purple, she comes over and kisses him. "See you, Tim." He smiles. "'night, Steph," and corrects himself, "Good night, Robin." She grins, which was what he wanted. "Thanks." And she goes out the window, leaving the white box with the Robin costume on the floor. The morning will be soon enough to deal with it.
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