Tim Drake

There you were as you typically were. Hair tied back in a bun and bent over the chemistry desk in the BatCave lab. Energy drink off to the side, Titus snoozing in a bed under the desk, Batman jacket on under your lab coat. Tim had just come back from patrol and was hoping to give you a few samples of the fear toxin he had just picked up. But, as you always do, are wearing your headphones with the music so loud its leaking through. Some metal song blasts in your ears as you bop your head and measure out various chemicals. “Hey,” he tries, even though he knows you can’t hear him.