Chapter Text
Tim’s eyes shoot open.
The room is bright, the taupe ceiling lit up by mid-day sunlight.
The last thing she remembers is an assassin hitting her with a blow dart right when she opened the door to her apartment after a day of paperwork.
A fucking blow dart.
“Good morning Detective, sleep well?” Ra’s al Ghul, sitting across from her on the other gray-white couch, asks like it's a regular Tuesday. Apparently amusing himself with some reading while she's been asleep.
His cape matches the drapes behind him. A certified safehouse of his from the color scheme and lack of cheap decor; she can't see the landscape through the window behind him. Too blue, too much sky out the tall narrow windows, and too masking deep green from the heavy curtains.
There's been a recent enough trip in a pit since the last time she saw him in person. His voice is smoother and he looks like a late thirty, if she had to guess. The only gray in his dark brown hair is barely creeping up his sideburns. Some barely there wrinkles, but that may just come with the job as an immortal eco-terroist running a multi-national assassin empire. Steady handed kohl lining. Well groomed beard, a casual form of stillness to him now that she’s awake. A gold sash rather than his red. He seems comfortable, looking over at her while holding his book. Green eyes scanning her, from Tim’s leg halfway off the couch to her splayed out hair.
“A blow dart? Really?” She rubs her neck where she got hit, it barely missed her right carotid artery. Hair draping over her hand at the action as she’s propped up by one arm.
Were the birthday flowers not enough for him? He had to kidnap her? Again?
Tam's going to kill her for the amount of time she's going to take off without notice. The judgmental looks when Tim gets back might just be enough to hopefully strike her dead and leave her without having to deal with the ensuing conversations of missing patrol. At least Pru is straight forward in her commentary of Ra's trying to get in her pants, Tam just doesn't know how she's supposed to navigate Tim having uselessly cried over that birthday gift three weeks ago. Especially when she never did so during their tenure with the League, or at any point when they were dating, or like at all, ever.
Tim doesn't even know why she teared up that bad. Pollen from the prehistoric era probably.
Ra's places his book to his side, Count of Monte Cristo, “Poison training only works for the amount and which type you can get your hands on to build immunity for. It seemed the best option for you,” legs crossed at the ankle, with his cape unattached, draped over the back of his own white couch while she’s still splayed out.
Ancient poison, wonderful. How long was Tim asleep? Was Ra’s watching her the entire time? He was at least half way through the book, and last she knew it was night. But it’s a secondary location so time could be whatever he wants it to be right now. There's no way to tell time or date in this room besides the sunlight coming in; mid-day at least. No clocks. Bedroom to the right, kitchen to the left, with both through double white doors. The entrance to the room is likely right behind her.
She's still in her black suit. Wrinkled to hell and back, so she's been laying here a while. It's an Ermenegildo Zegna though, so it's hard to tell off wrinkles alone. But still on, and nothing amiss. She can't feel any hidden trackers placed on her skin as she flexes her body minutely to feel for any sticking to her. Her dress shirt is still half tucked the same as before she got caught, but the whites wrinkled like everything else. At least the assassin that got the drop on her didn't pick up her tie.
She wasn’t carrying any weapons on her, so fighting will apparently be rendered moot for the time being. She would rather keep this professional and tactical, instead of getting too emotionally involved. Letting him weasel his way into her head.
“What do you want from me Ra’s? Another scheme of yours to make me play pawn?” Timothy grumbles, sitting fully up. She doesn’t seem to enjoy that Ra’s has taken her away from her workload, both day and night had wrung her dry enough to be taken so easily.
Business first it seems with her, so Ra’s starts his proposition with a wave of his hand towards the stack of folders on the coffee table between them, “Of sorts. I’d like to offer you a mission in exchange for a reward.”
A mission, or case that he wants her to solve from the thickness of each manilla paper Tim assumes, “A reward? You think an incentive will help me help you?”
“Vandal Savage is currently attempting to coerce his way into owning Wayne Manor, buying the land out from under Bruce by way of a money war.” Rather an enticement from Ra’s end for her as he crosses his arms, “I’ll happily help with delaying him if you’ll acquiesce to working with me.”
She breathes slowly, an attempt to stop him from reading her trepidation, her mind working through his offer, “So I am playing pawn.”
Ra’s would rather have her work with him of her own volition, instead of immediately assuming that he only wishes to use her. He had thought the gifts would have made that clear. Or the other attempts to make her relax.
She has a way of insulting herself so casually in ways he dislikes, her pride is far more exciting to play with and against, “I wouldn’t demean you to that level, but I suppose so Detective.”
If Tim takes this, it lightens the load off Bruce.
If she doesn’t take this, Bruce will be forced to run in circles dealing with Vandal and she won’t have to deal with tight and wary looks still around from the Boomerang incident.
If she does take this, she doesn’t have to deal with paperwork for the next week or so.
If she doesn’t take this, she’s forced to tell Ra’s al Ghul no to his face. While he has her at a secondary location. Too far away from any backup.
But why does he want her here? This doesn’t seem like their usual kidnapping play by play. Him trying to lull her into a false sense of security with excuses of forcing her to relax, only making her restless.
She doesn’t have to make this easy for him, though, “So what’s my mission, your Highness?” Tim asks, taking off her coat and throwing it over the couch arm. Her phone is still in there by the weight at the bottom.
His eyes are following her every move as she rights herself to the middle of the couch. Right across from him, sitting pretty and crossing her legs with long fingered hands clasped together. Black hair swishing barely above her shoulders. A sardonic smile to finish the picture.
Impish she is, to play with him so easily. Again, quite enticing for Ra’s, “You’ll be playing the part of Spy. You needn’t interact, only trail a man's movements and record data to figure out why he’s been proving to be difficult for my operatives to figure out and pin down.”
Ra’s points again to the folders.
Timothy doesn’t reach for them.
She reclines back into her seat, leaning into the white damask upholstery with crossed arms, “He’s that slippery?”
“The way he hoards info is,” slippery enough to be cohorting with a snake, “He’s a thief, who has a penchant for gold jewelry and secreting away information where it has yet to be found, vanishing into thin air with no discernable trails. This Tatsuri also has information on a dead informant of mine," Ra’s nonchalantly discloses.
This informant of his had the information for a Welsh base architecture project, but had already digitally uploaded her information before her untimely end. Whether or not Tatsuri had a hand in her death is being investigated currently through the direct crime scene and cameras in the near areas around her up in France. Little less than nothing has been found beyond asphyxiation.
“Killed?” She asks sitting up just slightly, more engaged at the threat of him being a killer.
That death is not the Detectives current case, “Remains to be seen, I have others investigating that. I only require of you to figure out who it is he’s communicating with.”
Tim would be almost amused if she wasn’t so confused by the lack of information he’s giving her, “And you can’t figure that out? Computer problems?” Last time he gave her access to his computer network it resulted in him kicking her out a seventy story window, if she remembers correctly.
“You won’t be using any of my digital assets,” He clarifies, reducing her options for this mission, “The comm that he uses is nigh uncrackable for my current operatives. You follow his trail, crack his code, and find where his stolen items and information is being funneled and held.”
What exactly is it that he’s hoping Tim will retrieve for him? Why drag her all the way to wherever they are for an undercover operation that could be fixed with some hacking? Why isn’t his hacking working when some of his assassins back in the Cradle got inspired by her own work? Why her? He could have this guy squealing and under his thumb in under a day, so what is his play?
“Bruce could deal with Vandal easily above board, why exactly are you asking for my help?” Tim wants to know why he has her here, beyond his penchant of using her to solve his problems for his own amusement, trying to use her for his own wants, “You could easily just kidnap this guy like you have me.”
“Interrogating him—”
Tim rolls her eyes, ‘Interrogating.’ Yeah right.
Ra’s starts again after the slight, “Interrogating him isn’t as easily done. He has other, ‘factions’ as far as you will be made aware that are involved with him, benefitting from his ferrying.” However, the Detective isn’t entirely wrong in her assessment, “Killing him would be too easy and would lose far too much valuable information in the process. There’s also the possible problem of magic.”
“Magic?” That last word distracts Tim. How much information is he holding her back from, first the computer access and now magic, “That wasn’t in the terms and conditions Ra’s. What kind?”
“Currently unknown,” Ra’s al Ghul admits.
He’s running a multinational, information collecting, assassin organization, and yet he doesn’t know anything about him or is withholding larger details from Tim. Again.
“Unknown? You want me to trail a guy who probably has some kind of teleporting magic with how easily he makes his stolen goods disappear into thin air?” Tim would really rather not have a repeat of Widower and Wanderer.
“Would you rather I incentivize you with a threat rather than a reward?” She has already agreed to working this case for him, Ra’s would rather she not back out now due to a little magic given her previous triumphs.
Tim holds her hands up at the judging look he gives her, placating and giving in just from his furrowed brows and glaring bright emerald eyes.
“Good. You will also be given your own squadron to help with your efforts.”
He stands, gold sash moving against his right leg, and gestures for them to leave, picking up his cape and gliding it over his shoulders while walking towards the door.
“Another squad?” Blood on the sand, “Just for me? And here I thought you didn't like me,” She prods, also standing as he passes her couch.
Tim leaves her jacket, but pockets her phone. Just in case. It’s been powered off. Or it's dead.
She should call Pru but Tim shoves her phone deeper in at the thought, she doesn’t want to drag Pru back into this. Tim can figure it out alone.
He drags her attention as he holds the dark wood door open, “Were the flowers not enough of a hint?” Passing around her once she exits and leads the way to where all the halls intersect, passing all the other rooms with nouveau like doors.
She would rather not talk about the flowers, actually. And how there were practically a million of them, thousands of bouquets each in their own decorated vases. Pink peonies all over her office and spilling into the reception, decorating the floor in ceramic and blush color all the way to the elevator door. Tam was completely overrun, and couldn't even get to her reception desk. Tim’s area was no better, the only seat easily available was on the coffee table, surrounded by flowers on every side.
“Not when almost all of the previous had poisoned pollen.” Tim says, standing in front of the silver double doors, gesturing towards the elevator button.
Ra's pauses in his steps, debating, then turns and continues down the hall to the stairs, “And yet you used them to your advantage.”
Rolling her eyes, of course it fed his ego that she used his bouquets of roses as a chemical weapon, “Lex doesn't count. If he was egotistical enough to think stealing the flowers out of my vase was a good power play and intimidation tactic, then he deserved to develop a full head rash,” Ra’s holds the door open for her again with a smirk as she moves chest to chest past him, letting her lead down the stairs.
Lex only took them because he wanted to be an asshole when he didn’t get the deal he wanted, it’s not her fault that she wanted the white flowers out of sight before Lucius noticed them, and that he was an easy target. But a bit rude that that was what Tim could have contracted. Speaking of, Ra’s having gotten all of those peonies into her office and foyer unnoticed led to Lucius himself calling Bruce. He even said something about ‘secret admirers’ in a tone that had Bruce come running. Which got Dick involved before she could sneak away. Not a fun conversation, and also maybe not one she should have lied during if she was going to get kidnapped ‘post haste’ in three weeks time.
His voice echoes in the surprisingly fancy stairwell, amusement bouncing off the walls and red carpet, “You goaded him into doing as such, Detective. Manipulated him, actually. Quite beautifully if I may say.”
She waits til she’s at the next landing before answering to the man behind her who apparently has eyes on her office, “Again. He doesn't count because he's supposed to be smarter than that.” The tabloids certainly made any threats Tim could have made to Lex about flowers moot, but he never did reveal anything about the pollen to Bruce. At least not yet, or that she knows of.
They land at the end of the three flights and Tim holds the door open this time into the main foyer of an Art Nouveau type of scene for the hallways, same whitish-yellow stone walls as the room she’s boarding in. Ra’s brushes past and leads the way to an empty coatroom, one with a false back that is lit up by the incoming light from the hall before she closes the door and they exit through a back passageway. Close together walls, but not enough for Ra’s broad shoulders and cape to brush the sides. There’s not a lot of light beside the bulbs above them and what seems like sunlight around the next corner.
The glass wall letting light in is a floor to ceiling window that opens as he pushes one of the buttons behind the gray power box with wrapped wire leading from floor to ceiling, moving up to let in the sound of babbling water.
It’s bright out, and takes Tim’s eyes a moment to adjust from artificial lighting to sun streaming through palm tree leaves.
And then there’s the fountain, depicting Neptune with his trident on his nautilus chariot with his horses with tails at the center, water being jetted straight up into the air from the dark gray stone. The one found in Madrid, Spain that her dad sent a postcard of, once, when they stayed at the Westin—
A group of four sitting to their left on cast iron black chairs and tables, gone immediately silent. An assortment of drinks and food in front of them, and likely assassins from how they look up as if commanded as Ra’s strolls closer to them.
Tim, looking up behind her, sees the roof has the white lettering of ‘Palace Hotel’ held up above it. Same place as the one her parents stayed in when they brought back Villena treasure to put on display in the manor and later sell.
And apparently Ra’s and her walked out besides a Starbucks on the hotel's back end.
Tam would have enjoyed going on a date here, listening to water and watching tourists pass by, people watching.
He gestures to the four assassins sitting still, “These will be your agents. Have them collect the necessary information that would lead you to be stuck too far or too close,” they’re all watching her as Ra’s begins to introduce them with an open palm, gesturing to each.
“This is Rashida,” Ra’s gestures first to the dark skin woman with her back to her, staring at Tim over her shoulder with a silver coin earring contrasting her wavy golden hair.
She looks like the de facto team leader with how the others body languages are more geared towards her than Ra’s. Rashida looks curious but calculating as she looks Tim up and down with eyes that look as smooth as caramel, from her eye liner to their color. She spoons another bite of her berry parfait with filed red nails, looking back towards Ra’s. She’s wearing a purple tube top. Her cappuccino is still full, the fern rosetta still intact.
“Mendi,” a man with brown scapular depicting Mary and Jesus sitting on top of a plain white tee, and blind in one eye.
He’s sitting with his back to the store front, right eye trained on her. Eye as pale as his skin. Tight curled black hair in a low pony tail. Likely a musician with how he holds his caramel macchiato, the order directed at her, too far around with his left wrist in his blindspot. Violinist, maybe. He’s wearing ratty blue jeans with naturally worn holes.
His wavy cardboard bowls had two somethings in them and his accent, “Bonjour,” reveals him as French as he looks back up at Ra’s with a sip.
“Damascene,” the next woman, and she’s wearing a plum Niqab, her eyes uncovered and surrounded by dark tan skin lined with khol.
She’s sitting the furthest away from Tim, on Mendi's left. Other than her headdress, she’s wearing all black, same darkness as her eyes. But different in how they sparkle as she waves at Tim. Her lemon loaf is half eaten next to what Tim assumes to be citrus mint held in a teacup.
“Porter,” someone incredibly androgynous and waves with Damascene, with a bared teeth smile directed at Tim.
Olive toned clear skin, not a single blemish, and a cheery demeanor. They have an orange yellow mango drink. And a spicy falafel stuffed in their mouth, small breadcrumbs hitting their black tank top and pink jeans. They remind Tim of Bart with their curly brown hair.
They all go back to looking at Ra’s waiting for his orders while said man stares at her. They aren’t very focused on her in comparison.
Unsurprising, as most assassins back when Tim was heading the league weren’t exactly her biggest fans, especially the White Ghost.
Except the computer department. But Tim’s pretty sure she destroyed any rapport she had with them when she blew everything she could get her hands on sky high, using the system against itself right under the Expeditors nose.
Is he trying to get her endeared to another group of assassins? They're just different enough from her squad, four instead of three, that Tim isn't sure. Maybe Ra's wants her to like them, get endeared to them, so she tries to coerce them away and he can trap her somehow with that as the lead. Or he wants her to use them as pawns, see how ruthless she could be, when the last time she had the strategizing prowess to send out multiple squads, most if not all died by Spiders.
They still seem to be waiting for Ra's to make his move. Ra's is just staring at her, waiting for her to make her move. What play can she make here? Talk to them and learn more of their stance on her, or defer to what Ra's decides for her to do?
Or the third route.
Tim sighs, and turns on her heels, “‘Kay then.”
To disengage is still an engagement in this game. Just one that benefits her, and leaves Ra's without her following by a leash.
Paseo Del Prado is one of Spain's most famous streets, there's probably something she can find to help her with this mission. Especially if he isn't giving her access to any of his ‘digital assets.’
The assassins follow her movements without moving their heads, just their eyes, not getting up from their seats.
They look back at their boss.
There's an amusement there that Tim misses. Ra's however, does not.
Loudly, not enough to be yelling, Ra's asks before she crosses the street, “Where are you going?”
The traffic's pretty lax in this area, but a car still speeds past before she can walk across. “To look around,” she answers back without looking.
Besides, what is he going to do? Kill Tim in broad daylight? Ra's has already had plenty of chances to do so and hasn't yet. She'll risk it.
Ra's signals to the group, two fingers motioning in a circle. Surround and follow, it's meant to mean.
And so he follows after her himself. One would think, with his title of ‘Demon’s Head’ and known immortality, he wouldn't be deigned to chase after anyone.
There's a stretch of green and trees to Tim's left across the street, red car traffic a modern contrast. Same with the human population that moves like water past her. And cute dogs. To the right however, are the shops.
And a candy store, she pauses by.
Ra's is quickly closing in on her, strides longer than hers.
Tim would indulge with the product, but that might be pushing the boundaries of Ra's al Ghul’s mercy. Eating candy while ignoring him might just lead to Ra's seizing it from her and throwing an infantilizing insult. The tourists seem far more willing than her to gorge themselves. There's spiced chocolate being advertised in the front windows, Cass might enjoy those, Tim notes. She might have to double back later for it.
Continuing down this side of the street yields the next shops to be of the clothing variety.
Meandering a bit further before he reaches her brings her in front of a boutique. Fancy clothing. Subtler contrast than the greenery and modernity, with fine pressed clothes and her wrinkled outfit mirrored in the reflection of the window. Rumpled cotton dress shirt and creased slacks.
What a sight she makes in public.
On the display is a high-low white skirt. It looks flowy, almost napkin like fabric with embroidered dots squared around. Almost unnoticeable, white thread on white fabric. A nice visual texture. The shirt it's paired with is far more striking. Red silk satin, with a built in tie. A fancy bow in crimson.
Ra's interrupts her window shopping, with a direct wording, “I'll be supplying you with clothing.”
Tim meets his eyes in the reflection.
“What.”
He tilts his head, feigning innocence, and informs her, “There is a closet back in the room for you to peruse to your liking.”
Wide eyed, insulted, Tim turns to him, “You're controlling my wardrobe?”
The wardrobe she wears for this mission? Now, Tim knows he's controlling what she can do, and how she can do it. If this were anything else, anyone else, she'd take it as a challenge to what she can do with minimal resources.
This however?
Him deciding her disguises? Deciding how she performs? What is he going to dress her in? Dresses and pearls? Allow her only heels? Only allowing make-up he likes and wishes to give her? How much would he be able to sneak into the things she would wear? Tracking tags? Arsenic green eye shadow? Peach pit lipstick?
Either he would kill her or make her kill someone else. Forcing her hand. Feminizing her?
If Ra's can see her annoyance, he doesn't deign to give a reaction to it, “Not completely. There are options.”
He really doesn’t think himself a mad king, does he? Making her play spy, kidnapping her, dressing her up, but giving her barely anything to work off of when it comes to completing this case. Ordering his operatives and subordinates and assassins around to follow Tim's commands. And now he’s trying to make her rely on him for everything.
“‘O King of the time and Caliph of the tide,’” Tim mocks, “Should I be kissing the ground at your feet for your magnanimity?" She continues to march forward, away from the display, if only because she doubts she has any choice in getting her way anymore.
“You know Scheherazade?” Ra's smiles indulgently, intrigued and trying to shift the subject away from her quarrel with his demands. And walks side by side with her, letting her lead the way with her meandering.
It’s not as though he can stop her when she truly feels slighted, Ra’s has learned as such with his plans being thwarted and with five burning bases for its proof of concept. She's been surprisingly blase about said bases. Despite them having been previously massacred by Spiders, does she not care for how many bodies were buried or burned beyond recognition by her actions? How far would her plan have extended if they hadn't cleared them before the Detective enacted her last ditch efforts to get away from him? Flames and falls being left in her wake.
The Detective stays short and sarcastic with him, “Of course I do, who doesn't.”
His eyes narrow at the tone of her words, “You may be overestimating people's common knowledge.” One of her bad habits, assuming too much of those around her.
Her given wardrobe is anything that she can so wish or want. Assassin grade concealer, something in which he taught Bruce how to make, toned to her pigment. Kohl and mascara, lip stains and sticks, shadows and blushes. Wigs and jewelry, binders and padding if she so desires. High fashion and low, mix and match, to make whatever disguise she would so desire to create.
Ra’s supposes he can appease, if only slightly, to deter her from walking as though she's off to war, “I’m offering you choices, not dictating what you wear.”
“But you are controlling what I can choose,” Timothy shoots back, making her way forward and dodging past people.
“You have a veritable quantity of whatever you so desire. If you see anything out here you like, it’s yours. I'm not a tyrant." He gestures to the windows they pass, all filled with a ‘veritable quantity’ of different clothing and cheap jewelry.
Tim doesn't believe that, and she makes exasperated eye contact with Porter trailing them. Not a Tyrant, Ra's al Ghul says. They try not to laugh at her unspoken insult, sucking in their lips and making a pink-less impish smile as they turn away, ducking behind a tourist in blinding purple.
Ra's leads back to his question as they stand at the crosswalk, walking past traffic away from the butchers shop on the corner, “How do you know of the Thousand and One Nights? Far as I'm aware, Bruce doesn't have it as a required reading for you.”
“Funny, funny man.” She knows what he's trying to get at, her heavy workload that she piles onto herself without anyone else to help besides Tam's. Bruce yet to take his station back while she balances nightshift and day job. She shakes her head and disputes his assumption, “No, he doesn't.”
She can see the wall of the Monumento Eugenio d'Ors Rovira to their right. “My parents were archeologists,” Tim continues after a second, not sure why she's explaining to him, maybe defending Bruce's honor as they reach the green stretch and pass under the full trees, “My mom thought it would be better for me to learn from the classics rather than more modern children's stories.”
Tim decidedly turns left, away from the statue of the woman and small dragon.
She doesn't know what he gets from asking these kinds of questions beyond getting under her skin, beyond trying to whittle away at the loyalty she has towards Batman and Bruce. But he doesn't get anything from asking about the kinds of stories she knows. Nor does he gain anything from sending her flowers. Or giving her gifts. Dressing her up seems a bit self explanatory in what he gets.
Damascene is all of a sudden in front of her. Melding out of the shadows of the leaves like a ninja.
She walks just close enough to her that she's able to slip something small and round into Tim's right palm.
A slight of hand trick, to give her a comm apparently as Tim looks down at it.
Tim raises an eyebrow at Ra's to her left. He rises one back, and his eyes flicker from it to her ear.
She puts it in and continues walking towards the tourist station advertising anything and everything a non-native Spaniard could hope to learn about Madrid.
“Hello Timothy,” a Syrian accented, feminine voice cheerily says, “it'll be a pleasure to work with you,” Damascene most likely.
There's a small shop set up next to the tiny information hall, selling magazines and cheap gimmick things to tourists. A good old fashioned tourist trap. With Rashida and Mendi leaning against it, looking inconspicuous and like tourists who forgot their backpacks. The newspapers say it's Tuesday. Good to know it's not that long from being kidnapped from Gotham.
“Don't her red pants look nice? She let me sew them myself,” a new voice says, probably Porter, voice hard to place in accent.
“Pleasure.” Tim responds, “They look nice,” she continues perusing the pamphlets in front of the sellers window. She doesn't know if she can afford getting attached.
There's a mirror on the windows selling ledge, showing Ra's behind her looking decidedly not like a tourist. Rather a man out of time, and he meets her gaze over her shoulder. A sly smirk.
“Hey, Dama Dinar, what's your stance on the Fallen Angel statue?” A French accent taunts, to her right on the side of the wall and in her ear. Barely heard through the tourist talking around.
There's a collection of disposable cameras behind the mirror and in the booth. Next to a bunch of postcards. Some are too familiar. The cameras are advertised as ‘Wonderfully Silent!’ and ‘More Film Than You Know What To Do With!’
“I'm not playing this game with you again, kale breath.” She responds, with Porter's giggles making their way through the comm.
Kon said something about picking up hobbies. He said it after his split, amicable, with Cassie. He was talking about ‘normal people’ things, trying to get back into the groove of things after traumatic events. Tim saw exactly which therapy advertisement he stole that off of.
Things are still weird.
“Careful now,” Rashida piles on, english accented, “Piss him off too much and he might go on a crusade.”
Photography could be something, though, for her to use. Something light, nothing too heavy. Not against Ra's demands for the mission.
Besides, it's just for a case.
This probably goes against Kon's recommendation though, utilizing an old hobby for work.
No time like the present she supposes, turning the Kodak yellow camera over in her hands as the owner watches her with hawkish eyes.
She and Kon are almost entirely different people now; he was different after getting back, she's different from everything she's gone through as well. Everything she did. The things she almost succeeded in.
There's a sound of a rolled up tube of paper hitting a body and a jingling feminine laugh.
Those things she felt for him rear their head every so often, makes her want nothing more than to curl up next to him like it's a YJ movie night and everyone's cuddled under the big weighted blanket that smells of ozone and popcorn. Cassie was the one who bought them. She gifted everyone one in YJ, but the three for Tim, Bart, and Kon all ended up going up in flames for some reason or another.
The owner taps his knuckles against the seller's ledge as she takes too long to decide, furrowing his bushy brows. Tim turns to Ra's who is making an ‘admirable’ attempt to not sneer down at her choice in equipment. Probably not a fan of the plastic and chemicals that make it up. Tim would almost agree, it's cheap and doesn't show the result of the picture taken outside of the viewfinder.
It aches, thinking about what could have been if Tim really tried. But then the thoughts of becoming that man with a gun come flooding back in.
Ra's hands over his black card to her, and she buys the tiny thing that hopefully is true to its selling point of a massive amount of film.
Maybe indulging in a hobby would be a good idea, Tim muses.
“You got kicked by a gazelle, Dama, you don't get to insult my culinary tastes!”
There's a joke there that Tim is likely never going to be privy to. So she moves on, handing the card back and Ra's hides it somewhere on him beneath his cloak.
And Tim turns around just quick enough to catch Mendi and Rashida in the viewfinder. Cast in the shadow of the veranda around the tourist trap. Their eyes are wide and surprised, staring at her and shocked still, not expecting to get caught by the person they were ordered to follow covertly.
Tim hopes she captured the whites of their eyes. She won't be able to tell before the photos are developed.
Tim can hear the amusement in Ra's voice, him walking along with her back towards the hotel, “Camera work? Planning to compile photos to figure out his patterns?”
The stretch before they get back is arguably incredibly picturesque. Green full leaves casting dappled light across the stone walkways. Neptune in the background, nearing every closer.
“Half that, half not,” Tim will admit, if just barely. He doesn't need to know the immediate reasoning.
“No?”
“More personal pleasure.” Tim shakes the camera off handedly.
“If you enjoy photography, there’s a professional camera store about,” He gets a chatter in his ear as Damascene passes by with a whisper and plum shadow, “two streets away.”
“Nope.”
Ra's eyes narrow, “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Detective. I’m confused as to why you would prefer a disposable camera over a high grade one. Especially where it concerns your case.” He knows she is particular when it comes to cases, refusing anything less than the full result.
So why is she deciding for this to be her cover? Many tourists utilize a much better product to record their travels, and certainly wouldn't draw attention. Ra's has dealt with enough of them having to be wiped when they catch something they aren't meant to.
Timothy turns to him, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes, “You enjoy being physically immortal for eternity, I enjoy immortalizing the momentary and superfluous.” Gesturing to her tiny disposable piece of plastic, “Thus, the momentary and superfluous.”
If this is a metaphor for him being disposable and momentary to her, Ra's finds it to be incredibly poor taste.
Ra's sneers, eyeing the damned thing, beginning to hate it simply on principle, “You think me superfluous?”
“I think you contentious,” Tim answers with a sardonic smile. A taunt.
“Life isn’t that simple,” Ra's eyes her sideways.
Reducing life to a single simple moment. An eternal stagnation. It goes against his principals, where life is meant to continually evolve towards something better. Something other than wrapped in plastic and chemicals that pollute the sea and air and earth. Ra's continues to change through time, even if not apparent. Life continually changes as it is meant to, not something always held in the past.
“Sometimes it is,” Tim answers forward.
A camera can capture a singular moment, the truth of a single action. Intent and memory immortalized. She has entire collections of Robins flying through the air, made of magic, made of hope and promises of something better. Things continue to change, life itself developing, but while every moment doesn't stand alone against the rest, it's a reveal into what was.
Tim continues with a bit of a pep returned to her steps, dress shoes making barely a sound against the stone for barely a moment, “Besides, a picture is worth a thousand words, isn’t it?”
He hums before answering back, looking away towards where he begins to lead where they walk towards the circling traffic around the mythical figure standing above the water, “So you do fancy yourself a modern Scheherazade.”
“Hah.”