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Tim doesn’t need to spar with civilians, necessarily. He’s fought some of the world’s best fighters. He’s made an enemy of lady Shiva. I mean, for Pete’s sake, his sister is Cassandra Cain, the One Who is All.
But, occasionally, sparring with a newbie is necessary.
After all, the best sword fighter in the world doesn’t fear the 2nd best fighter. No, he fears the novice because he doesn’t know what the novice will do. The novice doesn’t know what the novice will do.
It’s what catches the Bats off-guard sometimes.
A goon with a knife who has no idea how to use it.
Harley holding a gun she only knows how to use in terms of “Pull trigger means boom”
So fighting with civilians and specifically novices, occasionally is beneficial to Tim. Especially when he has to remember that Tim Drake isn’t Red Robin.
Tim Drake should have no idea how to fight, or at least, a minimal idea.
And, if anyone asks how Tim gets away from a mugging, Tim thinks looking at the sign of the Crime Alley fighting pit, this is a fairly good excuse.
Jason started the fighting pit years ago. “Started as an idea to help people get the violence out of their veins before they start taking it out on random people” Jason had once explained “But then actual trainers started stepping up and taking sessions. And then the kids started showing up asking for lessons in self-defence. So it started becoming this weird combo of fight club and self-defense class”
So of course Tim stops by occasionally.
Takes a few rounds with trainers. Practices failing.
Takes a few rounds with civilians. Practices fighting someone who has no idea how to professionally throw a punch.
This time of the day, just after schools let out but before it gets dark is the best time for this. The busiest time. It’s when the trainers are around and the kids and the people who have no idea how to fight and the goons he may be fighting later tonight.
Tim’s gaze falters when he sees black hair.
It’s not Jason. Too thin. Not tall enough.
But the person does kind of look like Tim himself.
Slim, black hair, blue eyes. Shifty gaze that’s locked on Tim’s.
Tim slaps a smile onto his lips and gestures to a nearby rink. Tries to seem casual as he moves to the side in his inconspicuous clothing. He wonders if this guy recognized him as Tim Drake. Unlikely, given that nobody else has yet. But then, nobody in Crime Alley really looks at one another, especially not in these sessions. And people don’t tend to recognize Tim Drake outside of a suit. Kind of like Clark Kent and his glasses.
Don’t want to make eye contact with one of Two-face’s men and become a target later.
But this man meets Tim’s eyes and moves with him to the ring, wrapping his wrists in a way that seems sloppy.
But Tim can see the way he moves to dodge when Tim throws a sloppy punch.
This is a person that’s pretending not to know how to fight.
Not like a goon would show off strength in this class to get a leg up.
Not like a person who’s never actually fought before.
It reminds Tim of himself.
Practicing.
“You fight well” Tim says as he starts to up the ante, starting to move faster just to see what this guy will do.
He starts to match Tim’s pace, still holding back.
It reminds Tim of Kon.
His eyes narrow.
“I’ve been coming here a while. Got some practice” he answers and his lack of effort shows in the way he isn’t breathing heavily. Like this is a walk in the park for him.
Tim throws in an obscure martial arts move and goes to lock the guys leg. He dodges and tries to sweep Tim’s feet.
They aren’t sparring like civilians before.
Tim notices it’s starting to get dark outside.
Neither of them are winded yet.
Tim locks the guy’s elbow and sees the muscle go slack immediately like he could break free but isn’t trying to.
Like he knows that trying would break Tim’s arms.
Tim’s starting to breathe heavily now. His lungs starting to burn at the top. Not fatigued yet but his body telling him that this a longer fight than he’s used to.
It’s dark outside. Neither of them have stopped yet.
Tim takes a step back. Holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender “Good spar” he says, holding a hand out to shake as the guy blinks at him, like he hadn’t realized how long the fight had gone.
“Good technique” The guy says back, hand taking his own to shake.
Cold, but firm, Tim thinks, nodding.
“It’s dark outside and neither of us have stopped for a water break. Wanna get some coffee?” Tim asks, mind whirring already.
New teammate, the part of Tim’s brain thinks that thought creating Young Justice was a good idea.
Possible threat, argues the part of Tim’s brain that’s only grown since Tim’s started training with Batman in his darker phases.
But Tim isn’t Batman. Tim has friends.
He keeps the smile on his lips and pulls out his phone to start scanning for coffee shops not too far from the alley but in an area that won’t get them both mugged. And then starts looking for uber rides that preferably aren’t badly-disguised kidnapping attempts.
“Coffee doesn’t sound bad” the guy says, looking over Tim’s shoulder in a way that tells Tim that:
1) This guy is not from Gotham
2) This guy has no idea how to handle people from Gotham.
Tim withholds a sigh at the idea of yet another “What not to do in Gotham” Training session in Titans tower but he’ll suck it up.
“Tim” Tim introduces himself, ordering the Uber and starting to move toward the always-open exit.
“Danny” the guy introduces back, also moving toward the exit.
And now Tim has to go with him and take him to coffee. Even if just to make sure he doesn’t get kidnapped by having good manners.