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The first gift is a BatBurger deluxe with a small pack of Bat-Fries.
It appears on Tim's desk around 2:30 in the morning, during a three-minute window when Tim is away from his desk, taking a bathroom break. It's still warm, wrapped in colourful paper, grease seeping down onto a plate taken from his own kitchen. There is a very ominous note taped to the top. In a blocky handwriting, it says:
you skipped dinner today <3
Alfred will be mad if you don't eat
Tim doesn't eat it.
He photographs it from four different angles, bags the note after swabbing the paper, tests the burger for poison - and starts a case file like any rational person would.
By morning, there is a sizeable corkboard beside his desk labeled: UNKNOWN INTRUDER IN THE NEST: CASE OPEN
Under that, in smaller letters: an UNKNOWN possibly beneficiary-adjacent INTRUDER
Dick sees it when he drops by, and nearly dies from laughter.
"Tim," he says, toying with a red string connecting over different clippings and pieces of evidence. "You've got to be kidding me, bro."
It's insane. Four hours ago, Tim hauled the board from the basement. Now, half of it is filled with his notes and printouts, photos of the aforementioned burger, and then the note - no fingerprints found on that one. Security stills are especially interesting, showing a large silhouette heading toward the building at 2:23 AM, holding the chain's takeout bag. The timestamp is circled with highlighter. After that, whoever it was, turned off the feed.
"Don't," Tim groans, not looking up from his laptop. He's been awake for almost thirty hours at this point, not only trying to finish his overdue reports, but also solve this case before it gets out of control.
"That's Jason." Dick points out in the picture.
"You don't know that."
"He left you dinner and mentioned Alfred in his note. See? That's literally his handwriting."
"That's circumstantial. Besides, Hood was seen with B around that time in the East Side. He would’ve had to place the order earlier to make it here by 2:20."
"It says the burger has no pickles?" Dick adds, staring at the receipt clipped to the board. "Do you think it's a trap?"
For the first time since Dick's very unwelcome arrival, Tim looks at him. His fingers pause over the keyboard.
Four months ago, during a stakeout, Tim had picked the pickles out of his sandwich while Jason was busy threatening one of his lieutenants over the phone. Jason had glanced at him from the side, said nothing, and crunched through them the entire way back. It annoyed the hell out of him.
It makes sense that Jason would know that - but it could also be something easily staged to mislead him in the investigation.
Tim quickly resumes the typing.
"Still circumstantial."
Dick leans closer to the board. Of course, next to the evidence, there's a brief summary of the intruder's profile, complemented by a long list of possible motives - threat, surveillance escalation, psychological manipulation, a prank-
He taps the fifth one: romantic interest
"This is so adorable, Timmy."
"This is a felony."
Dick rolls his eyes.
"Romance can be both."
Tim gives him a sour look.
"I'm just saying! If Jason wants to take care of you, you know... Maybe, let him?"
"I don't know if it's Jason." Tim turns to the board. "I need proof."
"You want proof," Dick corrects him and Tim pretends not to hear him.
The second gift appears two nights later.
It's a replacement grappling hook, because Tim's had broken mid-swing and nobody was supposed to have noticed except Bruce who on the comm line went abruptly silent before saying "What happened?" and Tim told him that nothing's wrong, just a small gear failure.
Bruce hadn't believed him, obviously, and demanded Tim to be more careful from now on. But Bruce also hadn't been the one to leave a brand-new replacement on his desk.
The note says:
next time you fall, I hope you fall on my dick
Tim bags the note despite truly wanting to burn it. He adds to the intruder's profile: The subject has vigilante-adjacent access and knowledge of patrol incidents. Possibly checking street cameras?
That night someone breaks into the Nest and draws a heart on the board and blacks the street cameras part out. Nothing else, just that. Tim stands in front of it the next morning, wearing the same clothes he fell asleep in at his desk. Seeing a black marker makes him angrier than it should. More cork disappears under his notes.
Subject monitors ongoing investigation.
By the afternoon, there's an OBVIOUSLY! added next to the line. Tim adds, Subject is a moron and too much of a coward to show his face.
By the evening, there's another note taped beneath it:
your board sucks
Tim looks at it for a while. He analyses the handwriting, letters getting more sloppy, the pressure getting heavier.
Subject responds emotionally to accurate profiling.
Somehow, over the next few days, the board becomes a whole conversation.
Tim writes, Subject is likely less than six feet based on window-entry scuffs and position of the frame.
The next morning, the window frame have been raised by six inches.
Tim writes, Subject aware of forensic height estimation. Possible insecurity regarding height.
The following night, someone has crossed out the entire sentence so hard the marker has bled into the cork.
Underneath it:
I’M NOT INSECURE
Tim adds, Subject is getting defensive.
Two hours later:
YOURE DEFENSIVE
Tim, sipping coffee, writes, Subject lacks maturity, and leaves it at that.
The gifts keep on coming almost every night after that. One of the next ones is a bag full of instant coffee packets and protein bars in flavours Tim doesn't hate. The note says:
Go out with me?
As usual, Tim bags the note. He doesn't put it on the board this time, though. The first note has quickly migrated from its place among the evidence into a smaller box inside his desk. It has been joined by the second, and soon the third. And the other where the intruder had written, stop using duct tape on injuries, across the back of a pharmacy receipt.
They're still evidence, technically. But Tim treats them as something more, all of them his small treasures. They should bother him. After all, someone - definitely not Jason - is breaking and entering on a daily basis. Instead, he stuffs them into a box and pretends he doesn't check the board twice a day with a stupid smile on his face. Pretends he isn’t disappointed when there’s nothing new waiting for him just yet.
Dick comes over one night under the flimsy pretense of checking on some mission files and stops dead in front of what is now three huge corkboards connected with a web of different colour strings.
“Oh,” he says, laughing, a little horrified. “It got worse.”
Tim sighs.
“It became more thorough.”
"Is this a photo of Bart getting doughnuts?"
"Person of interest," Tim explains.
In the photo, Bart is speeding through a crowded street, holding a pink bakery box. A square of matching cardboard sample is pinned to the board beside it. The box hasn’t found its way to his desk yet, but Tim needed to be smart about it. If his admirer is escalating and working in an organised group, then the next delivery will probably arrive in the exact same packaging. Apparently, a visual match wasn’t good enough. Tim had needed to confirm the fiber's density in person.
"Did you figure it all out?"
Tim swivels slowly in his chair and throws a stress ball at Dick.
"Not remotely. Even if I suspect who the main culprit is, I still have to establish motive, method, accomplices-"
"You mean Jason?" Dick cuts him off.
Tim's jaw tightens. But before he can answer and correct him, a faint scrape comes from the window.
They both turn.
Jason is crouched on the other side, halfway through picking the lock and sliding the window open. He freezes when he realises he's been caught. He looks from Tim, to Dick, to boards behind them.
No one says anything for a second.
Then, Jason says,
"This isn't what it looks like."
Tim folds his arms.
“It looks like you’re breaking into my apartment.”
Jason looks down at the lockpick in his hand and promptly drops it.
“Then it’s exactly what it looks like.”
Dick makes a small sound, like he's choking with his need to laugh at them.
“You shut the fuck up,” Jason snarls at him.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to, Dickhead.”
“I was about to say this is hilarious.”
The next second, Jason flees. He jumps off the fire escape and disappears into the night.
Tim walks to the window, opens it fully, and finds a pack of melatonin gummies on the sill. It has a note attached to it:
you start to hallucinate, freak. I work alone. go to sleep.
Dick rests his chin on Tim's shoulder to read it.
"Damn, he's so in love it makes him stupid."
Tim elbows him in the ribs.
The problem with having an intruder in the form of Jason is that Tim can't leave it alone until he makes Jason absolutely regret it.
He needs another tactic. A controlled provocation to determine the exact motive, access level and emotional involvement. He absolutely doesn't spend the rest of the night trying to choose the exact wording, because he knows - with his heart thumping hard in his chest - that Jason will see and react to it.
At exactly 1 AM, Tim adds a new line to the board, along with a photo.
Primary suspect: Conner Kent.
This should bite Jason in the ass. He goes to bed but he doesn't sleep.
At 2:40 AM, the Nest's silent alarm pings next to his bed. Tim cracks one eye open.
At 2:47 AM, there's a crash coming from his office.
When he tiptoes there a few minutes later, there are new notes beneath Conner's name, written in large furious letters that nearly take up a third of the board.
SUPER SIMP? ARE YOU BLIND?
Below that,
HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW YOUR FAVOURITE COFFEE OR YOUR PATROL ROUTES
Below that,
OR THAT YOU HATE THE BLUE PROTEIN BARS BUT YOU SECRETLY EAT THEM WHEN NO ONES WATCHING
Below that,
ALSO, HE'S TOO SHORT TO MATCH YOUR HEIGHT ASSESSMENT
Tim stands in the doorway in his pyjama pants and stares at the board.
Jason apparently has realised too late that he has written himself into the corner.
On Tim's desk there is a bag containing two cans of his favourite ground coffee, three packs of the tolerable blue protein bars, a packet of fancy tea Tim has only bought only once because it was overpriced, and a tiny screwdriver set he mentioned needing two days ago at the Cave when he thought no one was listening.
He looks at the bag, and then at the boards. And then at Jason, still standing there with a marker in his hand, writing something down furiously.
Tim flicks on the lamp.
Jason goes still, once again caught in the act.
"Hello Jason. Or should I say, my secret intruder?"
“Allegedly.”
“You broke into my apartment.”
“Allegedly.”
“Fourteen times.” Tim narrows his eyes.
“Fifteen,” Jason corrects.
“Fifteen?”
“One of those was unrelated.”
“You tampered with my evidence.”
“You were wrong.”
“I was investigating.”
“You were being annoying.”
Tim says nothing to that.
The room gets silent.
Under the coffee, the old dust of cork and paper, there is something electric and raw in the air. Something stupid and badly hidden. All those notes in a box. All those gifts that were never flowers, never chocolates, nothing soft and innocent. Gauze. Food. Gear. Caffeine. Things that say, I noticed what you really need. Things that say, I hope it’s enough.
All that care, shoved through the window and left at his desk like contraband.
Tim’s anger flares but it dissipates as soon as he looks at Jason’s worried expression.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asks, whispering, softly. "Or use a front door, like a normal person?"
Jason’s face relaxes. His eyes drop for half a second to the floor between them.
“I don’t know,” Jason admits.
Tim waits.
Jason exhales, rough through his nose. “You were right about me being a coward.”
Tim steps closer and reaches past him.
Jason goes rigid.
Tim takes the bag from the desk.
Jason blinks.
“You got the good coffee.” Tim looks inside.
“Yeah,” Jason says, wary.
“And the tea.”
“Overpriced bullshit.”
“I liked it.”
“I know.”
There it is again.
I know.
Tim closes the bag.
"And to think they call me a stalker.” Tim rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot."
“Got that from the board.”
Tim walks to one of the boards, takes down the Conner note, and replaces it with a fresh strip of paper.
CASE STATUS: SOLVED
Jason shifts behind him. “Are you seriously doing that now?”
Tim writes beneath the first line.
MOTIVE: SEVERE ROMANTIC INTEREST
Jason coughs, his cheeks turning pink.
“Severe?”
The marker squeaks faintly as Tim writes the last words.
POSSIBLY MUTUAL?
Jason stares at the board. “Mutual?”
Tim turns slowly.
“Shut up,” he grumbles, looking to the side, blushing himself. “Leave.”
Jason takes one step closer.
“So you like your secret intruder?”
“Window’s right behind you.”
Jason reaches for the bag, takes out one of the blue protein bars, and drops into Tim’s desk chair like he has any rights to be there. Like he belongs among the monitors, the notes, the soft amber lamp.
“No,” Jason says again. “I wanna see my psychological profile.”
Tim stares at him.
Jason takes a bite of the protein bar and immediately grimaces.
“God, these are terrible.”
“You bought them.”
“You eat them.”
“They’re tolerable.”
“They taste like drywall.”
“Then stop stealing my evidence.”
“Update the part where you called me immature.” Jason points the protein bar at the board.
“No.”
“I brought you coffee.”
Tim should kick him out.
Tim should take down the board.
Tim should do a lot of things.
Instead, he opens the bag, takes out the tea, and sets the kettle on.
Behind him, Jason hums, softer, “Mutual.”
“Don’t push it,” Tim says. "I'm still mad at you. I want flowers, you know. And chocolates. And two-week vacation in Greece."
Jason laughs again.
On the board, under motive, the question mark waits in black ink.
Not confirmed but not denied.
Not yet.
For now, the case is closed.
The secret admirer can stay.
They will cross the ? out later.