Work Text:
The tea, predictably, tasted like hot water mixed with grass. Tim wanted with every fibre of his being to spit it out.
He sat across Ra’s al Ghul in a huge, ceremonial chamber that felt more like a re-purposed mausoleum. Who knows, it might actually be a re-purposed mausoleum.
This had become his new normal. Every evening, like an endless loop, Tim was escorted to this damp, suffocating room to entertain a centuries-old eco-terrorist who desperately needed a hobby that didn't involve global genocide or his apparent lack of boundary-awareness over tea. The only change from the monotonous routine was that today there was a chessboard set on the table between them. Massive and handcarved, Tim had no doubt this was another one of the Demon’s Head’s opulent possessions that probably cost more than a car. The ivory and obsidian pieces caught the light like glittering harbingers of doom, the gems inlaid in the board glowing faintly.
"You look weary, Detective," Ra’s purred. His voice had a smooth, almost theatrical cadence that always made Tim want to scrub his skin with bleach. Ra’s leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a possessive interest that made Tim’s stomach roil. "The burdens of the world sit heavily upon such delicate shoulders."
I’m weary because you and your security guards don't understand the concept of a do-not-disturb sign, Tim thought. God, even his thoughts sounded exhausted these days. He took a tiny sip of the tea, almost entirely convinced Ra's was testing his poison-resistance.
"I’m fine," Tim said, keeping his voice carefully devoid of the absolute revulsion curdling in his stomach. It wouldn’t do to let the victim of the murder you were planning out in your head to gather even a hint of just how much Tim wanted to strangle him, of course.
He looked straight into the old piece-of-shit’s eyes. "What do you actually want with me, Ra's? Because if this is just about tracking Bruce, I’m sure you have a lot of people who could do that."
Ra’s let out a soft, low chuckle that echoed eerily in the quiet room. He reached out, his long, wizened fingers hovering over the ivory pieces on his side before resting gently on a knight. "The world is full of bumbling fools, Timothy. Why, I simply wish to see your brilliant mind in action, Detective."
The way Ra’s said his name sent a violent shudder down Tim’s spine, which he did his best to mask. It was a heavy, cloying sort of attention. The kind that made Tim feel like a butterfly pinned to a board, or worse, a prized possession being caressed by a collector.
"Let us make our evenings more... stimulating," Ra’s suggested, his lips curling into a loose, mocking caricature of a smile. "A wager. If you defeat me tonight, I shall allow you any one luxury of your choice to be brought to your quarters. Technology, literature, comfort—name it, and it is yours."
Tim raised an eyebrow, his fingers lightly tapping against his knee to mask the faint tremor that plagued his hands. "And if you win?"
Ra’s leaned back, his eyes narrowing to slits as that disgusting, self-satisfied smirk stretched wider. "One favor from you, Detective. Something of a.... blank check, as you Americans say. You may not refuse whatever I ask, no matter the nature of the request."
The implication hung in the heavy air like a foul odor. Tim felt an icy jolt of pure disgust slam into his chest. You absolutely disgusting, ancient piece of shit, he thought, his jaw clenching for a fraction of a second before his rather extensive training took over, forcing his face back into a blank, unreadable mask. While Janet Drake didn’t know how exactly he made use of her high-society lessons, he was extremely grateful for them this very second was sure she would approve.
The sheer arrogance radiating off the man was nauseating. Tim wanted nothing more than to jam the damned chessboard down the man’s throat, but instead, he just sighed.
"Fine," Tim said casually, reaching out to touch his own obsidian pawn. He looked up, his face perfectly blank and slightly innocent. "Though, I should probably admit... I’m a bit rusty. I haven't played chess in a really long time. Remind me, how exactly do I win at this again?"
Ra’s blinked, a flicker of genuine confusion breaking through his smarmy expression. He looked at Tim as if he couldn’t believe the boy’s ignorance. "You must capture my king to win, Detective. It is a game of total dominance. Every piece on this board exists only to bleed so that the monarch may be cornered, trapped, and crushed."
The immortal’s words dripped with psychological posturing, but Tim just nodded slowly, acting like he was absorbing a complicated math lesson. "Right. Capture the king. Got it."
They began to play.
The game moved at an agonizingly slow pace, mostly because neither of them was actually focused on the board. Their conversation mainly consisted of Ra’s doing his best to goad Tim into making some sort of mistake or revealing weakness, while Tim carefully stepped around the strategic equivalents of invisible minefields. Ra’s spent the next forty minutes dropping vague, unsettling hints about Tim's "true potential" and how the Batman had "stifled his brilliance," his voice dropping to a low, intimate drawl every time.
Tim countered by keeping his responses as dry, aggressively boring and hopelessly naive as humanly possible. He showed Ra’s the personality equivalent of wet cardboard, focusing his energy on holding the Demon’s Head’s attention captive while also being as boring as humanly possible.
"You are distracted, Timothy," Ra’s noted smoothly. He looked down at the board, a deep, triumphant satisfaction lighting up his ancient eyes. He pinched his white queen, sliding it diagonally across the wood with a sharp clack. "A fatal error. You have left the left side of your board entirely exposed."
Ra’s looked up, his lips stretching into that loose, disgusting smile again. He looked utterly smug, practically vibrating with the undisguised anticipation of his impending victory. "You are completely trapped, Detective. Do you understand the maneuver I have just executed?"
Tim stared at the board for a long moment. He let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping in apparent defeat. "Yeah. Your move would have completely checkmated me. Clean victory."
Ra’s smiled, leaning forward to claim his prize. "Then the favor—"
"Except," Tim interrupted. The flat, exhausted teenager mask vanished in an instant. A bright, dangerously manic grin flashed across his face, his eyes snapping up to meet the immortal's with a razor-sharp clarity.
Tim reached into the deep sleeve of his League-issued tunic, pulled his hand out, and dropped a heavy piece of carved white ivory onto the center of the board with a loud thud. "I believe I might have something of yours, Ra's."
It was the white king.
Ra’s narrowed his eyes. He looked to the empty square on his side of the board to the piece rolling slightly on the wood. He stared at it, his face cycling through a rapid sequence of absolute shock, blistering anger, and deep confusion.
"What... what is the meaning of this?" Ra’s hissed, his voice dropping the smooth cadence, revealing a hint of the ancient monster underneath. "This is a farce. You did not play by the rules."
"You said I had to capture your king to win," Tim said, his voice dripping with dry satisfaction as he leaned back into his cushion. "You didn't say I had to use the pieces on the board to do it."
Ra’s stared at him, silent as he processed the sheer, unadulterated audacity of the teenager sitting across from him. Nobody cheated the Demon's Head. Nobody stole from him under his own nose.
But as the initial rage flared, it was suddenly swallowed by something else. A dark, intense wave of intrigue washed over the old man. His eyes locked onto Tim with a new level of depraved fascination. He knew now, he wasn't just dealing with a too-smart sidekick, he was dealing with a ferally brilliant little creature that completely refused to play by anyone else's rules.
"Guards," Ra’s murmured, his voice dangerously soft as his eyes traced the lines of Tim's face. "Escort the Detective back to his quarters."
Two heavily armed ninjas stepped out of the shadows, looking very much unsure of what, exactly, had transpired as Tim watched with a slight smirk and their Master’s eyes burned, but they moved to flank Tim anyway.
Tim stood up, dusting off his tunic with a bored flick of his wrist. He didn't look back at Ra's as he walked out, his mind already shifting gears. Note to self: request an encrypted satellite dish and high-speed computer set-up for my room tomorrow. If he’s going to be a creepy old bastard, the least he can do is pay for my tech.
Behind him, Ra’s al Ghul sat alone in the dim room, his fingers slowly tracing the contours of his stolen king, a slow, terrifyingly captivated smile spreading across his face.