Work Text:
“Raven, if you wanna be a PI, nothing can replace knocking on doors.”
“I understand that Tim.” she emphasises his name.
Where does he get off, treating me like an amateur? I have been a Titan longer than he has been Robin. We may look the same. I may even look a little younger. But when it comes to experience, years as a hero, I have him beat.
“It's a totally different beast. You're not gonna be doing this as Raven. Rachel can't show up in the middle of nowhere without an explanation.”
I open my mouth to interject, but he continues.
“As Raven, no notes.” He holds my gaze. His eyes are serious and oh so soft. “As Rachel, a private citizen. A private investigator. Here, I have more experience.”
There’s a warmth in them that isn’t just mentorship; it’s the same look he gives me when the office is quiet and the world feels far away. It makes my chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with the argument.
As much as I hate to admit it. This is my first secret identity thing. I am Raven.
If I wanna go out into the world and have relationships; real ones, not just alliances or team bonds. Something that belongs to me, not to the Titans. Something I can hold in the dark without the world turning it into a headline.
And maybe, just maybe, someone I can share that life with without having to explain why I disappear at odd hours or why my hands sometimes smell like incense, herbs and old books.
Then, I need another identity.
A human identity.
Cyborg explained this to me once.
And that's how Kori became a model, and I was ‘home schooled’ before enrolling in College.
I do understand what RR means. During college, people just assumed I took the bus or walked over from a coffee shop. It was a given. If asked, and I found out for an answer, somebody else would just reply for me, assuming that is what I did.
If I show in the middle of nowhere, like this case requires us, to canvas, a door to door of an often deserted industrial area, I need mundane getaway. For Rach, simply vanishing, into the ether isn’t gonna cut it.
I look at the Death Trap in question.
Almost identical to the R-cycle.
Mine’s slightly leaner, a lower seat, black with indigo and lilac accents.
This morning, Tim showed up with a pair of biker boots, a helmet, protective pants and jacket.
His keys swung in the air as he whistled a merry tune.
I have no idea when he left the bed. Changed. And had time to get a bike.
It's a custom job. I can tell. Cass, Damian, Luke under the supervision of Alfred, and anyone else passing through the cave, probably worked on it. I like the colours. If I look more closely, the gradient is beautiful. Everything from midnight to twilight. It's so me it's insane.
The question, after obviously how the hell am I going to ride this thing?, is, who chose these colours.
I've been a Titan with Grayson, Todd, Drake, and Damien. I am friends with Cass. When I look at the bike, all I can feel is love.
It's like a warm buzz under my skin.
I think Cass’s guessed about us, Tim and I.
I don’t know what the ‘us’ defines.
Boy with Wayne Enterprises. Sick of helping rich people make another boatload of money, looking for something different. A girl who’d helped some people who had nowhere else to go.
Jason introduced us.
I was ready to go micro. I wanted to help people. Change one person‘s life. Timothy drink the same. He mostly helped with stolen identities. Internet fraud. A real white hat.
A part of Wayne Industries funds us.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I say.
Tim shrugs, but there is colour in his cheeks. “Rachel needs a way home that does not involve teleporting out of an industrial district.”
“And Tim needs an excuse to build me a motorcycle.”
“That too.”
He holds out the helmet. His fingers brush mine when I take it.
“You’ll be fine,” he says, softer now. “I’ll be right behind you.”
So it seems today is going to be my first time riding a bike.