Not a Hugger

June 12, 2017:

Working at putting the finishing touches on the refurbished Titans Tower, Red Robin gets an unexpected guest.

Titans Tower, NYC

A distinctive T-shaped tower on a man-made island in the East River. The headquarters of original Titans.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions: Batman, Wonder Woman, Superboy, Wonder Girl, Spider-Man, Zatanna Zatara

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

The remodelling of Titans Tower is nearly complete.

The building simply hadn't been used much since the earliest incarnations of the Titans, when heroes like Robin and Kid Flash and Speedy walked its halls, and it needed work. The exterior was updated and refurbished, the windows replaced with a new, self-repairing clear polymer produced by Waynetech (whose design was not attributed to its actual developer, because nobody was going to believe a nineteen year old rich kid who goes to a state school could come up with anything of the sort… besides, he didn't need the extra attention) and the interiors had similarly been modernised, cleaned up and restored.

The brute construction work, done via firms used to metahuman nonsense and hired through an elaborate shell-game of companies that could never be traced back to its point of origin, was already done. What remained was interior work, making sure the Tower's various systems were fully operational, and bringing the core supercomputer on line.

That was the sort of thing Red Robin would handle himself.

The towering buildings of midtown Manhattan to the west ensure that the man-made island in the East River sees an early twilight, already growing dim in the June evening; soon, the spotlights around the Tower's plaza will turn on automatically, illuminating the T-shaped building for safety's sake.

Inside the Tower, the only current occupant with the workers having finished for the day, Red Robin is handling some of that work he meant to do by himself, tasks to delicate - and too secret - to entrust to anyone else. The island surveillance network was already online, of course, security having been a paramount concern.

So, he's liable to know if anyone comes visiting.

Caitlin's approach is not exactly a subtle one. Borrowing the Invisible Jet, she banks a wide loop around the Tower with the low hum of the Lansinaar engines making their distinct whine.

She's more than a little surprised when the Tower's automated guidance system pings her for an IFF signal, and she touches two pads on the control console.

"This is Fairchild, transmitting IFF, code two-two-three-seven. On vector approach from north north east at fifteen knots," she remarks, a little surprised that there might be anyone listening. It is an automated system that the Jet recognizes, though— basic Justice League design.

She expertly brings the Jet around and lands it on the roof with a neat flair of exhaust, the vessel responding to her expert touch and settling down on low, flat struts.

It disgorges the tall redhead via an exit ramp, and she trots down with a curious expression on her face. Baggy cargo pants worn low-slung and her well-loved JLA-issued hoodie make for a decidedly casual hair, with most of her wealth of red-orange hair held back with a black scrunchie in a frizzy ponytail.

"Uh… hello?" she calls, wandering into the landing bay with her hands jammed in her pockets. "Is anyone … home?"

There certainly is enough room on the rooftop to land something with as short of a landing profile as the Invisible Jet, though probably it was designed with something more along the lines of helicopters in mind; rooftop access leads into the living quarters section of the Tower, still half-finished. A large common room, with a kitchen and dining area, the two 'arms' of the T-shape playing host to the rooms for individual Titans… It comes across almost like a school dormitory, just at the top of a very curiously designed tower.

It turns out, however, that there is someone home.

Once the computer had picked up and recognised the Invisible Jet, Red Robin knew that he was going to be getting visitors: It would be difficult, if not impossible, to physically keep anyone from the League out, unless it was like Green Arrow maybe, and why would he be in the Invisible Jet? So he put away his work, and he tugged his cowl back up over his head, settling everything into place, checking what information he had available about Caitlin Fairchild.

"Yes," is the response to Fairchild's query, as a shadow resolves itself into figure of Red Robin, his black cape draped around him like a shroud, the lenses over his eyes gleaming with faint white light in the black of his cowl. His voice is blurred electronically, turning it into something that could never be traced to any particular person, which is of course the point: Red Robin could be anyone, or no one. Who was under the cowl didn't matter. That was one lesson he'd learned from the Dark Knight better than Nightwing had, certainly.

"Caitlin Fairchild, member of the Justice League. High intelligence, superhuman physical strength and toughness. Apparently, Wonder Woman lets you borrow her jet," the vigilante adds, in a rueful tone. "What brings you to Titans Tower, Miss Fairchild?"

Caitlin squeaks in a very undignified fashion and grabs the nearest object handy to defend herself, taking a few seconds to figure out who's pulling the Spooky Voice from Shadows on her. Fortunately for Tim, it's a hatrack and not the table nearby that she almost flings at the shadowy figure. She lets the hatrack sag, taking a heaving breath to steady herself, and puts her palm to her sternum.

"Holy SMOKES, you -scared- me," she scolds Tim, once she realizes it's a vigilante in tights.

She puts the hatrack down, taking a moment to recover her aplomb, and tries to scowl at Tim. She's not very good at scowling. "Diana and I have a special arrangement, called Nunya. Nunya Business," she tells Tim, trying to regain the upper hand in the counter. "I should ask -you- that. This is Justice League property," she tells him, standing akimbo. It's hard to miss the official seal of the League on her hoodie, though it's been partially worn off. Only issued to League members. "And it's supposed to be -empty-. What /is/ all this? Are you squatting here?" she asks, gesturing vaguely at the new paint and signs of fresh construction. It's clear that a lot of time and expense has been invested in restoring the building to a habitable condition.

"That was my idea," she mutters.

"Technically, it's the property of the City of New York," Red Robin notes, keeping himself schooled to stillness. He is pretty glad, privately, that Fairchild didn't throw anything at him. Even if her strength weren't amplified by her metahuman abilities to 'accidentally turn a person into paste' levels, with her height and build even a mere mortal could throw something pretty hard. "Loaned to the Titans in recognition of their efforts to protect the city. The Justice League might have taken responsibility for the building and the island, but they've left it to moulder."

A faint smile plays across the vigilante's face at that, because it wouldn't be the first time that he used an abdandoned League base; the informal 'Young Justice' group met in a disused JLA facility, after all.

Much to the consternation of its sole occupant, a previously deactivated Red Tornado.

"I'm simply making sure that Titans Tower is being used for its original purpose, Miss Fairchild. A place where younger heroes, where people with gifts who might otherwise fall through the cracks, can be safe and learn to work together. Now, why were you planning on squatting in what you thought was an abandoned, dusty tower? I'm sure the League has much more comfortable places to sleep…"

Caitlin eyenarrows at Tim, but the whole 'Miss Fairchild' bit is throwing her off. He's entirely too polite and the spooky way he speaks is unnerving her tremendously.

"Well— I mean, y'know, rent's kinda high in Metropolis," she mumbles, put back on her heels by his precise diction and direct way of speaking. "I was thinking it'd… be cool to, like, you know. Have a little training space. Work on stuff in the hangar, build a car or something," she says.

She blinks and digs a tiny and /very/ bright flashlight out of her pocket, as if only just now remembering she has it, and trains it on the shadows Tim in which Tim lurks. Surprisingly pragmatic for a slightly introverted Amazon.

"Hey! Waittaminnit! You're one of Batman's kids!" she exclaims. As if having invoked the boogeyman, she turns quickly, looking over her shoulder. "Oh god, he's not /here/ is he? This isn't like the new… Bat … cave… tower… thing, right?" she asks, making a mental note of the distance to the nearest window if she were to dive out of it in a hurry.

Rent's kinda high in Metropolis.

"And in New York," Red Robin agrees, again seeming dryly amused by Fairchild's responses. "You're a graduate student at Columbia, aren't you? Probably a bit of a commute from Metropolis, unless the university's added invisible jet parking while I wasn't paying attention."

The flashlight doesn't make him disappear or wither away or anything, though behind his cowl's lenses his eyes squint briefly before his suit's onboard systems compensate for the brightness. He straightens up, pushing his cape back over his shoulders, revealing the red of his costume, the yellow utility belt.

"It's Titans Tower," he answers Fairchild's concerns about the Bat suddenly swooping out of nowhere, all grim-faced and terrifying. "He's a bit old for the team, and he's busy with the League anyway on the rare times anyone could pry him out of Gotham. This is something else, a project of my own. Bringing back the Titans. Nightwing did it before, and now it's my turn."

"Was. I work for Starr Labs," Caitlin tells Red Robin, cautiously. "Internships are neither sexy nor high paying." She turns the light off when Robin emerges from his cloak, tucking it back into her pocket, and folds her arms across her stomach with a skeptical expression, her hip cocking to the side to support her weight.

"I was friends with some of the old Titans crew. It kinda fell apart," she points out to Robin. "And most of them were friends with League members. Even sidekicks," she advises him. "A couple of them made a run at the full-time thing, but the rest decided the capes and tights lifestyle wasn't their jam. What makes you think it's gonna go better /this/ time?" she inquires of him, brow lifted.

"No, wait, scratch that, -how- did you get the keys here?" she asks, realizing that's probably a more important avenue of discussion. "Who'd you talk to? Last I checked, the League was paying maintenance fees, but the place has been empty for… gosh, a couple years? And you've been -painting-, this is… I mean, it's a little bland," she says, looking around, "but it's fresh, at least. Who's bankrolling all this? Batman?" she guesses.

That correction to out of date information about Fairchild is filed away, remembered for later; it's rare that Red Robin forgets much of anything, but it never hurts to have updated files about people. You know, just in case. She's skeptical about what he's doing, dubious about its chances of working.

What makes you think it's gonna go better this time?

"This time, I'm here."

Red Robin states it as though it's a simple fact that makes all the difference, and he certainly seems to believe it, with a matter-of-fact confidence that might simply be a kind of understated arrogance. No need to flaunt it, or make grand declarations. Four simple words.

"I made arrangements with the city, since I doubted they'd appreciate someone just taking up residence of a fortifiable tower in the middle of New York. The Titans Foundation, a recently formed nonprofit, will take over the maintenance costs, freeing the League to deal with matters of their stature. As for the money for the repairs to the building, the Titans Foundation received an initial outlay of capital from some private citizens who were concerned about the lack of a place for younger heroes, but they'd prefer to avoid any publicity on the matter."

"Besides, it wasn't hard to get in, the security hasn't been updated in ages. If this place wasn't on an island in the middle of the river, it would've been vandalised or burned down ages ago." Though what it really means is that the security wasn't good enough to stop him. Red Robin often views the world through somewhat skewed metrics.

"If you don't think this is a good idea, Miss Fairchild, you don't have to stick around," the vigilante says mildly, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the electronic masking on his voice. "But if you're worried that I'm doing this because Batman told me to, I can assure you that I stopped only doing things Batman told me to do a long time ago. I'm doing this because there are people our ages and younger that the Avengers and the Justice League are ill-equipped to help. Who need a place where they won't have SHIELD or even Superman looking over their shoulder. I'm going to help them whether anyone else likes it or not."

Caitlin walks up to Robin, eyes narrowing a little, and as she closes the gap it's /very/ hard to overlook how big she is. Even if she lacks the presence of a more senior League member, she's certainly earned her chops on the team, and besides that— she's big enough to tower almost everyone.

"I didn't say it was a /bad/ idea," she tells Robin, scolding him a little. "And you're not the only one who thought of it. …you might have beaten me to the punch by a few weeks," she concedes, "but it's not like the Justice League's got, like, an amazing youth placement program. 'Hey kid, don't get killed' isn't much of a training platform," she concedes. A key difference between her and Robin, right there: she's clearly the sort of person with a blunt, habitual sense of honesty.

"But I do know that this isn't the sort of thing you can do just solo," she tells Robin, finally relaxing her posture a little. She just can't sustain that sort of poise to intimidate someone she's not actually mad at, it seems. "For one, I know you don't have any superpowers," she tells him. "Which, hey, that's really great for teaching non-metahumans, but strength training someone who can squat twenty-five tons takes a little bit different approach. And two, this is a lotta overhead to do alone. You need … gosh, even if you don't have personnel, you need some people who are handy. Mechanics, IT types, at least one person besides me who can cook, because I'll eat more than everyone on the team put together— and yes, I used to hang out with the Flash family," she assures Red Robin.

She bobs her head back and forth, propping a fist on her hip, and sticks her jaw out a little as she looks down at him. "I think you need a partner here."

The height of the young woman is impressive, especially close up; even with the lifts in his boots, meant to disguise his actual height and help him present a more intimidating figure - he'd been using this particular getup since he was about seventeen, after all - she's still got nearly half a foot on him. Of course, Red Robin was trained by the Batman, so even if he is acutely aware of the physical size difference even before the fact that Fairchild could probably throw a train at somebody, he lives by one of the core axioms of the Dark Knight: Never let them see you sweat.

Not… That Batman would likely phrase it that way.

"Miss Fairchild, those are all very valid concerns, and if you'd like to help, well… You'd be quite welcome. But who said anything about doing this alone?" It almost sounds like a cue for other people to suddenly emerge out of the shadows of the darkened common area… But of course, that doesn't happen.

Would've been neat, though.

Instead, responding to the computer in his suit, a holographic projector in the room comes to life, ghostly blue images of the new Titans he's already recruited. Superboy and Wonder Girl, the latter in her (still frankly ridiculous) disguise of a dark wig and goggles. Spider-Man, webslinging around Manhattan. Zatanna, though her face is obscured with a domino mask.

"The core computer I built has a virtual intelligence that handles most of the basic tasks around the Tower, and everyone who joins is going to be trained in how to operate with it. The members I've already recuited have a variety of useful skills outside of just heroics, and I've already got some more names on my list to see to before the Titans are ready for prime time. I can assure you, Miss Fairchild, this wasn't a spur of the moment decision on my part. I've been thinking about this for months… And I'm using it to apply ideas I've had for years, and never had the space for. Just wait until the Mud Room is up and running."

The… What?

"But you've got a point, there are still things I might end up overlooking. Other perspectives are important. There are some previous Titans that I'm planning on talking to… But, like I said, your help would be very welcome. However… This isn't going to be an adjunct of the Justice League. The Titans need to be their own thing."

Caitlin blinks in surprise, looking at the holoprojector. She walks around it, examining the faces and the people that Tim's started to pick through. It's definitely a who's-who of the Young and the Heroic, that's for sure. Metahumans, mutants, magi… she scrolls threw a few names, nodding approval unconsciously.

"I actually know Spiderman. He's a sweetie. I bet he'd help," she tells Tim, absently. "The new Miss Marvel, she'd be a good one," she tells Tim. "She's not ready for primetime yet, but she's got a lotta heart. And this girl I know, Cassie… something. She's a friend. Spoiler, she'd— oh, right, you know her," Caitlin says, rolling her eyes and *bapping* her forehead gently.

"I kinda figured this is your own thing," she tells Tim, but not unkindly. "I lived in Gotham for a while. I know how Batman can get around metahumans. It's… a little bigoted," she frowns. "And if you were doing League stuff, well, I figure— y'know, that thing, with the… fraternities. Pledge? No, legacy," she says, snapping her fingers softly. "You'd be a legacy."

"T' be honest," she sighs, steppign away from the monitor, "I… I'm trying to prove something too, I guess. I don't wanna be one of the League members who just sits in the wings for ten years," she says, finding the sturdiest chair in the room and dropping into it as carefully as possible. "I want to make a bigger difference. Sit at the big table. I was thinking that… y'know, helping to train some people, bring them up a little like people did for me. That might give me that little *push*," she says, gesturing vaguely, "to contribute better."

She looks away from Tim with a little embarassment on her strong features, making a show of brushing her hair out of her face. "Maybe that's silly," she mutters.

The mention of 'Cassie… something' very nearly gets a wry look out of Red Robin, but he suppresses it. She was trying to maintain a secret identity, no matter how terrible her 'costume' was, and it wasn't his place to reveal that for her. If she wanted to tell the other Titans once they were the Titans, and not just people that Red Robin had recruited, a sort of Titans-in-potentia, that was up to her.

His own identity might become… Complicated, once they were all together. Most of those he'd recruited so far already knew who was under the cape and cowl. But he was bound and determined to let every Titan make their own choice, there. He wouldn't force Spider-Man to unmask any more than he would Cassie.

Hopefully, it wouldn't bite them in the ass, later.

"Yes, I know Spoiler," Red Robin confirms, with a nod. "I'm not sure if she'd want to do something like this, she's already pretty busy with the Avengers. Still, it can't hurt to ask, I suppose."

Another potential problem he'd considered: What if the Titans ended up at cross-purposes with the Avengers, or the League? He wasn't so optimistic as to believe that people on the same 'side' couldn't end up at odds with one another, and the possibility of divided loyalties had definitely come up in his 'pragmatic' (read: cynical) analyses.

He falls silent, though, as Fairchild makes her admission that she has something to prove as well. He simply listens, attentive as the towering redhead's honesty manifests in a confession that she finds somewhat embarrassing, her gestures aimed to partially conceal her facial features; she mutters that it might be silly of her.

"It's not silly. The Justice League is full of people who cast long shadows, and it's easy to get lost in them… And once you're lost in someone else's shadow, it can be tough to find your own way. This may come as a surprise to you, but Batman is a lot to live up to." Incredible understatement. "But I realised a few years ago that I don't need to. I don't need to follow his path, I don't need to try to be him. I just need to be me, and make my own path. For now, that's this. Those four are friends who've chosen to walk that path with me, and if one day we end up on the Justice League, well… It'll be because of us, not because of the legacies we represent."

The Clone of Steel, created from the DNA of Superman.

The Daughter of Zeus, who wants nothing more than to be like Wonder Woman.

The onetime Boy Wonder, with his eyes on the title of the World's Greatest Detective.

"So… Four, at least so far. More to come, but for now…" He steps towards where Fairchild is sitting; despite his boots, his footfalls are utterly silent. And he extends a hand towards the amazonian redhead. "…How about we make it five?"

Caitlin looks up at Tim in surprise when the hand enters her field of view, blinking rapidly. He /is/ quiet, and she's not the most perceptive person in the world. She swallows a sudden apprehension, even though with her height she doesn't need to work hard to look up at him while seated.

As much as he isn't Batman, Tim has some of those same qualities. That unerring sense of logic. A flawless attention to detail and a keen sense of motivations.

But it's the way that he /listens/ to Caitlin, not just hearing her, but listening and even empathizing with her, that brings her up short.

"You're really not much like him at all, are you?" she asks, a bit wryly. She looks at Tim's hand, then takes it (politely not actually squeezing him or leaning on him) and gets to her feet. The fingertip touch becomes a gentle handshake. "Okay, Robin, count me in," she tells him. "And… we weren't ever properly introduced. I'm Caitlin," she tells him, gently suggesting he drop the formalities. "Not much point in a codename, it's not like I can wear a fedora and just blend in."

You're really not much like him at all, are you?

"I'm nothing like anybody," Red Robin replies, with that same supreme matter-of-fact confidence as before. It's not really accurate, since he is of course a bit like a lot of people, and the Bat was too much of an influence on his formative years to not be on that list… But the idea of being something else, of being unlike those who came before him in fundamental ways, is part and parcel of this whole exercise with the Titans.

Even if Nightwing did it first.

He's glad, of course, that Fairchild has enough hard-won control over her own strength to shake hands with people who aren't similarly blessed, but he doesn't remark on it. He learned already in dealing with Jessica Jones that it can be sort of a touchy issue.

"I suppose that's a fair point," the vigilante agrees about the difficulty of having a secret identity as a woman of Fairchild's stature. "The other women around your height all seem to be orange or green. But all right, Caitlin. It's better to go with Red, if not fully Red Robin," he adds, before continuing in a quieter tone, as though imparting some deeply secret information. "There's another Robin, these days, and he's just the worst, so… It's important to keep the branding straight."

"Nope, sorry," Caitlin says, flashing a brilliant, effusive grin at Tim, dimples appearing on her cheeks. "I don't have a codename, but I /am/ Red to my friends in tights," she tells him. "It'll just confuse the heck outta things if we have TWO Reds, and since the other Robin isn't here…" she says, clearly taking a tone of lighthearted banter in counterpoint to Tim's stoicism. "I'll thumb wrestle you for it?" she offers, moments after letting Robin's glove out of her grasp.

"Also, I'm pretty sure I'm older than you are," she says, clearly teasing him. It's pretty obvious that Caitlin doesn't have a petty bone in her body.

She looks around the tower speculatively, tucking her hands into her back pockets for lack of a better spot to put them, letting her weight swing over one hip again.

"Hnn. How much paint do you have left?" she asks him, abruptly switching up the topic. "This place could use a /little/ more color," she says. "A few splashes on the wall would cheer things up a bit. Maybe some posters and some throw pillows," she muses, fretting at her lower lip.

"Oh, I /can/ bring some tools over from the League," she tells Tim. "And I'm sure my boss would donate some old CNC stuff and a Fabricator unit. I'm a pretty good wrench jockey these days— I helped Captain Marvel rebuild her plane and I fixed the Invisible Jet the last time it conked out on Diana," she says, wiggling a thumb vaguely behind her towards the bay.

There's also the Red Hood, which just makes things more complicated.

Too many Reds.

"I wouldn't speculate," Red Robin says instead on the topic of her being older than him, meeting her teasing with a kind of straight-faced humour. "It's not polite to talk about a lady's age."

There's a faint frown, the lightest tug down of the corners of his mouth, at the mention of painting. A little more colour, she suggests. Throw pillows. He doesn't know about that sort of thing, really: His own homes are expertly decorated in a very modern, minimalist style, but of course he's stupid rich and could hire people to do that for him.

"I guess," the vigilante allows. "But there's also room for people to put their own stamp on things, once we're ready to go. Individual rooms too, of course… They're nothing spectacular, but they're comfortable." He pauses, consideringly. "Probably gonna have to order at least a couple larger beds, though." Fairchild might not be the only particularly tall person they end up with, in the course of time.

"If you like," he adds, when she mentions bringing tools from the League. "Our operations center is top of the line, I designed and built most of it myself. That's two levels down from here, along with the labs and other rooms for specialist facilities. The hangar and motor pool are in the sublevels. The T-Jet probably needs some work, the hangar lets out on a hidden cave on one side of the island… The motor pool has a fairly complete workshop, it also has tunnels that run under the river to the city on either bank, they let out on hidden entrances of their own, big enough to drive a truck through. The original Titans had some surprising stuff hidden under this place. If you want to have a look around, be my guest."

Caitlin's eyes brighten at the description of the place, and even worse for Tim— at the prospect of /nesting/.

Sure, she can bench press an Abram's tank, but Caitlin's got a domestic streak in her a mile wide. It bodes ill for any hopes Tim might have had for a trim and professional decorative touch.

"Wow, this… place really /does/ have everything," she marvels, looking around. "I better do some exploring of my own, get a feel for the place. I'll definitely want to make sure the garage is up to snuff and start ordering parts so we've got spares for repairs," she mulls. "Maybe … fabricator, plug into the… computer frame …" she trails off, mumbling to herself as she sort of… zones out for a few moments with a cavalcade of ideas swarming over her all at once. She gets a little dreamy look.

"Aaauuaughgh this is gonna be FUN!" she squeals, and then rounds on Tim rather suddenly and without warning. She's rather faster than one might expect, and what's worse, she's all offense, no defense.

That's right, she's going in for a hug. Ribs beware.

Thoroughness is one of Red Robin's cardinal virtues, after all; in cases like these, it also ties into his wanting things to be just so, and his propensity towards being kind of a control freak. When they're ready to gather the Titans together, when they're ready to reveal the new team to the world, he wants everything to be ready, every piece to be in place. That Fairchild is something of an unexpected piece is something he'll just have to compensate for: A hard-learned lesson, one of the hardest, is that he can't account for everything. He can't control everything.

He watches the redhead curiously as she muses to herself. At least he knows that they won't be lacking for brains, or for gearheads: He has some strong suspicions about Spider-Man's own engineering abilities, after he got as good of a look as he could manage at those webshooters.

But the musing breaks into an unexpected display of girlishness that seems quite at odds with Fairchild's powerful frame, and he finds himself caught in a strong hug. He's extremely, extremely glad for the armor he's wearing, spreading the force of the hug out instead of leaving it gathered in one spot. At least he feels like he can breathe!

"Ohhhkay," Red Robin says, managing to pat Fairchild somewhat awkwardly mid-hug, his upper arms pinned to his sides by her grip. "Didn't have you pegged for a hugger. Good to know going forward."

Memo to self: Stay out of hugging range.

"Oh! Sorry!" Caitlin almost drops Tim suddenly once she realizes how uncomfortable he is. Almost— she catches him by the back of his armor and sets him down gently on his heels so he doesn't just hit the deck. She's an enthusastic hugger, but thankfully she's got some self restraint so she doesn't accidentally break him.

"Oops. I forget some people are… uh, y'know, not… big on physical gestures. I'll— watch the hugging from now on," she says, stepping back out of Robin's personal space. Way back. She puts her hand behind her back. The she sketches an awkward, apologetic salute, and puts her hands behind her back again, clear remorse on her features for having made him so uncomfortable.

"Er, anyway, I'm gonna go… do some inventoy and stuff, and. .. look around, and pick out a room," she tells him.

"Maybe get my stuff moved in. Then figure out dinner. Uh… you do dinner? Dinner stuff? No? Yes? Okay, well…" she's backing out of the room slowly, babbling a little to cover her embarassment. "If you DO want dinner, I'll cook something up around five or whatever, I'll need to get some groceries, but that won't be hard, so…" she's got one foot around the corner, and leaaaans sideways, shuffling. "Uh, it was awesome meeting you, though, and…. yeah."

Awkward.

"Bye!"

And then she's gone.

"It's fine," Red Robin insists, a bit wheezily. "It was just a surprise." And that he doesn't really know her; understandably as a guy who goes around beating up psychopaths and evil wizards in a full body suit of leather and armor with a swoopy cape and a cowl that covers almost this entire face, he's sort of a private person.

Still, he can't fault her enthusiasm. It'll be a good thing to have around for morale, on those inevitable days when things don't go easily or well.

His mouth remains slightly parted as Fairchild's moves to excuse herself from the room and her own feelings of awkwardness at having made him uncomfortable leave the Gotham vigilante bemused and bewildered. If he wasn't wearing the cowl, he'd probably scratch his head.

And then she's gone.

"Friendly," he mutters quietly, headed towards the elevators down. The redhead might take some getting used to, but he always knew that was going to be part of this. Some of the people they help are bound to take some getting used to, and probably for less frivolous reasons than 'they're openly, enthusiastically affectionate people'.

Once in the elevator, he heads for the basement, for the primary computer core. If someone else is going to be working in the Tower, then he needs to make sure the supercomputer is fully online and operational. Then, there'll be more work to do.

But then, there always is.

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