"You see, but you do not observe. The distinction is clear." ~ Sherlock Holmes

It doesn't take long for Eve to happen upon Timothy Drake, the eighteen-year old hunched over at least three text books with a pen positioned in hand at a six seater study desk, hidden in the recesses of the otherwise empty school library. Dick Grayson strikes Evangeline as the kind of teenager that she would've found out in the field, spending his school hours amongst his peers, basking in some semblance of normality before returning to the vigilantism he secretly craves deep down at home. Tim, however, immediately gave Eve the impression of a young man with soul of a wise one, sharp, not as care free and spirited as the older Grayson. Even without the vigilantism, the PI suspects that the Boy Wonder would've still been a night owl, nights on end spent studying, learning or indulging in some kind of mischief behind a computer. Timothy Drake's mind is a sponge, and despite not knowing the teenager well, the Southerner can already tell that he spends every waking hour wanting to absorb that sponge with as much water as humanely possible.

The current Robin undoubtedly noticed her presence long before she arrives to a stop besides him, the investigator's hip gently resting against the pushed in chair to Tim's left, but leaves the first words to be said to Eve anyway, to which she happily obliges. "Computer Science and Information Technology?" The PI reads aloud, hazel gaze skimming over the laid out text books briefly, but attentively. "Not precisely my forte, but my best friend is overtly familiar with the machinations of programming and – allegedly – gaining access to information systems that she otherwise shouldn't have access to. I'm sure something has stuck in the recesses of my mind from her frequent rambling, although I imagine, in comparison to how much you already know, that limited information would be quite useless."

"Every bit matters, and it's the thought that counts anyway," Timothy Drake shares a fleeting, reassuring smile with the Southerner. Laying his pen to rest as he relaxes back into his seat, allowing him a better look at Evangeline, something in his back cracks as his muscles roll out the stiffness that has taken residence there. "I'd thought you be home recovering after last night's excitement. Alfred send you? Or Bruce?"

"I sent myself, actually," Eve informs the teen, sending him a warm smile. "Was 'in the neighbourhood' as the saying goes, and offered to pick you up. Sitting still is completely and utterly boring, it's not like my injuries are that severe anyway. Not to mention, I'm certain it's not the first time Mr Pennyworth has discovered a resident of the household has slipped away to get up to no good, no matter how endlessly entertaining your household already is."

Tim manages a small chuckle, his gaze reflecting the truth behind the assumption. "By the sounds of it you're already fitting in just fine. It's part of a rite of passage by this point if I'm being honest; not listening to Bruce. You could be an honorary Robin in no time if you wanted."

Eve's light but thoroughly amused laugh dances around the young vigilante's ears in response, the North Carolinian admitting "I think I'll leave the jumping off of rooftops to the professionals thank you. The job is already in more than capable hands anyway."

"Eh, each set of hands has been – for the most part – capable in their own way so far, you'd just be adding another set of skills executed in a different manner to a constantly changing job position. Though, you are a little older than the typical Robin demographic..."

"Timothy Drake, are you calling a lady old?" The younger Winter sibling incredulously questions, though fails to keep her own smile at bay.

"Older, not old, you're still younger than Bruce," Tim backtracks, biting back his own grin. "Thirty-four, right? Only a year younger him, but inside he's actually a hundred-year-old grandpa who I don't think has ever been familiar with the concept of having fun, whilst you have the spirit and stubbornness of a young Robin. An inability to sit still, a relentless empathy for others, some of the greatest deductive skills I have ever seen – if the spirit of a Robin wasn't tainted by the city of Gotham, you'd fit the bill just fine."

Although flattered, Eve is already occupied by other thoughts upon hearing the Boy Wonder's words, momentarily scrutinising the teen up and down. "Firstly, Dick was correct, you do happen to do your research astoundingly well, down to my own age," Eve notes, aware that whatever her dossier says about her, Tim very likely know. Eidetic memory, interesting. "Secondly, you talk about the Robins as if there have been several. Admittedly, I perhaps haven't done as much homework on the vigilantes in this city as I have on the criminals, but if it isn't overstepping any boundaries... how many have there been?"

"Four, so far," the third Robin answers, expression settling into something more serious. His vigilante face, Eve notes as Mr Drake continues. "Dick was first, taken in after the incident with his parents, 'The Flying Graysons' at the circus. Then, he was followed by Jason. I never met him, Joker got to him about three years back, sent Bruce into a violent spiral. It's why I stepped up; Batman needed a Robin, and I had already figured out their identities a few years ago, when Dick was still Robin. Dick didn't want to return to being Robin, so I took up the mantle instead. I was 16."

The solemn news of the fate of the second Robin noticeably dampens the mood of the room, but Eve nonetheless directs an assuring, gentle look at Tim to continue, to which he does. "Lasted about a year before my dad found out. He figured out Bruce and Dick too, and in order to swear him to secrecy, I said I'd give it up, went back to being ordinary for a few short months. During that time, someone else stood up. I don't know how much you know about the vigilante Spoiler, who was relatively new when I had to step down, but she took up being Robin those few short months I was gone. She had helped us before in the past as Spoiler, first time we met she was actually dropping us clues around the city, then helped us take out her dad, Cluemaster. I like her, I trust her. Bruce fired her pretty quick though. She disobeyed once and he just snapped."

The PI discerns the annoyance stewing behind Tim's expression, the teenager staring down at his textbooks again for a moment. "She took it hard, but got past it. I returned not long after though, after my old school was hit by the mob my dad understood. Didn't like it, didn't have to, but he understood."

Sympathetically, Eve spares him another smile, reaching out slowly to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. Tim tenses, but doesn't complain, prompting the investigator to tentatively ask "How long ago did you lose him?"

It wasn't difficult to discern. Timothy Drake spoke of his father with a solemness, and if the teenager is living with Bruce as a guardian, then both parents are evidently out of the picture.

"Five months ago. Criminal called Captain Boomerang broke in and got him," is all the young vigilante offers as an answer, still not quite meeting her gaze.

Something more lies there, likely the in the nature of the relationship between Tim and his father, but Eve refrains from pressing, understanding the complications involved with the relationship between a child and their parents. She never could quite forgive her own parents for being so blind towards the turmoil her brother endured in his childhood and teenage years, never fully. They're two of the only people Evangeline Winter has never found it in herself to fully forgive.

"Regardless of the nature of the relationship that exists between a child and their parents, it's rather natural to feel at least some semblance of remorse for their passing, even guilt, despite the fault not even remotely lying with you. Whatever feelings you have Tim, they're justified. You don't need to explain a single thing to me about any of it, but I know nonetheless, they're justified," Eve consoles, the teenager finally meeting her gaze again; curious, cautious, automatically guarded, but open to her words. "I know telling you to do such things is easier said than done, but do try to focus on the now. Dick, Bruce, Miss Gordon, Alfred – they all care, and I'm certain even if you did need moments to dwell and talk about the past, they'd be more than happy to indulge you, because they're your family. If they so happen to be all busy, my door is always open too, even if we haven't known each other that long yet."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," the Boy Wonder responds, half out of automatic politeness, half out of genuine sincerity. Evangeline Winter is still new to him, but her profound compassion, empathy and moral alignment truly does make her easily likeable and seemingly trustworthy. Bruce trusts her as well, which still astounds Tim and his older adopted brother. The number of people the guarded Dark Knight trusts outside the super hero society could probably be counted on one hand, and even then, within said super hero society, his trust holds an entirely different and higher set of standards. Bruce hasn't admitted said trust for the private investigator, but Tim can still see it, clear as day. Whether Miss Winter realises it or not, she's soon enough going to have the Batman tightly wrapped around her little finger, if him backing down almost easily last night was any indication.

"You know, if you ever have the time, I'd love to learn a thing or two from you. Our cowls and masks have this built in technology called 'Detective Mode'. It's highly advanced form of technology developed by Lucius Fox at Wayne Enterprises; it picks up on the heat signatures of every human being nearby, determining and highlighting them in blue or orange, depending on whether they're armed or not; it also highlights potential weapons in yellow; it can track chemical substance trails once the chemical has been analysed; can pick up on various abnormal frequencies in the area; and, perhaps most crucially, it can construct and reconstruct a crime scene, if we scan and analyse it enough for specific clues. We still need a sharp and intuitive mind to use it, it doesn't pick up on everything, but you can do that kind of deductive work without the cowl or mask. If it's even possible, you see more."

Tim pauses, surveying the Southerner. "I'd really like to learn, if you'd take me on. I could train you in return; how to fight, some basic self-defence. Could help if you ever get caught like you did last night."

For a long moment, Evangeline Winter simply regards the teen before her, seriously scrutinising his resolute, determined features. Evidently finding what she was looking for, the crowned Guardian Angel of Gotham reverts back to her familiar gentle disposition, affirming "I'd be happy to, Tim. I have a relatively free afternoon, and seeing as you're off early... would you like to begin today?"

The Boy Wonder finally allows a wide, genuine grin to spread across his face, nodding his head in confirmation as his growing dark hair sweeps briefly in front of his light blue gaze. Tim truly is going to be the best detective the world has ever seen one day, a fact that Evangeline Winter is already beginning to sense, and one that Bruce Wayne had conceded to long ago.

***

The cab driver drops Timothy Drake and Evangeline Winter off two blocks away from the café Eve has in mind, one that – as far as she's aware – isn't run by any prominent mobsters or felons, and shouldn't jeopardise hers or Tim's safety at any given moment. At first, the young vigilante protests when the investigator offers to pay for the taxi, apparently possessing a credit card that is linked directly to Bruce's account – whether or not the billionaire is aware of said card is beside the point, according to Mr Drake – but after much convincing, he concedes to the detective anyway, Eve insisting that between Dick looking out for her the previous night, and Bruce taking her in now, that it's the least she could do.

The couple block stroll to Tongue Teasers Café is filled with mild small talk – him still being in his school uniform – and the exchange quite pleasant, actually. Tim really only receives moments such as these once in a blue moon, and usually when Dick is in town. Generally pleasant and friendly conversation with Bruce is futile, the Dark Knight's train of thought almost always focused on crime and which villain or mob requires their attention next, or on anything else regarding the vigilante-superhero lifestyle, and whilst Alfred is certainly there for him when he needs it, he also does have a million and one jobs to do around the manor, not including all he does to help with their night time escapades.

Conner Kent and Bart Allen are the only two people outside Alfred and his elder brother Dick that Tim truly finds himself confiding in, spending time and being an actual teenager with them. More often than not they visit him, a likely result of Bruce's considerably sizeable estate, but it's still a long distance friendship when they're not spending time together in Young Justice, and with their own respective cities to safeguard, their schedules rarely align enough for a thorough catch up. Stephanie Brown is slowly becoming a steady constant in his life as well, but she only knows Robin, not Timothy Drake, and that hinders any immersive connection they could potentially have, no matter how much he likes her. And he likes her a lot.

Regarding the PI next to him, Tim appraises the thirty-four-year-old. She smiles in an unafraid manner, unashamed of wearing her joy and amusement for everyone to see, but it's not always completely free or unrestrained. Control lies there. Not an overbearing control freak, not to the Riddler's degree, but perhaps closer to Tim's own level. Control through knowledge, her image, and the power of her language – if her ongoing affiliation with Nygma and Dent, and her current peace treaty with the mob is any indication – is where her power lies, something that Tim can profoundly relate to. He knows he isn't the kind of gifted gymnast Dick is, or unrelenting street fighter Jason was. Physically, he could never compete with either of them, even when he trains three times as much as they did, constantly feeling this need to prove himself.

But intelligence? Deductive skills and computational science? That is where his talents lie. Barbara herself said he was the smartest Robin yet, and she's been there for all of them. Tim did not take the compliment lightly. It was an affirmation of his use, of his value, what he, Timothy Drake, can contribute that Robins number one or two could not, not to his degree. And Evangeline Winter? Well, in that regard, she's just like him. She's not entirely incompetent of taking care of herself in a fight, but whether last night was luck or talent is unknown to the Boy Wonder. He hasn't seen her in action, and cannot pass judgment on her combat capabilities.

That aside, it's her wit, intelligence and tactical mind that has gotten her this far. It's why at the Winter Gala, three months' prior, Tim was ecstatic to meet her. Salvatore Maroni; gone. The Maroni crime family; gone. She didn't throw a single punch, but systematically disassembled an entire empire that has been around for generations, since Gotham was born. He could learn from that, use that kind of acumen against other hostile groups one day, perhaps the League of Assassins, or other Gotham crime families.

Timothy Drake admires Evangeline Winter. It began with her detective skills and intellect, and now, as they amble along the sidewalks of the concrete jungle that is Gotham City, it's beginning to develop alongside a genuine enjoyment of being in her presence, of her being able to accept and handle the vigilantism and crime associated with him and his family, but also allow him to indulge in mundane, calm moments such as these.

When a lapse in conversation befalls the space between the two, Tim glances back towards the Southerner, only to realise she is a few steps behind, loitering at the mouth of dingy alleyway. Furrowing his brows in perplexity, the dark haired teen opens his mouth to question her stopping, when a bedraggled, dirtied young girl with mousy brown hair – absolutely tiny in size, but doesn't look to be much younger than him – sidles up to the investigator from the alley. She casts Tim a cautious glance, which is promptly removed after Evangeline's reassurance "You can talk, he'll keep a secret."

Glimpsing back and forth between Gotham's Guardian Angel and the seemingly homeless looking teen, the young vigilante attentively observes the exchange, curiosity piqued.

"Sionis was spotted down on 5th today. One of the younger kids overheard one of his men talking about hitting Two Face's Apollo Casino tonight. An older guy later heard that it's supposedly to distract him from you, whilst also pissing off Face. Two birds, one stone."

"Noted, thank you. Anything on the other crime families?"

"Markovic and O'Reilly are quiet, but Falcone just bought a large van full of firearms from Penguin according to Micky. Spotted outside at the warehouse on Michigan's a little after 2. Could be on the offensive, could be on the defensive. Markovic and O'Reilly aren't exactly happy with him right now."

"You have been abundantly helpful today Tic-Tac; I sincerely thank you. Here, the shipment should make it to the hall just fine tonight, but have a little extra for your troubles."

Eve slips what seems to be a $50, a Kit-Kat and a box of Tic-Tacs out of her small shoulder bag, handing it to the unkempt girl, who grins like a child on Christmas day when the private eye relinquishes the money and treats over to her. Nodding appreciatively at the North Carolinian, the small brunette scurries off as quickly and quietly as she came, Tim honestly impressed by her light footfall. Reliant on toes, light of foot, grace in movement; could be a gymnast like Dick, or—

"She used to take up ballet," Eve impedes his train of thought, staring right at him, smiling, like she knows precisely what he's thinking – which, if her words are any indication, she apparently does. "Her father nurtured his proclivity for gambling more than her after Tic-Tac's mother passed, resulting in a financial debt that pushed her out on the streets, and an unhappy mobster relinquishing a bullet between his eyes. I've taken it upon my agenda to familiarize myself with the unseen members of Gotham, those who own and know these streets more intimately than anyone else; the homeless. I'm not exactly a billionaire like Mr Wayne, but since moving to Gotham and working nonstop, my bank account has grown considerably healthier, so a little over a couple months back I started paying for some basic food, clothes, water and bits of entertainment like board games to be sent to homeless shelters and halls across Gotham, three different ones each time. Can't afford to send to them all every time, and they are large shelters with numerous people within them, but it's something. I didn't even mean to make them into my own 'spies' if you will at first, but then Tic-Tac simply approached me one day, told me about a planned robbery she overheard, and didn't know what to do with such information. They're not exactly fans of cops; some treat them poorly. So, she passed it on to me."

Shrugging, as the two walk alongside one another once again, the private eye continues staring ahead, lost in the memory. "Since then it grew and became more like a network. They help me with my information gathering and PI work, and I continue to send them all the basic necessities I can afford. Some of the people who have granted me aid don't even frequent the shelters I interchangeably help around the city, some simply help because they want to, because they believe it's the right thing."

Coming to a stop outside the café, a small, slick coat of sweat gathering on their lower backs and under their arms from the walk in the overbearing heat, Eve's pointed gaze envelops Tim like a teacher who has singled you out in class, explicitly attempting to teach you a lesson. "Fear works Tim, and it works well for people in yours and Bruce's and Dick's profession, but a little bit of kindness truly can go a long way. Nobody can ever wholeheartedly resent kind actions and words."

"Kindness has different meaning coming from different people, but, I do get what you're saying. Just doesn't always, or often really, work in Gotham. Somewhere along the way we all just stopped trying it that way, forgot, found fear easier," Tim mulls, mouth in a grim line. "We shouldn't have stopped, even if it doesn't work nine out of ten times, we gave up on that one time it could've. Thanks for the reminder, Miss Winter."

"If I have to tell another member of your family that 'Eve' is just fine, I'm afraid you're going to have to admit me to Arkham. The constant reminders are trying my sanity," the investigator playfully warns, beating Tim to opening the door for the other to pass through.

"You'd break out of that place in a day," Tim briefly snorts in mild amusement, the PI trailing in after him.

"Mm, yes, probably."

The two happily settle with a cup of tea each instead of coffee inside the rustic timber styled café, as well as a couple slices of carrot cake to share, spending a few more minutes contently chatting before Eve begins. The corner they take up is lined with comfortable cushions, soft blues to compliment the dark wood, and offers a lovely, secluded view of the rest of the establishment.

"Firstly, I wish to see where you are at Tim," Miss Winter announces, pointing her fork at him deliberately. "Lady in the lovely red scarf, three down and to the right; what do you see?"

Tim blinks at the PI, narrowed eyes uncertain. "From here?"

"No of course not, I nicked her hair pin on the way over," the raven haired woman twirls the authentic gold decorative hair pin encrusted in a couple small diamonds with a light pink rose between her free fingers, handing it over to the teenager. "Return it to her, tell me what you see."

Standing up, the Boy Wonder does just that, strolling over to the middle aged woman sitting by her lonesome and awkwardly clearing his throat, garnering her attention. "Sorry ma'am, but I think you dropped this?"

Her brown eyes almost widen comically at the interruption, glimpsing between him and the pin. Tim attempts to be as discreet as possible in his surveying of her whilst still sparing enough attention to the conversation at hand.

"My dear, I didn't even notice it fell from my head!" The lady squawks, blinding feeling up around her bun before accepting the extended 'lost' pin. "Thank you my boy! You're one of Mr Wayne's children aren't you? Oh, he has raised you boys well. Taken after his father and mother he has, despite the tragic incident that befell them, God rest their souls—"

Tim tries to catch all her words, he truly does, but there are a lot of them, and he is fairly distracted with analysing her whilst he's at it. He does manage to tune in every so often nonetheless, but furrows his brows, moderately lost with the current new topic he didn't catch her Segway into.

"—you here with Gotham's Guardian Angel? Saw the two of you wander in. Isn't she a doll? She and your father would make such a wonderful pairing! Is that why she is with you? Spending time with the partner's children? Simply marvellous—"

She doesn't stop talking, the young vigilante mildly balks. Until, finally, it seems she has grown tired of his presence, and her own voice.

"—I wish her and your father and you all the best young man. God bless you for returning my pin to me."

Flashing the lady another awkward but slightly suaver grin than before, the young hero nods his head at the talkative lady, slowly shuffling away. "Thank you ma'am, I'll pass on the message to her and my father. Enjoy the rest of your coffee."

Tim flees the scene as quickly as he can without coming off as rude or desperate to escape, returning to his seat moments later only to spy a thoroughly amused Evangeline Winter attempting to stave off her grin at the encounter. Evidently, she heard.

"God bless you young man, God bless you."

"You're as bad as Dick," Tim chuckles, feeling at ease again with the familiar banter coming from the less familiar mouth, pulling his chair in as he settles. "It was hard, with her talking as much as she did – distracting – but... you knew that, didn't you? It's why you chose her."

Pleased with his first deduction, Evangeline grins openly at him, brushing a stray strand of her ebony hair away from her line of sight. "When we walked in I happened to notice her chattering on about her younger years indulging in adolescent frivolities with her old neighbour and classmate to the server. The waitress was uncomfortably shuffling around on her feet, progressively edging back towards the kitchens. She wore a friendly enough but strictly polite customer service smile, posture and expression clearly indicating a lack of familiarity, therefore the woman plainly seems to enjoy chatting to anyone who will listen, and would offer enough of a distraction to hinder a novice attempting to read her. But I highly doubt Mr Wayne would allow a novice to work alongside him Tim. I can already sense how clever you are. I'm not here to teach you a plethora of brand new tricks, I'm just here to help refine the ones you already have."

Using her fork to cut off a corner of the carrot cake, Evangeline Winter smoothly picks up the cut piece with the pronged eating utensil, gesturing at him pointedly. "Our minds are our swords Timothy Drake. I simply wish to hand you your own whetstone, so you can keep yours indefinitely sharp."

Plopping the cake gracefully in her mouth, the private eye chews for a few moments before placing the fork down, signalling for him to continue. "So, tell me, what did you observe?"

"Religious, for starters," the teen begins with the obvious, barely containing his own grin.

Eve chuckles lightly at the deduction, hiding her mouth and nose behind a propped up hand, even the airy sound coming off as elegant.

Pursing his lips in thought, Tim continues. "No wedding band, but a tan line was where it would be. It's fading, almost indistinguishable, so it's not recent, she's not purposefully removing it or having forgotten it by chance, it hasn't been worn in a while. I would say a couple months? Perhaps three? I would guess divorced and not widowed. She appears the type to share any kind of inconvenient news – or news at all – about her, and wears her emotions quite prominently on her face – she'd be terrible at poker – and didn't come off as distraught at all, more so in need of attention. She's not used to not having anyone to talk their ear off at home, mustn't have much to keep her home at all; the breakfast menu was still on her table, so she's been here since at least late morning. Seems she divorced someone well off; the pin was real gold and diamonds, relatively new, but worn most days if not every day, the natural light coat of skin oil that comes from a person's fingers making the gold glisten as if freshly polished, one of the encrusted diamonds coming loose already. Her clothes are designer too, kept in immaculate shape."

Mulling over his other findings, the Boy Wonder carries on, smiling at the more specific knowledge that aided with this particular deduction. For the first time in his life thus far, the Young Justice hero finds himself mentally thanking Poison Ivy. "The smell of fertilizer, dirt and gardenias hides under her perfume, her nails well-manicured and washed but ever so slightly crusted with dirt. Has a green thumb, attends to her own garden. I would guess flowers, judging by the gardenias and jasmine scent. Flowers are pretty, showy, and that's what she values more over practicality or function, like a vegetable patch, her clothes and hair indicating that as well. Her clothes are colour coordinated very well, and the little vase of flowers on her table is more nicely put together and shaped than those of any other table, as if she fixed them when no one was looking. Between that, her love for gardening and the flower hairpin, I would say she's a florist. That's really all I got, she was a bit distracting."

Leaning back in her chair, Eve appraises the raven haired boy under her impressed gaze, tilting her head to the side as she smiles, appeased. "You are simply a delight Tim; did you know that?"

The teenage hero shrugs off the compliment bashfully, not quite used to such open, unashamed praise. "You can do it too—"

"It doesn't matter what I can do, this is about you. What you can do," the Southerner cuts him off gently before he could completely dust off the affirmation of his intellectual prowess, trying to convince him to take pride in himself. "Each of us are capable of different skills to different degrees paired with assortments of other diverse skills in other diverse combinations and pairs. Just because someone can do a flip, doesn't mean it doesn't take any less hard work, dedication and skill for the next person to do the same. You're talented Timothy Drake, don't belittle your own gifts."

A genuine, wide, warm smile of appreciation graces Tim's lips at Miss Winter's words, his growing dark hair brushing over his vision again, the middle part of his hair resulting in the ebony strands to tickle the top outer corners of each eye. "Did I catch everything, then?"

"Doesn't matter if you caught everything, you caught more than anyone else I've ever known. Except, perhaps, my best friend Rebecca, but she's a psychiatrist who has trained herself to this level through no shortage of hard work. Even then though, she does not do it as naturally as you."

"But I did miss some things," Tim presses on, desiring to know what slipped past him, how to improve.

Softly sighing, Eve nods, eyes skimming past him and to the woman over his shoulder three tables down for a fleeting second. "She is recently divorced, and did purchase that pin with the divorce money. However, she's already dating someone new; a rich man, likely in the field of business, who is currently – as the kids these days seem to call it – her 'sugar daddy'."

Tim can't help but laugh at the odd phrase coming from the detective's mouth, Miss Winter laughing along with him for a moment until he asks "What gives you that impression?"

"Texture and health of her hair, the condition of her skin and nails. Her former husband – which yes, we're going to assume husband and not wife because of her strong religious predilection – evidently was financially stable, but not abundantly wealthy, because her hair, skin, face and nails only exhibit recent professional care, not long term. Divorce money would offer enough for the pin and perhaps a brief splurge, but the physical care from hairdressers, beauticians and nail salons is something that requires repetitious attendance, not one pricey visit. The pin has been worn a lot, exhibiting her fondness of the extravagant thing, which would generally mean she would be fiercely protective and possessive of it. It's something flashy, as you said, showcases wealth and prosperity. However, she didn't even notice its absence, and almost seemed forcibly surprised and relieved upon you returning it to her. If she really coveted such a valuable possession, she would fret over the financial complications of losing it, but she didn't, as if she no longer has a need to be concerned over it, and florists don't usually make enough to unconcernedly spend money on designer clothes, shoes and hairpins, only to not fuss if they get lost or damaged. Speaking of which, it's her shoes that confirmed my suspicions the most."

"Her shoes?"

"Mm yes. Louis Vuitton "Black Bird" platform sandals trimmed with diamonds. How extravagant. Shoes are easily lost, or find themselves in the dust and dirt. Once again unconcerned with the possibility of losing a shoe in the streets of Gotham, or soiling it. Another ostentatious display of wealth. The shoes were only launched nearing on a week ago, very recent, and after spending on the clothes, pin and beauty appointments, there's a remarkably low possibility that she would've been able to afford those designer shoes. Has to be dating someone of considerable wealth, someone who is perfectly content to splurge on their darling new girlfriend, but as a result, doesn't believe he has to listen to her constant babbling at home, only wants her to sit and look pretty. That's why she comes here, or to other restaurants and cafes, to chatter away to any server or human being that comes near and will listen."

Holy hell. Tim refrains from staring open mouthed at the PI, but can't help altogether to not stare. Shoes? Hair? Skin? That's all it took? It's like that court scene from the movie Legally Blonde that Steph forced me sit down and watch. Incredible.

"How do you do it? To that specific degree?" The Boy Wonder inquires, leaning forward earnestly.

Smiling again, Eve explains "It takes time, and your mind requires as much training and exercise as any muscle, which is why I'm going to give you some basic tips and homework to start with, if you will take it on. It's not much, but will allow you to improve your already spectacular deductive skills."

"Of course, anything is great," Tim immediately concedes, listening closely.

"In terms of tips and method, when you are deducing; lay out a chain of reasoning and test all possibilities, until whatever remains, must be the truth. Uncertainty, chance, randomness and luck – they all meddle and threaten our ability to explain logically and quickly, so we naturally try to remove such coincidences and instances. When things make sense, it's difficult seeing them in any other way, which is where errors come from. Sometimes you have to accept that things occur by chance. Nonetheless, correlation is not causation either, learn the distinction, have a surmountable amount of evidence before you even consider coming to a conclusion. In terms of homework, all I ask for you to do is fifteen minutes of mind meditation a day. Mind meditation is simply clearing the mind of all thoughts. Eyes closed, focused on your breath, in and out through the tip of your nose. If any niggling thought appears, acknowledge it briefly, then let it go, reverting your calm, blank focus back to your breath. It helps achieve the right state of mind required for imaginative, mindful thought, and allows you to subconsciously determine what you're allowing in and out of your head; what facts, deductions, and so on and so forth. Once you're skilled enough in it, it also allows you to enter the various states of mind that the person you are trying to deduce was likely in recently, or when a crime occurred, if you're going off a crime scene instead of a person. That's all I ask you do for now, I don't wish to overwhelm you or push too far too fast, it's better to achieve these things slowly and steady."

"I'll do it every day, I swear," the teenager promises, already immediately planning to get ahead and complete today's training before patrol tonight. "Thank you, Eve."

Reaching forward, the private investigator lightly pats Tim's hand, unable to hide her own excitement and enthusiasm for seeing him improve. "Anytime, Tim."

***

Interestingly enough, when they get back to the manor, Tim at once offers to train with her, wishing to repay her for taking the time out of her afternoon to train him. They start small, the third Robin – similar to her earlier – not wishing to push her too hard too fast. Instead, the training session is more of a gym session. The young Drake gives her a set cardio, gymnastics and strength/weights routine to follow, relying on her to complete the routine at least four times a week, even more if she can.

Bruce discovers the two at the end of their shared workout. Strolling into the gym that breaks off from the Batcave, having failed at finding either of the two anywhere else, the billionaire pauses in the doorway to the open spaced combat room, where they often also do some basic floor exercises as well. The smallest of content smiles quirks at his lips upon finding a thoroughly amused Tim standing next to and glancing down at an exhausted Miss Winter, who is lying flat out against the floor, weary, sweaty and drained.

"Master Drake and Miss Winter appear to be getting along quite splendidly, don't you so think Sir?"

The Dark Knight spares his butler and surrogate father a glance at the inquiry, not startled, but always amazed at how he's the only one who can still successfully sneak up on him. "I suspected they would connect quickly. Tim has been idolizing her since the fall of Maroni, and they both possess a couple of the greatest minds I've ever seen. Dick saw being Robin as a thrill, it's probably why he outgrew it. Jason saw being Robin as a game, it's probably what got him killed. But, Tim... I have to hand it to the boy; he wants to be the world's greatest detective. And from what I've seen so far, he will be someday. Especially with her guidance."

"Don't sell yourself too short Master Bruce," the dry butler reassures. "Master Drake appreciates you too, and I'm sure one ceramic company or another would make you a 'World's 3rd Greatest Detective' mug if you were to inquire."

Quietly chuckling under his breath at the wry, deadpanned joke, Bruce casts his gaze back towards the two further in the room, Tim now laughing freely at something Eve said, whilst the PI gently laughs with him. She's still strewn out cross the floor, her athletic gear tightly fitted; a light, baby blue sports bra and three quarter length black tights. Her back arches up a little when she laughs, chest pushing up in accordance with it, outlining the average but not unenticing swell of her heaving breasts, and the very enticing, generous curve of her backside. For the first time in a long time, Bruce can't help but stare.

"See something you like, Master Bruce?"

This time, Bruce shoots Alfred a less than friendly look, one which only serves to amuse the butler, but refrains from letting that show. "There is no fault in looking, Master Bruce," Alfred only continues to press, knowingly staring at him straight on, still able to read Bruce's mind after all these years. "Miss Winter carries the sun with her wherever she goes, and one is often drawn to light, even if you do prefer to spend your evenings in the dark."

"My dating history isn't exactly simple Alfred," Bruce sighs, rolling the tension out of his broad shoulders. "Not to mention I have very little time for a relationship these days. She deserves better."

"Perhaps," Alfred acquiesces, adding on "but, perhaps, she does not want better. Something to consider at least, Sir."

"Hey Alf, Bruce!" Tim snaps the attention of the aforementioned adults towards him, the teen and the PI conscious of the two in the wide doorway. "Didn't hear you come in. Was just helping Eve organise a regular exercise routine to commit to. Thought it would be smart to help her get into fighting shape, and then teach her a little self-defence, especially if she's going to keep running into Black Mask territory with nothing but a Taser-flashlight."

"For your information Sir Timothy Drake, I was also in possession of a gun," Eve playfully rectifies, pulling herself up into a sitting position and flashing Bruce a dazzling smile. "Which, I'm sure, would not assure Bruce in the slightest; a result of his profound distaste for the weapon."

"I would prefer if you didn't enter hostile territory at all, but I'm beginning to understand that really isn't much of an option with you," the Dark Knight marginally yields, his opened blazer pushed back at the bottom, whilst his hands casually occupy his pockets. His black tie is hanging loosely, the first couple buttons haphazardly undone; the least put together Eve has ever seen him. Rugged. And admittedly, she can't help but enjoy the view.

I've never encountered him in broad daylight before, but I'm undoubtedly certain that if I did perchance stand before him during the day, his much larger frame would block out the entirety of the sun, Eve surmises, the crime fighter a little over half a foot taller than her, and with shoulders twice as broad as hers. He is a literal wall of muscle.

"Afraid not. I would apologize, but the whole concept of an apology is supposed to be built upon sincerity," Eve teases, tongue in cheek, earning an arched brow and a quirked lip from the billionaire.

"I'm abruptly getting the impression that you aren't sincere, Miss Winter."

"My my, you are the World's Greatest Detective."

The witty banter prompts a laugh from Tim and a small smile from Alfred, whilst the two members of the entertaining repartee maintain stern, stubborn eye contact, despite the evident humour dancing behind their locked gaze.

"I regret to interrupt such serious affairs, but I did originally come down with the intentions of announcing that dinner shall be ready in twenty minutes," the elder gentleman informs the vigilantes and private investigator. "And I do not wish for the roast to go cold."

"Allowing your cooking to go cold would be a crime against nature, Alfred," the North Carolinian sincerely compliments, finally rising to a full stand. "I suppose I should get cleaned up first. Is there a shower I could perhaps please use?"

"There's one a couple doors down from your room," the Batman informs before Alfred is even permitted the chance of opening his mouth, the Justice League superhero stepping side on and gesturing for her to follow. "Come, I'll show you."

True to his word, Bruce walks her all the way up to the large marble and timber bathroom, Eve thanking him for all the soaps, shampoo, conditioner and towel before he leaves her once again, allowing her to tend to herself. It occurs to the raven haired woman that it has been a couple days since she last bathed, and the sensation of the soft, milky soap against her skin and the familiar orchids and vanilla scented shampoo and conditioner enveloping her hair soothing her beyond degree. Though, she does find the fact that Bruce or Alfred – or both – seem to know what brand she usually uses both peculiar and impressive.

After finishing off and reaching for her towel, does it finally occur to the detective that she failed to actually pick up a change of clothes before entering the shower, and has no desire to return to the sweaty, dirty athletic gear she shed prior. Eventually deciding that a quick traipse from the bathroom to her temporary room in nothing but a towel may be in order, Eve tightly wraps the article around her body just to do so, when a firm knock sounds from outside the door.

"Eve? It occurred to me that I don't think you brought a change of clothes with you on the way in. Did you need me to get you a pair?"

Bruce Wayne, my knight in shining armour, Eve sighs in gratification. But, the walk to my room is only two doors down, and I'm going to have to open the door for him to hand my clothes anyway, so either way, Bruce Wayne will see me mostly naked. May as well make the journey myself.

Strolling over and opening the door herself, the smaller woman mildly startles the much larger man on the other side with her sudden appearance – well, his version of startled, which mainly includes a minor raise of his eyebrows – blue gaze instantly snapping to her barely covered form.

"Thank you, but the walk is a brief one Bruce. I think I can manage," Eve innocently smiles up at him, honestly unaware of the effect she has on him right now.

It has been a while since Bruce has lay with a woman, and even longer since it's been out of more than just a physical attraction. The Caped Crusader is uncertain how he precisely feels about Evangeline Winter just yet, but he does hold a growing fondness for her, that much is certain. She makes it difficult not to. Physically, however, she is undeniably attractive. Bruce has met many an attractive woman in his lifetime, some of them actual goddesses and extra-terrestrial warriors, but that hasn't made him blind towards the beauty still present in the everyday human civilian, a fact that could not be more apparent than now.

Gentle, delicate drops of water trickle along a path from the damp strands of her tussled hair down the valley of her breasts, disappearing underneath where the cotton towel cuts off his view. Most of the dark, damp mass is pushed behind her shoulders, only a couple of the short strands daintily hanging around her face; her sharp, smooth collar bone and long neck on perfect view. Her legs look equally as smooth, Bruce now desiring nothing more than to run his fingers slowly up her calves on either side, until they come to rest just barely beneath her backside, only to hoist her up into the air and roughly slam her against the closest wall, to revel in the loss of breath between those always smiling, soft, light pink lips.

He wants to, but he doesn't.

Of course, Eve is aware of the fact her modesty is scarcely preserved right now, but honestly? The Dark Knight is often so stoic and impassive that by this point, she believes very little, if anything at all could truly faze him, and he does such an impeccable job at masking his inner turmoil and thoughts, that the PI rarely attempts at gauging him anymore. Which is why Eve finds herself taken aback by the blatant and almost leisurely eyeing up she is subjected to, head to toe.

The North Carolinian doesn't often dwell on the possibility of a relationship with another. Between her work taking a precedence over all else – except Nathaniel and Rebecca – and her elder brother's propensity to behave overprotective, to the point of intimidating any potential romantic interests away, Evangeline hasn't considered a man in such a light for quite some time. And yet, with all the excitement Gotham has bestowed upon her since her arrival, it's as if the city, through all of its thrills and tense, perilous spectacles, has also lead her to consider these kinds of relationships again.

Harv – Two Face – prompts a wild, raw and free feeling inside of her. He's unpredictable, dangerous, but has also proven in his own, skewed way that he cares, even if it's only out of his own self-interest to protect and preserve his best means to take down Roman Sionis. Eve isn't blind however, she did notice him check her out earlier today. Whether that sliver of mutual attraction will ever be addressed or acted upon is unknown, and in all honesty, it wouldn't be wise to, not with their starkly differing views on just about everything. If she were to consider Harvey that would be different, but even then, she's barely talked to the more level headed half, and either way, the two are a package deal. He – they – shouldn't even be up for consideration... and yet, they are.

Bruce, however, is an astoundingly different option altogether, entirely disparate territory riddled with other obstacles in comparison to Harvey and Harv. Morally, they are certainly more compatible, and Eve doesn't feel at odds or uncomfortable with his evening occupation. He is beginning to understand that he can't coddle her, can't stop her from going out there – she would never ask that of him, so why does he ask that of her? – but she can sense that if the situation was quite dire, he would be ready to forbid her from doing so once again. Eve appreciates the care and motive behind the gesture, and is more than capable of understanding when she may be pushing her abilities and safety with these escapades – excluding last night – but she is uncertain if she can stay with a partner long term who fails to put their trust in that judgement, and tries to overbearingly control her so, but, perhaps he won't. The Southerner can't disregard an entire relationship based on a possibility of a complication like that occurring.

Not to mention, he is attractive. That goes without saying, in Eve's opinion. The undeniably handsome face of the distinguished, famously handsome playboy and billionaire Bruce Wayne, and the hard, breathtakingly well-built physique of the rough vigilante Batman. It would be a lie saying that the close proximity and distinct lack of clothes on her behalf doesn't make Evangeline's heart skip a few beats.

Tongue in cheek, a smile twitches at the corner of Eve's lips, locking her knowing hazel gaze with that of Bruce's marginally glazed and stern blue one. "See something you like, Master Bruce?"

The Dark Knight's stare narrows at the phrasing, head cocked a centimetre to the right in examination. "You heard."

"Almost didn't – wouldn't of, if Tim hadn't discreetly pointed out the two of you loitering in the doorway first. I'm not as adept and aware of additional surrounding presences as he is, you trained him well," the PI admits, one hand still firmly holding the dark brown towel up, just in case. "Alfred's lovely compliment of the sun certainly brightened my mood, he's delightful that man. He was also right, you know, about the other thing."

The Caped Crusader is careful not to hint too much at his own traitorous thoughts when she speaks. Said expression remains just as impassive when the investigator reaches out to gently trace her fingers across the right side of his jawline, the tender, soft caress leaving a pleasurable tingle in its wake, until her thumb ever so briefly brushes over his lower lip, the sensation so light but so overwhelmingly stimulating. Her gaze flickers down to the fleeting contact, before returning to his own nearly unblinking, impenetrable stare as she drops her hand, taking a step away and into the hall, allowing him his own space and time to think. "Something to consider, at least."

The vigilante doesn't offer any words after she finishes, and neither does the PI, Bruce allowing her to retreat into her room and out of his sight, eyes following her all the way. With his lips set in a firm line, the Batman sighs to himself in the lonesome hall. That certainly complicates things.

Knowing the uncertain but clearly there feelings are mutual doesn't precisely help untangle them, but in a way, he is still glad he knows. It doesn't make it easier avoiding and repressing them, but if on the off chance he did pursue them, it wouldn't be for unreciprocated.

Shaking his head of the topic for now, the billionaire strides away in the opposite direction of her room, heading towards the stairs and dining room for dinner, deciding to file away the tumultuous thoughts for later.

Dinner transpires without a hitch. In fact, to the surprise of the men in the room, Dick Grayson even arrives in time to join them. The Blüdhaven vigilante does own an apartment in Gotham, one they expected him to stay in that night, but the twenty-three-year-old apparently decided that he wished to spend more time with Tim and Alfred – and maybe Bruce – whilst he was in Gotham, missing the presence of the two when he's by his lonesome in Blüdhaven. Wally West visits often, and Roy Harper even manages to pop in once in a blue moon, but friends are one thing, family another. Dick does happen to spend time with his younger adopted brother whenever Young Justice gets together, being one of the founders and leaders of the team, but even then that's during working hours. Dinners such as these are rare.

Another reason for the charming former circus acrobat's presence however is the current subject of his fascination; Evangeline Winter. Dick and Bruce may not always see eye to eye, and he certainly doesn't appreciate it whenever arguments like this morning's break out, but he still does care about his adoptive father. It's taken a few years to come to terms with how things ended between them after Dick left to become Nightwing, but they are in a better place now, so of course Dick is going to be the nosey, inquisitive son he is and poke around the possible new addition to their circle.

B's reaction last night to him arriving at the Batcave with Miss Winter in his arms made the Dark Knight's relationship with the woman abundantly clear; whatever it is, it isn't just platonic. Whilst that may not seem clear or specific, to Dick, it is. Bruce rarely even considers potential romantic options these days, and the few he has in the past haven't usually been ethically aligned with him, or aware of his identity. Right now the two may be more friends than anything else, but the possibility, the spark for something more – Dick saw it. Saw it in the way he held her head as he checked her concussion for the third time, this time whilst she was awake. Saw it in the way she leant into his touch as he drew away, but stopped herself before it became too obvious. Saw it in the way she reached out and grabbed his arm, assuring him that she would never endanger him or any of them, and how Bruce accepted that touch.

Even now, over dinner, it seems it only took a day for Tim to grow fond of the PI as well, the young teenager enthused as he recounts their afternoon together, of the two of them helping one another, of how it only took a glance at a lady's hair, skin and shoes to determine so much about her. Dick Grayson is profoundly protective of his family, which is why he wishes to get to know the North Carolinian more prior to his return to Blüdhaven, to understand her motives and the kind of person she truly is before leaving her with his family. And so far, Nightwing has to admit; she is an unbelievably nice and optimistic person.

She includes Alfred in conversation, makes Tim laugh freely like a normal teen, and even prompts a smile or two from Bruce. The raven haired woman indulges him in any subtle questions he slips in about anything; from where she's from, to her quiet criminal brother and strongly opinionated best friend who works as a psychiatrist at Arkham. The whole idea of someone being so open and honest about everything is borderline startling after being in his profession for so long, where everyone keeps their secrets close to their chest, even ones that are seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

Later, in the Batcave, Dick even broaches the topic with Bruce, the two of them and Tim suited up and standing before the Batcomputer as Barbara compiles all the information of a break in that occurred a couple hours ago.

"She's open, you know. Very open. Honest. Isn't put off by speaking her mind peacefully, communicating what she's feeling and thinking," Nightwing casually but seriously comments, sending his adoptive father a look. "Every time she opens her mouth, what comes out is true and carefully phrased, not a single word going to waste. It's amazing, the wonders of respect, honesty and communication—"

"You're not subtle, Dick," the dark clad hero intervenes his first Robin, arms firmly crossed, cowl still off, and keeping his stern stare fixed on the main large screen.

Innocently, the blue and black vigilante shrugs, throwing his arms up in surrender. "I'm just saying; I don't know her, not well, and I intend to get to know her a bit better before really coming to a judgment on this, but so far, it feels like it would be good to have her around maybe a little more regularly. Good for Tim, Alfred... you."

"They're fine, I'm fine," the Batman dusts off, momentarily shooting his eldest a look that says 'end of conversation'. "Right now, we have a very heavily armed, murderous Black Mask loose, another potential mob war on the horizon, and now a fatal team up of wreaking havoc on Gotham. When all of that is done and dealt with, maybe then, we can discuss this."

Dick nods once in understanding, knowing Bruce is right, but also aware he's simply putting off such talks, as he always does. "Got it – Babs, what've we got?"

"Ivy and Quinn," the red-head answers, pulling up their images on the screen, as well as a few blurred images of them committing the crime a couple hours prior. Bruce leans further over Oracle's chair scrutinizing some of the images. "Ace's cameras managed to get a few pictures of them in act, they're not quite clear though."

"Choosing a weekend date, Sir?"

The wry comment garners a couple amused snorts from Robin and Nightwing, as well as a light laugh from the private investigator accompanying the butler. Without turning to answer, Bruce slips into his alternate persona, severely informing "Pamela Isley and Harleen Quinzel broke into Ace Chemicals two hours ago, yet nothing was stolen, and no one was hurt, except for a light scuffle between them and three of the guards. Besides the guards, a couple scientists witnessed the intrusion, one even conversed with Isley. Harley only recently broke up with the Joker, and Ace is where he fell into that vat of acid... could be connected, or this could entirely be a scheme of Ivy's making. We need more information."

"I can handle Ivy and Quinn," Nightwing chimes in, addressing the Dark Knight. "That way you and Robin can focus on Sionis and the mobs. I'll head to the GCPD first, question the witnesses, then head to Ace."

Batman agrees, the three vigilantes and Oracle hashing over their roles and plans for the night for another ten minutes, before donning their masks and cowl, making their way to their vehicles. Tim and Dick both shoot Alfred and Eve friendly smiles, the former slipping into the Batmobile whilst the latter climbs his high tech motorcycle. When Bruce passes his surrogate father and the Southerner, he pauses, regarding Miss Winter intensely, stare hard. "You need to rest tonight. You almost died twice last night, and you're still recovering from your concussion. Take it easy, stay here. We'll handle Sionis."

Displeased, Eve nonetheless acquiesces, faintly smiling. "Okay, just for tonight. Thank you. Take care of yourself Bruce, and them."

The Caped Crusader nods in affirmation at her request, lingering a moment longer before passing by and disappearing into the Batmobile. All three heroes are gone from the cave within the minute, leaving Alfred, Oracle and Miss Winter to their devices.

Glancing back at the elder gentleman and investigator knowingly, Barbara smiles, the twenty-one-year-old directing her entertainment towards Evangeline. "You're not really going to stick around, are you?"

"Good heavens no, but he wouldn't have quite left otherwise," Eve replies, feeling slightly guilty for lying to Mr Wayne's face. It was for good reason, she attempts to justify, unable to dispel the guilt in its entirety.

Much to her surprise, both remaining Bat-family members don't admonish her for the admission. In fact, they strangely enough do the opposite.

"Great! Here, catch," Barbara tosses her an ear piece, the PI catching it just in time, inspecting the advanced piece of technology in her hand. "If you need anything whilst you're out there, let me know. Just be careful about linking up to any of their channels, otherwise they'll probably track you down pretty quickly."

"May I drop you off somewhere Miss?" Alfred offers, earning her attention. "Save you the cab fare?"

"I may actually take you up on that Alfred, thank you. Both of you," Eve sincerely expresses her gratitude, already heading back up in the direction of the manor. "First, however, I require a wardrobe change. Meet you out front in ten, Alfred?"

"Of course Miss Winter."

With that being said, Evangeline Winter begins to formulate her game plan for the night, possessing no intentions of allowing any vigilantes or criminals she's familiar with to interfere with her tonight, not without her intending for them to do so. The detective had already sent Harv and Harvey a text disclosing Sionis' plans to hit their casino later this evening, which should hopefully keep them occupied enough. The real trick of tonight is poking around Gotham for information on Black Mask, without actually getting near Black Mask.

Precarious, but doable, Eve reasons, slipping on a breathable, creamy white pantsuit she nicked from her apartment earlier today, immediately rolling up the sleeves on the blazer. It's going to be a hot night, cooler than the day, but still humid and heavy. The Southerner needs to look presentable, however, for the particular destinations she has in mind. She only hopes there will be no need to remove any bloodstains from the easily stainable fabric after tonight. 

A/N: Eyy! Bada bing bada boom, another update! Sorry again for the time in between updates, uni has been demanding all of my attention, and what little is left, is left for work. But, we're here nonetheless!

Lil' bit of sexual tension between Bruce and Eve in there for y'all, Tim and Eve bonding and training together, Dickie being all protective of his fam, and would you look at that, Eve ignoring Bruce and going out into the wild wild city of Gotham. What's new?

Hope you guys liked! I actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter, it may be one of my favourites so far. What was your fave part of it?

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~ T.L