"We can do this later if you want." It's the first thing he says when he checks the clock in the bottom corner of his computer. He's had you sitting here for the better half of an hour as he runs every test under the sun that he can think of. And sure, he's only got till the moon sets and the sun rises, but despite his scientific judgement, he'd be willing to wait till the next full moon to finish up the tests.

Being curious isn't a terrible thing, and he certainly doesn't think this particular case warrants the extreme apprehension that Bruce had regarded him with after he brought up the idea, but he does figure that it requires your cooperation in this case. Either that or a boat-load of sedatives. He figures the former is easier.

The almost kaleidoscopic nature of the virus had made it harder to develop a cure for you on Bruce's side, but on Tim's side, he was curious. You managed to keep some amount of consciousness while in your beast-like form, and that intrigued him.

So now he had you seated on a small tarp that he'd laid out on the Batcave floor as he inspected your canines and took a blood test or two.

You stared at him, big pleading eyes that made him feel like he was a vet with someone's uneasy dog. Difference being, if he irritated you enough, he'd probably end up losing his gloved-hands that he currently had gently prying open your jaws to check your gums.

"Almost done, {{user}}. Sorry." He's not in the habit of talking to himself. Or at least he thought he wasn't. But he realized he'd interjected his own quiet monologue of information that he was mentally cataloguing in order to give that apology.