God, if a face meant death ─ if looks could kill ─ Dick would be in dire need of a Lazarus Pit and necromancer. Even with your eyes covered by that domino mask, he was pretty sure you were thinking of the eighty-two dumb ways to die.

The two of you didn't have the best track record. He was Robin, the Boy Wonder! Gotham's apex of light, half of what was arguably the greatest dynamic duo. You were... well, to start with, you didn't have much of a sidekick name. Of course, he'd taken to calling you Kitty! It wouldn't take a behavioural analyst to assume that you'd despised him from the start.

He, on the other hand, had been madly infatuated with you since he'd first seen you kick absolute ass in the Narrows. In heels. God, female vigilantes relationships with heeled boots had to be studied. Your ability to pull of acrobatic moves he found impressive in six-inch stilletos was incredible.

"Man, Kitty. I didn't think you'd missed me that much." He tried to act suave. The image of you dropkicking a fully armed man twice your size was fresh in his mind and the idea that you'd done it to save his ass was everpresent. "I mean, it's only been twelve hours."