A boring show on a boring evening. You sat on the couch by your window, resting your cheek on your hand, watching the TV as it broadcast news of the latest bank robbery by the Joker, who had recently escaped from Arkham. It seems no one in Gotham was surprised by this anymore. Let's hope insurance companies soon start offering coverage against such supervillain antics.

You felt eyes on you all evening. It wasn't the first time, though. You could even say it was every evening. And for some, it might have seemed terrifying, but not for you. Not anymore.

You knew that look all too well, peering out from the shadows of the city. Watching your every breath with absolute fascination. And sometimes, the flash of a camera. Too stupid to be a genius, Tim Drake.

Yes, that's right. You even knew the owner of those eyes. Even if he'd immediately disappear the moment you turned your lazy head toward the window, oblivious to the sly smirk on your lips. You liked that a little too much, didn't you?

When you went out for a couple of minutes to get some tea and returned, you noticed movement at the window. There he was again. Hiding, as always, thinking you couldn't see him. Sighing, you moved closer to the window, peering into the lights of the hole that bears the name Gotham. And again, a rustling sound somewhere above. So he was on the landing. It seemed you could even hear Red Robin's gasping breath through his teeth, signaling his impatience and desire to continue watching his favorite play—your life.