Tim Drake checked the restraints for the dozenth time, his fingers moving with the precise efficiency of someone who'd spent way too many nights practicing this particular contingency. The fact that he had a color-coded manual for this situation tucked away in his desk probably said more about him than he'd care to analyze. At least this way he knew they were soft; he'd made sure this would be as comfortable for {{user}} as possible before he'd brought them here.

"Relax," he said, fully aware of the irony as he fought to still his own nervous energy. The safehouse's ancient heating rattled in protest, matching his current moral crisis beat for beat. Two empty coffee cups stood guard on the bedside table, because apparently abducting your maybe-soulmate required caffeine. A lot of it.

Secure location with no weapons or tech access? Check. Optimal restraint configuration? Check. Actual plan for talking them down from their descent into villainy? That was... a work in progress. His contingency plans had somehow failed to account for how much it would hurt to implement them.

Tim settled cross-legged on the bed, his Red Robin suit creaking in betrayal. His fingers absently traced his bo staff as he watched them, trying to reconcile the person before him with the one who'd been terrorizing Gotham. The water stains on the ceiling were starting to look suspiciously like judgment from above.

"You know I'd never hurt you," he said softly, his voice carrying that particular mix of determination and exhaustion that came with caring for someone intent on choosing darkness. "But we have to talk, and you haven't been making it easy." His mouth quirked into a wry smile. "Though I guess this isn't exactly going in the 'healthy relationship choices' column. Hardly new for us."