#timrae

Dick had spent Christmas Day at Wayne Manor—loud, warm, chaotic in that very specific Wayne way—and thanks to his girlfriend's teleportation ability, he'd been able to return to his snowed-in city without issue. He'd fully expected Raven to head back to the Tower afterward. She always got a little strange after being around his family, and she usually liked being to herself after a Batfamily gathering.

So when she'd hesitated to create a portal, with her fingers curled into the sleeve of her coat, and shyly asked if she could stay the night, he hadn't even thought about it. He'd kissed her immediately with relief and affection.

Now, hours later, Haley was curled in a tight ball at the foot of his bed, snoring softly, while Raven lay stretched across the mattress, bare legs tangled in sheets, wearing his shirt and nothing else he could see. The fabric slipped off one shoulder, dark hair fanned across the pillow, expression soft and unguarded in sleep.

Dick lay on his side, propped slightly on one elbow, watching her like she might vanish if he blinked. It was a ridiculous notion, he knew that. But some irrational part of his brain was convinced that if he relaxed too much, she'd be gone. Not because she didn't care. But because Raven had always been good at leaving quietly, and he didn't want her to leave.

Suddenly, as if she knew he was thinking about her, Raven's eyes flew open. She propped herself up on one elbow. "I need to go."

Dick reacted instantly, arm shooting out to catch her forearm, stopping her mid-movement. "Oh no you don't."

She blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

He slid an arm around her waist and tugged her back down with a dramatic sigh. "It's too cold to leave this bed."

She snorted, utterly unimpressed. "Dick."

"You can't possibly be thinking about leaving this apartment in weather like this," he continued solemnly. "It's practically a public safety issue."

Raven shook her head, lips twitching. "First of all, I can teleport, Boy Blunder. Leaving in weather like this is no problem." She pushed at his chest half-heartedly. "Secondly, I'm not leaving you."

"That's what they all say," he replied dramatically, tucking her closer. "First it's 'I'll be right back,' then boom—tragic separation. Frostbite. Regret."

She tilted her head, studying him with obvious amusement. "You're being ridiculous."

"I'm being romantic," he corrected, brushing his thumb along her hip, slow and absent, like the motion itself was grounding him.

She smiled despite herself. "Richard, let go."

"I can't," he said softly. "The storm forbids it."

She rolled onto her back, looking up at him. "The storm forbids it?"

"Yes. And so do I." He leaned down and kissed her slowly and deeply. It was unhurried, familiar, warm. The kind of kiss that didn't ask for anything, didn't rush toward more. She kissed him back just as easily, fingers curling into his hair, indulging him, letting him linger. When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his. He didn't pull away. "You said you wanted to stay," he said quietly.

Raven felt the uncertainty beneath the words like a soft tremor she hadn't noticed before. Suddenly, everything made sense.

When they'd started dating, everything had been easy and comfortable. But then intimacy had entered the picture, and while Dick had been wonderfully attentive, patient, affectionate; Raven knew she'd been inconsistent. One day warm and open, the next withdrawn. She'd been pushing and pulling without meaning to. Not because she didn't want him, but because she was still learning how to stay without bracing for loss.

She'd probably made herself difficult to read—made him feel like he was guessing when he shouldn't have had to. "Richard," she murmured, stroking his cheek tenderly, thumb brushing the faint crease near his mouth. She gazed into his beautiful blue eyes, steady and sincere. "I do want to stay. I am staying."

His shoulders eased, tension bleeding out of him in a way she could feel even without empathic abilities.

"I like hearing that," he admitted.

She smiled softly. "I know."

A beat passed, and she shifted slightly beneath him. "But I really need to go to the bathroom."

"…the bathroom?" Dick repeated.

"Yes," Raven smiled.

"So you're not—"

"No."

"You really aren't dramatically abandoning me to the storm?"

She raised a brow. "Wasn't planning on it."

He groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. "Wow. I completely misread that entire situation."

"You did."

"I've been reading through Jason's Shakespeare collection," he muttered.

"I can tell," Raven said, smiling. "You gave a ten out of ten performance."

"Right," he said as he slowly, sheepishly released her, hands sliding reluctantly from her waist. "I'll… uh… keep the bed warm."

"My hero," she said fondly, slipping free and padding toward the bathroom. She paused at the door, glancing back at him. "Try not to miss me while I embark on this treacherous journey."

"I'll try," he played along. "No promises."

She shook her head, fond smile lingering, and disappeared into the bathroom.

When she returned moments later, he was sprawled dramatically across the bed, arm flung over his eyes like a fallen tragedian. "You were gone far too long," he said mournfully.

Raven climbed back into bed without comment, settling against him, fitting easily into the space she'd left behind. "There, there" she said. "Crisis resolved."

He wrapped his arms around her immediately. "You came back."

"I told you I would."

He smiled into her hair, warm and content. "Good. Because baby…"

"Yes?"

"It's still cold outside."

She smiled, eyes closing. "You're getting cheesier and more dramatic with age."

"It's part of my charm."

Haley chose that moment to yip in annoyance.

"Alright, alright," Dick chuckled, shifting just enough to give the dog room. "We'll be quiet now. So bossy."

"Merry Christmas, Dick," Raven murmured, already drifting, comforted by warmth and certainty.

"Merry Christmas, Raven."

Outside, the storm raged on; but inside, no one was going anywhere.

-the links below are for one-shots with damirae and timrae

“Licensed for all of New York State,” Tim pressed on, undeterred. Raven’s only reply was to perch herself on the table, swipe his mug, and drain it with the kind of dedication usually reserved for exorcisms. Still, she kept her silence.

“At least we’re shooting for the stars,” Tim quipped.

Raven, who had long since graduated from Teen Titan to just Titan (early twenties, after all), huffed, a particularly familiar exhale of air. It was the same sigh she used when Tim suggested sparring after PT: world-weary, battle-ready, and utterly resigned to his per ported suggestion.

The type that spoke of surrender to the inevitable. An expression of put upon patience so familiar in his partner, that his heart softened. 

Tim wasn't even upset anymore.

He hoped it didn’t show. After all, she’d trained him to keep his mind locked up tighter than Arkham was supposed to be, just as his crusade was to eliminate any perceived weakness and thought her how to dodge a punch. [rubber bullet, arrow, actual bullet, batarang, and so much more]

“I want us to help people,” Raven finally said, her voice alight with purpose. Tim realised he was glad—relieved, even—to be her partner in obsessive mission. 

Raven, by her own action of registering the license in both their names, was a lone wolf no more.  Raven had chosen him, Time Drake to help her make a difference. “And I want us to be protected when we do it.”

Tim grinned at her use of “when.” With her compulsion to help and his need to investigate death, any puzzle, trouble was less a possibility and more a calendar appointment.

He didn’t bother pretending to be annoyed anymore. Raven was right, as usual. And honestly, this was peak Raven—turning a loophole into a license to snoop.

The police might not love nosy civilians, but with a license and a client, Raveena Rathore and Tim Drake could ask all the questions they wanted. 

If the answers were lies, well then Tim’s knack for reading micro-expressions and Raven’s supernatural empathy meant no secret was safe.

The clients might not always like the truth, but Tim knew neither Raven nor Tim would rest until they found it.

“A Fortune 500 CEO by day, private eye by night. My LinkedIn’s going to need a bigger font,” Tim joked.

“How could mere mortals possibly fathom the minds of the ultra-rich?” Raven shot back, gesturing to now-empty pilfered coffee mug.

“Possession is 9/10s of the law,” Raven quoted, as Tim raised an eyebrow at her audacity.

Tim snorted, refilled her coffee mug, got another one for himself and settled in. Raven moved to the story board—practically a mattress—already plotting out their latest case, all red string and wild theories.

And just like that, they were in it together—embroidered into the next big mystery.