Okay, so everything isn't going quite as well as it could be going, but it's all been going kind of okay. And Tim will take "kind of okay," especially after the "absolutely not okay" of recent times, from Bruce dying to having to team up with the League of Assassins.
Tim sighs, leaning back from the keyboard and doing some brief finger stretches. Being back in Gotham is great in most ways, but it's not great for his hands: he's been doing so much typing. So. Much. Typing. That's what he gets for being co-CEO, he guesses wryly.
To be fair, though, settling back into Wayne Enterprises has probably been one of the easier parts of being back in Gotham. Settling back into the Batman team of vigilantes and settling back into the Wayne family have been far more difficult.
They aren't bad things. It's just… They're difficult. Tim had been kind of starting to get used to doing things more on his own. Sure, he'd had "help" at some points, but given that a lot of that help was from League of Assassins members up to the Demon Head himself, it's little wonder he isn't used to genuine offers of assistance. When Ra's al Ghul offers someone help, it generally means he wants to use them for something.
Tim shudders. He's glad he got out when he did. The thought of Ra's still troubles him, though, to be honest, and so he refocuses.
It's been difficult to get readjusted, but over the past month and a half or so, he's been working on it. They've all been working on it. He and Dick had a long, hard talk about the Robin identity and what it meant to each of them, and they've pretty much resolved the issue. Bruce has been slowly but steadily rejoining public life, recovered from his time lost in time, and he's thanked Tim more times than Tim's ever been thanked in his life, probably. Barbara taught Tim the updates she made to the Bat systems in his time away, while Alfred keeps making Tim's favorite dishes and has even been stocking some Zesti cans on hand, despite Alfred's well-known contempt for soft drinks. Damian is awkward but clearly trying, and they've connected some over their shared love of art, to the point that most of their arguments now are over whether photography or drawing is superior. Cass and Steph take turns dragging Tim away from work, whether WE or vigilante related, and forcing him to do things they deem "fun," usually something Cass has never tried before and something that Steph claims will "change lives." Jason has been affectionate in his own gruff way, usually by sending Tim updates on cases that Jason thinks Tim would like to work on but also, on a handful of memorable occasions, by picking Tim up bodily and carrying him to somewhere Jason thinks Tim needs to go, such as bed.
Sure, there've been rough points. Tim isn't entirely sure about "Red Robin" as a vigilante identity, and not just because his siblings have realized there's a restaurant with the same name and an annoying jingle (although that's admittedly a part of it). Wayne Enterprises paperwork continues to flood in, and Tim can only do so much until Bruce is fully back in the public eye. Some family dinners get uncomfortable, while some conversations get tense, usually when Tim's time questing to find Bruce is inadvertently brought up. But all in all, re-acclimation has been going relatively smoothly.
So when the door to his office swings open unexpectedly, Tim doesn't look up immediately, expecting a family member swinging in to bother him, or maybe a question from the temporary secretary whose substitution is letting Tam take a well-deserved vacation.
Then a quivering voice speaks up. "Mr. Drake-Wayne?"
At the fear in his substitute secretary's voice, Tim's head is up and his eyes are looking at the door before he consciously recognizes moving.
Joshua, the substitute secretary, is trembling, his whole body shaking. It's clear why: a man in a bulky, ill-fitting suit has a gun to the substitute secretary's head.
"Mr. Drake-Wayne," the man in the suit says, sounding almost cordial.
Tim is tempted to quip something about "sorry, he's on break," but he can't take risks with a civilian in the line of fire. Instead, Tim nods. "That's me."
"That'll make this easy, then," the man in the suit says. He tilts his head. "Come with us."
Tim stands up slowly from behind his desk, oh-so-casually bracing his hands on the edge desk to "get up" and carefully pressing the emergency alarm button located there. "Okay. Where are we-"
"No questions," the man in the suit says, jerking the gun closer to Joshua's head.
Joshua makes a strangled whimper.
Tim nods again. "Got it."
"This way," the man in the suit says, and he begins walking away, keeping his eyes locked on Tim.
Tim hurries to follow. If the man with the gun would just let Joshua go or look away long enough for Tim to act…
But that doesn't happen. Instead, the man in the bulky suit keeps the gun fixed on Joshua and his gaze fixed on Tim. They make it down the long hallway and stop in front of the door to a mechanical room.
"Open it," the man in the suit orders. Whether he's talking to Joshua or Tim is unclear.
Tim trades glances with Joshua.
"It's generally locked, and neither of us have that kind of key card," Tim says eventually.
The man in the suit nudges Joshua's forehead with the gun.
Tim moves forward and reaches for the door handle.
It's unlocked. Why is it unlocked? The mechanical rooms aren't supposed to be-
"In," the man in the suit orders.
Tim moves in, calculating all the while. This is still a salvageable situation. There are several things he can use in the mechanical room to-
The man with the suit shoves Joshua away from himself and leaps into the mechanical room, flinging the door closed behind himself.
Tim has just long enough to be grateful that Joshua is safe and that Tim can now act.
Then the man with the ill-fitting suit rips open his suit jacket, and-
Oh.
Well.
Yikes.
The suit isn't ill-fitting and bulky because it's poorly-made, as Tim originally suspected. It's because there's a heavily-smoking suspiciously-bomb-shaped device strapped to the chest of the man with the gun. That complicates things.
"Ra's al Ghul sends his regards," the man with the gun says as he aims and the room fills with smoke almost instantly.
That complicates things further.
Tim holds his breath, wary of the smoke's foul odor and light golden tinge to it, as he dodges the gunshots and weaves his way closer to the man.
Before Tim is within striking distance, though, the man smacks the device on his own chest. The smoke, previously only tinged golden, turns a pure, scorching gold, searing Tim's eyes and startling a gasp out of him.
And with that exhaled gasp comes an inhaled breath.
And with that inhaled breath comes a swift spin of the world.
And with that swift spin of the world goes Tim.