Blond Extras, Please Don't Pick Fights

I'm Tim Drake.

Multiple identities? You get used to it. CEO of Drake Industries, Red Robin, Batman's assistant. Gotham's nights are crazy enough already, until Anjel V. Lomitz makes an "elegant" entrance. Now? There's a permanent new item on my to-do list: dealing with this blond menace.

How did it all start?

Oh, easy. He was kidnapped on a rainy night, and I rescued him. (Standard night-patrol procedure, a Gotham specialty.) According to the script, the next line should've been, "Thank you, vigilante!" Then we both go our separate ways.

But Anjel V. Lomitz? Instead of thanks, he gave me that so-called East Asian "I owe you my life, so I'll give you myself" look. His eyes were green as moss on a gargoyle, and still wet with rain. I should've just let Penguin's men take him back.

The media's coverage is all a facade.

The papers call him the "Angel of Gotham," a rising star in charity and a ray of sunshine in winter. Bullshit.

Here's what I see:

One second, he's smiling at reporters. The next, he's softly telling the representative of a rival family who's making a scene, "Get rid of them. Make them quiet," all while wearing that damn angelic expression!

While I'm pulling an all-nighter over a Wayne Enterprises merger, this guy can send me 18 messages in a row complaining that work is boring. He even includes close-ups of cookie crumbs on his office carpet. (He bakes his own cookies?!)

And then he piles apples on the roof of my Wayne company building, each tied with a bow in expensive silk! Bruce nearly thought the Joker had escaped Arkham again! The security department's collective trauma could fill another skyscraper!

Then things got even more... complicated.

He figured out that I was Red Robin. (Skipping the details. In short: this guy plays dirty.)

So now:

Gotham citizens: "Look! CEO Drake and head of the Lomitz family are fighting over Red Robin!"

Me, CEO Drake: "Mr. Lomitz, this document contains confidential business information. Please keep your distance." (Thinking: That bug hidden in your cuff is digging into my hand!)

Me, Red Robin: "Stay away from me, Lomitz! You're getting in the way of..." (Before I can finish, he pulls out a silver dinner knife and stabs a mercenary trying to sneak up on us in the shoulder.)

Anjel, smiling at the mercenary: "The first rule of dining etiquette: Don't interrupt someone else's date." (Turning to me:) "Darling, what were you saying I was getting in the way of?"

Me: "..." (System.exe has stopped responding.)

His methods of "courting" me belong in an Arkham textbook:

Gifts: From a taxidermied raven fitted with a camera ("It's art!") to replacing every piece of clothing in my safe house with designer outfits he "picked out personally." (His taste... is a tiny bit better than mine. Just a tiny bit!)

Verbal finesse: He takes advantage of the fact I don't understand Portuguese to tell a South American drug lord, "My wife is beautiful, right?" When a translator exposes him, he claims, "It was a code phrase!" (Dick laughed for a whole week.)

Flirting lines: "Tim, your eyes are a blue ocean of logic... and I'm good at drowning." Harder to guard against than Damian's knife.

But I have to admit... just a little:

When he stepped in front of me and took a bullet (the bullet wasn't even meant for me! What a show-off!), blood spread across his white shirt like a twisted flower... My damn dopamine and adrenaline really did malfunction.

After he realized I drink black coffee like medicine, every Drake file he delivers comes with a little packet of sugar.

And that snowy day, when he sat on the bench among the ruins of the old manor, wrapped in that damn wolf-fur cloak... It was like wildness and disguise had merged into one. I might've... felt something... for a thousandth of a second. Just once!

So this is my life now:

To the media: "We're not dating." (Thinking: God, he just used my tie to wipe away the blood! That photo's definitely making tomorrow's headlines!)

To Batman: "He's under control. I promise. For now." (Thinking: As long as he doesn't lead the League of Assassins' hunting squad to my apartment as a "surprise gift"!)

To Anjel V. Lomitz himself: "Lomitz, delete the surveillance footage! Don't touch my coffee machine! Stay away from my wardrobe! And... explain why you have a sketch of me sleeping?!" (My voice might crack in despair.)

One last piece of advice:

If you meet a man in Gotham with platinum-blond hair and a smile like an angel's, saying, "Let's make Gotham better together," run!

He's no angel. He's a disaster who makes espresso with bullet casings, a thorny man-eating flower disguised as a lily, he's...

(Editing: Anjel just messaged me: "Darling, your coffee cup is empty. Shall I come refill it? (His location seems to be outside your office window.)")

That's my life these days. Do Not Touch, Blond Stranger. But apparently the Lomitz family car has already run me over.

[Warnings and notes]:

I'm a genuine Tim fan, so I may unconsciously favor Tim. I'll keep myself in check and avoid putting down the original characters' actions. If anything offends you, please point it out patiently. (Bows.)

OOC warning, many headcanons.

Pairing: Anjel V. Lomitz (original character) and Timothy Jackson Drake (DC's third Robin)

Both are strong, and they switch roles.

The OC is a madman, chaotic neutral. His views don't represent the author's. He'll face consequences for the bad things he's done; there is no protagonist halo.

Tim in this story isn't as clueless as the blurb makes him seem. (The blurb is a little misleading.) He's closer to the younger Tim of the P52 era.

This isn't a fluffy romance, and may not be easy to read. Please understand.

Theme: Saving each other