Slipping to the lower level with shadow grace, Tim hovers in the doorway and drops the item into the hamper.

They call this planting evidence.

He can still smell it, though. The scent is on him, his fingers and now tainting this room. Alone, Tim's aware that it's personal and his senses are only exaggerating the smell. He'll still feel like he's wearing the sex even after he climbs into bed.

It's far too late for a shower and if Jack finds out...

Tim dully picks out the shape of the washing machine and Dana's clothes hanging up from the ceiling. He realizes that he should feel less worry and more cunning. After all, isn't this what all boys his age do? So it's the middle of the night and Tim's expressing himself physically. A million times more better than beating on the Mad Hatter, isn't it?

The briefs can stay, slightly hidden with Tim's other clothes. It's only healthy if nobody brings it up to embarrass him. They don't really know the truth, and Tim's learned that people will believe what they want to believe.

Still, he can smell it. There are classes in the morning and Tim is aware that he won't be able to fall comfortably asleep until he shakes the concept from his head.

Like animals. Like fucking animals and...

No. Don't go there Tim.

The stairs softly creak this time, and Tim may not be saved by anything short of a shower. Logically too late for that, though. If Jack stops snoring he will only assume that Tim's covering up for something more destructive than wet dreams.

Tim can take pride in knowing that all metaphorical kittens were safe tonight.

In the dark, switching on the faucet to the sink, Tim lets the water run low so that Jack's breathing doesn't become missed. The soap is a better smell and this is the best that Tim can hope to accomplish. Clean hands, new clothes.

Fresh briefs, and Tim finally connects why he had ultimately chosen the specific brand after realizing the who's who of Gotham's vigilantes. There's really little difference in wearing one's briefs outside of their clothes, than under.

No more red shorts for Tim, but Jack can't take away dirty laundry and nightly visits.

The mirror above the sink gives Tim an outline of himself. His features, dark and elusive.

Well, you've done it again, Tim. Dad's starting to trust you and for some reason the heroes of the world haven't forgotten about you, either.

The imagined mask and the slim smile return to the reflection.

To tomorrow night?

He nods.

To tomorrow.