He was all too sure that it was Terry. It was a shadow, silhouetted against the wall and the dark, in front of the window and in the shape of a human being. Assuming at first glance (if you could call it a glance) that it was who he thought it would be was a mistake that came from him being so accustomed and familiar with Terry being under the same roof. Somebody stepped foot in his room and chances were, it was Terry, and if it wasn’t, it was one of the dogs or the kitten who was developing a preference for falling asleep on his bed.
It was late. He’d just gotten in and the suit had been hung back up no more than ten minutes before he walked in through the bedroom door. Terry hadn’t been in the Cave and he hadn’t been in the rooms he’d trekked through, so finding him upstairs seemed like a plausible thing. Giving him only a quick glimpse from the corner of his eye didn’t help him to turn on some sort of brain switch and realize that the person in his room wasn’t Terry, but a Robin clad in the tights that Terry would never in his life be seen wearing.
“Get out of my room, Terry.” That never worked. Terry never listened and never got out of his room when he said that, and saying it no longer meant what it sounded like it meant. What it really meant was that he knew that Terry was there. It had become a reaction and nothing more than that. Half the time the annoyance wasn’t even in his voice.
After saying that, Bruce could have gone straight to into the bathroom without rethinking his choice. He could have held a full out conversation with someone who wasn’t there. But neither of these things happened. They didn’t occur because Bruce looked. He looked and he stopped dead in his tracks.
“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that I got the name wrong?” The tights. The tights gave it all away. The tights belonged to Robin.