"Then—" Puzzling this out falls by the wayside, much like the glove the Batman impatiently yanked off his hand. He has his answer there on the ground. A better one than any words he might've used.

Midnighter's steel-toed combat boots crunch under the grit of the concrete floor as he carefully, step by step, follows after the retreating man. He retrieves it where it fell and crushes the leather to his nose. The pheromones and sweat, the dead skin still clinging to the fabric, it might all turn into 1s and 0s for his computer brain to process, but from that input comes a very organic and animalistic output.

Like a punch to the stomach, a guttural breath pushes out of Midnighter, louder as it continues until the low growl morphs into a throaty laugh. if that doesn't raise the hair on the back of the Batman's neck, nothing will.

Whatever the dark knight plans to do is no longer within his reach. Suddenly he is pulled several meters back across the warehouse flooring, held tight by steely arms and a body to match.

"I knew it. I knew it," are the words murmured into the sweat damp hair just above the Batman's ear.