10368/Nightcave

Nightcave
Date of Scene:	09 December 2019
Location:	Apartment 3A, 1013 Parkthorne Ave.
Synopsis:	Dick and Carrie talk over Dick's workload and injuries.
Cast of Characters:	Carrie Kelley, Nightwing

---

Carrie Kelley has posed:
One of the many reasons that Dick had chosen this particular apartment was the easy access to the rooftop, and the windows that opened out onto the fire escape. It was easy to come and go without being seen--Something Carrie had learned how to do during her stint in Bludhaven as Kestrel, and Nightwing's sidekick not so long ago. Knowing he was home due to the time, and the fact that the cat he often fed out on the balcony had a full bowl, Carrie doesn't feel the least bit guitly about rapping her knuckles against the glass as warning that she was coming in.

Normally she'd wait, but it was cold. She was cold. And the bag of food she carried in her other hand labeled with that standard red symbol most Chinese takeouts used was likely getting cold.

"Dick, you better be decent!" she calls out even as she lifts the window to duck inside quickly. She's not in 'uniform'--She hadn't come as Kestrel. Just plain street clothes of jeans, a jacket and hat, and some comfy sneakers.

Nightwing has posed:
"If I wasn't, you didn't give much time for me to be otherwise," Dick teases her. He's in easy access and reach: he's on the floor, with his back on one of his yoga mats in the corner of the living room. Lights shine on the dashboard of the workout machine, proving it's recent use, but now Dick is just laying on the teal yoga mat, knees up, with a muscle-roller under his left foot.

He is, in fact, 'decent', in a sweaty-athletic sort of manner, dressed in a green tank top and some black athletic pants, orange stripes reflective up each leg. There's no attempt to have matched the workout clothes, since nobody was going to /see/ them. In theory. Until Carrie.

Dick's beaten up, he has a blossoming bruise on his right bare shoulder that hugs around the muscular limb in purple and mottled yellow-reds. There's scrapes and other spots: if he weren't a vigilante, he'd have to be in some type of Fight Club. And boy, do they have /regular/ meetings, by the variant ages of the injuries.

"There's still some of your ice cream in the freezer," Dick supplies to her, from upside-down, his dark hair lightly shiny, as is the rest of him, from the workout.

Carrie Kelley has posed:
Carrie Kelley stretches her neck side to side from that little duck through the window to regard him with a bemused grin at the reply. "Well, yeah, but in my defense it's *cold* out there." Indeed it was. She turns to push the window shut behind her to keep the heat of the apartment from escaping further. Just in time to miss the ginger cat rushing through making a beeline toward the back bedroom. "Looks like you'll have some company tonight in bed, too. Sorry." At least she bites back the remark about it being the right hair color.

Carefully stepping to the side so as to not step on him or the yoga mat she opts to unwind the scarf tucked into her jacket before taking that off too. "I brought dinner if you haven't eaten yet... You look like someone walked all over you, by the way. Need some ibuprofen or did you dose up already?" Even as she asks she flops back onto the couch kicking her legs out in front of her with a sigh. The bag of Chinese is set on the side table. "You know there's enough of us in Gotham you could probably take a night or two off from helping out there. Give yourself some time to heal."

Nightwing has posed:
Not to worry, Dick can make fun of himself. "I haven't had time for other redheads lately," he chuckles at her. He doesn't move much, other than to relax his head back against the mat a little more, and roll his heel and arch of his foot along the muscle roller again with a tension blossoming in his jaw at the clear discomfort the movement is causing.

"Besides, this won't be the first time. I've woken up with her ginger highness on my chest before," Dick adds. He was looking at her, blue eyes bright and focused, until she suggests he takes some time off. He looks up at the ceiling instead, slowing in the roll of pressure against his foot, but not stopping.

There's some relent in his tone when he speaks, but not fully giving in. "Perhaps Gotham can have a night. I've made sure to have a /lot/ of Batman presence lately. Being more visible than usual, but it was necessary. To be seen. But I haven't given Bludhaven the attention it deserves. So a night off isn't really... feasible." Dick gives her a quick, assured smile. It's a smile he's been giving on repeat to the whole family: that he can handle it. That big brother is there for them, to protect them, to maintain everything. He'll take a huge amount of weight without ever telling them he is, to protect them from it.

Carrie Kelley has posed:
"Do that, then. There's no reason to double your load at this point." Carrie regards him with a single eyebrow at that particular smile. She'd seen it too often, lately. "Or triple in your case, Mr. Police Officer." While he tries to roll out the cramp in his foot she bumps the toes of one foot against the heel of the other to slip out of her shoes leaving her in a pair of nice wool socks that were mismatched. They were socks, who cared? It worked.

"I woke up with Damian's cat next to my head once. Thought he was plotting my death. I mean, he could have been. It is a cat." Cracking a grin she shifts to scoot forward on the edge of the couch giving her knee a pat. "Come on, bring that foot over here. If there's one thing I learned from my Sifu it's how to work out knots and cramps. And don't think you're fooling anyone, Dick Grayson--remember, I'm the actress. I got mu shu pork with pancakes, lo mein, and five alarm no one can pronounce this chicken."

Nightwing has posed:
On the upside, unalike other crime-fighting machines that get injured, Dick isn't prideful about his injuries. He does give her a wrinkle of nose, but sits up, stretching through his back and upper torso with a roll of shoulders. It's an acrobatic, limber move that he's not even really aware he's doing. He stretches down to snare the roller and put it out of the way to the side -- as tripping over it later is the opposite of the goal at this point -- and moves his weight evenly to his other leg, to stand without pressure on the cramped spot.

There's a shred of pain, but he limps over to the couch to drop down in position, and give her the victimized limb. There's trust there, he didn't seem to have any pause to allowing her to help. "I didn't say I wouldn't eat," Dick replies smoothly as she teases him. "I haven't medicated yet, no. I'll take it, you don't have to hide it in my food."

"Yes, three. I'd hoped you had forgotten about the third." But no, she did not forget, even if all of the other bats had. It was just as well. He didn't want them to worry. "How are you feeling about your patrols?" Dick asks. There's something in his tone that gets sucked of life as he asks. It's a 'Batman' persona question, as if it wasn't /really/ Dick asking.

Carrie Kelley has posed:
Carrie Kelley watches the way he walks with those movements carefully balanced to avoid putting too much weight on that foot. The first question that pops to mind is what the heck did he do? But she opts not to ask, just yet, as he does lay down to stretch out and let her at the injured foot. Her position shifts just a bit to get a better angle as she settles his leg on her lap, and gently takes hold of his foot. The pad of her thumbs roll lightly along the arch of his foot upward searching for the injured spot. For the moment it's just a pleasant footrub to help loosen things up further.

"Didn't forget, just had my own plate full. Not as full as yours though," she adds with a little shake of her head. "They're fine. Boring without a partner, but fine. No problems there. It's really been rather quiet in the Basin lately for the most part. Given who patrols the surrounding areas though, I'm not surprised. Not much slips through to *get* to the Basin." Jason did have the next patrol area over from her and he was rather thorough.

Finding the spot she needs her grasp on his foot changes. Fingers press along the top of his foot to hold it steady while she rolls her thumb under the joint of his little toe. The opposite hand presses the arch away to stretch it laterally while rolling down to his heel. "How about you?" Focusing her gaze on him she watches with a small frown. "How're you holding up?"

Nightwing has posed:
"If your partner is the most entertaining part of your patrols...." Dick chuckles a little, "Then I spoiled you. It's tradition to be frustrated," Dick adjusts his position some, to scooch down just a bit on the couch, and drops one hand to pull down the tank-top that was riding up from the friction with the couch cushions. His other hand moves to support his head from the side, a few fingers braced near his eyebrow and eye socket, though his eyes remain open, observing her. The blue of his eyes is stark as always against his dark hair. He isn't entirely clean-shaven, something that's probably coming up soon on his list of 'things that have slipped a day'.

"I'm glad to hear about the quiet--aaah." Dick derails what he was saying, as she moves from the very pleasant rub into dealing with the actual problem. She won't need to wonder long, he tells her: "I dropped onto a ladder harder than I meant to. I admit that I'm weary, and that means mistakes happen, but we don't always get to choose when we rest. The work needs doing. It doesn't slow when one of us needs a breath. I was on my way back from my fourth item--" Right, it isn't three, it's four? "And took care of a Bludhaven problem. It's a lot, but it isn't too much." It just means Dick has no life for ginger visitors or otherwise.

Carrie Kelley has posed:
Carrie Kelley raises an eyebrow not at the pained yelp but at his remark of a fourth thing. "Four," she repeats with a slow and thoughtful nod. "You know you can ask for help." Maybe he didn't. Or maybe he figured he was the one that had to offer it. "I did get yanked back to Gotham rather abruptly. I can come help out here, too, if you need a bit. Helps to have a car now," she admits with a wry chuckle at her own stubbornness for keeping the old Toyota up and running so long. It worked. Just not so well. The old Batmobile she'd been gifted along with the Bunker made it way easier to get around town for work matters.

"I know we don't get to choose. That's why we need to take it when we can... and sometimes that means making the time for it when we can, too," she adds shooting him a look. At least the pressure on his foot has shifted again back and forth between easy, and fixing, to keep the blood flowing properly. That helped it heal. Something she knew from experience.

"Even if it's not me, there's others that can help. The Birds, some out of towners. I mean, really. I know you want to handle it all because he would try to do that... But see how that's worked for him so far?"

"I don't want you to burn out, Dick. I'm a college student. I see it happen all the time just with students. And you're starting to look that way yourself just a bit."

Nightwing has posed:
"My goal isn't to burn out. I know that doesn't do anyone any good," Dick smiles at her. "If others want to do more in Bludhaven, I have assignments I'll give. But, Carrie..." Dick releases a slow breath thorough his nose, and shakes his head a small amount. Serious face is on, drawing some quiet, softened soul up to the surface in his eyes. The roguish smiles aren't to be found right now. "Keeping morale up is important to me. I need everyone to know things /are/ well in hand. And I need Bruce to see that, too. Even if there are issues with what's going on backstage, if the audience doesn't see, then I call that a successful show. Even better if the performers themselves don't realize the full extent of any problems."

He pauses, and teasing flits back to his smile. "Not that there are problems," Dick adds, for her benefit. "That's feeling better, you can leave off." He nods towards his foot, stretching the toes and pointing his foot carefully. He's limber, able to hyperextend, but takes care to not do so yet.

Carrie Kelley has posed:
His foot is released with a nod when he claims it's better. It did feel as if it were back in the proper spot at least. No lingering knots keeping the blood from flowing so that it can heal properly. It's the rest of what he says that earns a small sigh from her. Instead of responding immediately she reaches to the bag of Chinese to fish out one of the takeout boxes which is offered in his direction.

"I get that. I do. Thing is... You're forgetting your supporting actors. We're putting on a show for Gotham, not each other. Not entirely anyway," she ammends with a litte shrug. There would always be some of that going on after all. "We're all stressed right now. Worried, and anxious. Sometimes the best way to get out of that is to give everyone something to do so they feel useful. Better yet if they actually *are* useful."

A lopsided grin is offered toward him. "You know, Jay, Steph, and Damian and I hit this little place sometimes for dumplings. You should come as well. Gives us a way to hang out that isn't work. Plus the food is good."

Nightwing has posed:
"Steph has floated the dumpling place to me more than once," Dick laughs. "Bring that in here, I have a table and plates, we don't need to be complete heathens," he offers, rising. He walks into the kitchen, favoring his foot but not limping. He crosses to the sink to wash his hands off, moving aside to allow her to do the same (after all, she has Dick Feet on her now, though he wasn't dirty), and pulls some plates down, and glasses as well.

"You know what I have to drink. What would you like?" Dick asks, diverting the topic to that briefly, but not in a way that suggests the other topic is closed at all: he continues on it.

"I think... Batman is a show both externally and internally," Dick sighs. "At least. For me, it is. That... isn't who I am. Something I never /will/ be. At least, not without a lot of acting. But I'm trying to do that. To keep things the way everyone is used to." Dick fills a glass with just ice water for himself, but also brings out some ibuprofen to take with it.

Carrie Kelley has posed:
"Nothing wrong with being heathens," Carrie jokingly complains. She does relent on the matter of bringing food to the actual table though. There were times for late night takeout binges, and times for just relaxing with takeout. The kitchen sink is the first thing she goes to as soon as he's freed it up. Without hesitation she thoroughly scrubs down her hands. Even if his feet were clean she did also climb up that fire escape. Who knew what was on that.

"Except we know you're not him so seeing you acting like him is some weird kind of uncanny valley thing. You're doing a good job. We don't expect you to *be* him though. That'd be a little creepy." A good shake of her hands is given to splash off excess water when she turns to search for a towel, or paper towels.

"Ice tea is fine. None of that kombucha stuff you tried to give me once." A shudder comes at the recollection of that nasty, dirty flavored drink. A seat is claimed only for her to lean forward arranging the packages of food in the center of the table so they could each easily reach them. "I get needing to try to get into the headspace though, especially when out there. I've been trying to come up with something similar for when I'm Kestrel. So it's not just 'me in a mask'."

Nightwing has posed:
Dick lifts his eyebrows at her comment about uncanny valley, and after a little pause, releases a deep laugh. It has a sudden relaxing quality to it, a laugh from an honest place that has had few /real/ releases lately. He may not even have realized - and still doesn't - how tight he'd stayed wound up with no release. "Well, the objective /is/ to be a little creepy," Dick points out. "The hardest part is not being kind." A smile flickers in, on quiet cat feet, stealing a moment on his lips. "I don't mean to the villains. I mean to allies. Like the Justice League. Some of them don't //know//." They don't know he's not the same Bat. And that is another kind of awkward problem for Dick at his end.

Dick fetches her drink and sets it near her, and then slides into the other chair. He's mindful of the foot, so that it isn't accidentally kicked, but otherwise seems relaxed, pleasant. Dick hides stress pretty damn well. Just like he buries a lot of things. "You can try to act like Nightwing. We'll just all shift one persona up," he offers to her, lightly. "That is not, by the way, an invitation to do a horrible impression of me right now. Jason has had those on lock, he'll sense it wherever he is, and I'll get another text for 'Bat-Dick'." Dick rolls his eyes a little, setting up a plate of food.

Carrie Kelley has posed:
Carrie Kelley can't help but snort with a little bit of laughter at the very thought of that. It was good at least to have gotten that reaction from him on eway or another. Her weight settles back in the chair as she's tempted to rock it back on it's legs out of habit. A bad habit, she knew, by all the times Alfred had cleared his throat at her when she did it. "Oh, I doubt that's the sort of dick he's thinking about right now," she mumbles as she takes a sip of her tea looking to the side. She knew something. Would she say though?

"I don't think I could pull you off anyway. I don't have the right curves for that kind of costume," she teases with a grin as she is more than willing to go on to that topic. She snags a pancake which she fills with a good scoop of the muushuu pork to roll up. "If you really want to mess with him I could make some suggestions though."

Nightwing has posed:
"I can only hope he keeps it to private dick, where it doesn't have to be any of my business," Dick answers with a flat gesture of his hand out and across. "I do not need a fifth job. That is where I draw the line," he says, drawing a clear 'line' in the air laterally with index finger. "Definitely somewhere well before whatever Jason's private life consists of. Unless it's Harley. Then... I have different questions."

Dick shakes his head once more, though his smile isn't too negative. Harley isn't the worst thing he could think of, incidentally.

"I have already been teased that my ass is wrong for Batman. You're too late for that joke," Dick remarks darkly. He arches a brow some at messing with Jason. "Normally I'd be in. I'm just tired, though, Carrie." There's a weight there, as he admits that much. He's too tired for the game, to rise to that. The sunshine bird is, in fact, pretty bleak.

Carrie Kelley has posed:
Carrie Kelley reaches out to give his arm a squeeze reassuringly. Or try to. She was also trying to avoid any where that might have a bruise, cut, or anything else that would cause discomfort. "Don't sweat it then. I can guarantee he is not going after someone of the wrong sort if that helps to ease your mind. You don't have to bother him either." A small smile is cracked at him. "Take tomorrow off of Gotham, okay? I'll let others know you're dealing with something in Bludhaven. I don't expect you'll stop that, but it's one less thing to do, at least for a day. Get some rest if you can. Nice hot shower maybe. And if you DO need any help, give me a holler."

Nightwing has posed:
The squeeze is easy to aim, and since Dick is in a tank-top, the bruises are also easy to avoid. She'll find it simple enough to reach over and touch his wrist. He hooks his hand naturally around, reversing her grip to catch hand to squeeze it. Normally those moves are reserved for combat, but they can be neatly used other times, too. "It does help. I just want him safe. All of you. And happy, as much as you can be. I know he hates it when I hover, anyway." Dick's relationship with Jason has been rocky and difficult.

"If there's no /huge/ problem, I'll stay out of Gotham. But if a large problem erupts, I can't promise anything." Dick smiles at her, though. "I do appreciate the support, really. I say that at risk of not being the Batman you need. But I do appreciate all of you. Particularly when you bring food, so that I can get another twenty minutes of sleep." Dick smiles, handing her some rice, anticipating she may want it.

From the doorway to the bedroom is a ginger lady. She meeeerrrows questioningly, her tail hooking back and forth, as if beckoning the man she's found to bed. Dick looks from the cat to Carrie in amusement. "Even the cat seems worried about me. I'll be all right, Carrie."

Carrie Kelley has posed:
Carrie Kelley is fine with the hand squeeze gesture as it was a rather comrauderly moment. He needed reassurance as much as she might at times, too. A solemn nod is given as her attention turns to the food in question to take up some of the offered rice. Really there was enough here that three or four people could easily be fed. Or two Bats who burn way too many calories. "That's fair. I can't really expect you to stay away if something massive happens."

The meowing from the bedroom earns a look, and a laugh at the poor kitty there. "Well let's eat up then and let you both get some sleep. I'll head back to Gotham after dinner."