4015/Cats, Cradles, & Kung Fu

Cats, Cradles, & Kung Fu
Date of Scene:	05 March 2018
Location:	Batcave Training Area
Synopsis:	Batman & Nightwing have a meeting of the minds. Harsh truths are spoken.
Cast of Characters:	Nightwing, Batman
Tinyplot:	Shivonic Plague

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Nightwing has posed:
    Fatigue is what the older man's eyes detect. The set of the shoulders also indicates a dislocation on the left side, recent and treated but healing. Other little indicators of fatigue, but not weakness, never weakness in his first Robin. The training beat his iron into steel long ago. This is obviously just simple fatigue due to his heavy training schedule. He has been working dutifully with master Dragon. This is just the usual signal that the young man has been pushing it a little too hard for a little too long. The fact that he is in the cave at all, and not loading up or training is a clear signal that he raised no fool; he's going to ease off a night or two and get that injury repaired.

    It's the little changes that are most perceptible. The metrics Tim set up on the training equipment show one story; quantitative improvement. Faster strikes. Quicker follow-ups.  More complicated combinations, that deliver more force, more precisely, and with better control. The metrics are all there. There is marked improvement. The bad habits that develop have been cleaned up.

    It's the other things. The stuff that as a little boy, Dick called 'Spooky'. The slight improvements to stealth and silence. It's the perception that has really improved. Dick is starting to see the world a little more like Bruce does. The little cues, the awareness. He has more 'presence' than he did before. He's still not on the level of the Batman, but the divide between someone who uses the martials arts, and it simply being a part of who you are? Dick is on the same side of that gulf as his mentor now. The break between them there has been bridged. He still has a long ways to go, but the big break, and the change that happens afterwards is almost unfolding before Batman's eyes.

    It is also the fact that young, shirtless Dick Grayson is perfectly aware of Bruce's presence, and is still putting up numbers improved on from before; he's known Batman was approaching almost as soon as batman knew he was there. "Hey." Not a beat miss. Not a blow slipped, not an iota of force dropped. His breathing picks up a bit more than Batman might like, but he can do it. He's covered in sweat, but still plugging away. "You will have all my attention in just one more." The timer goes off. Dick doesn't look at it. It's logged anyways. He doesn't sneer at the numbers, but they don't motivate him. He's not Tim. he doesn't see the little flash 'New best'. Dick doesn't need that validation. "Would you please toss me that towel? I am taking bids to renovate the building in bludhaven, but it is not something I need to do right away. Or ever." His apartment is a hole in the wall. He came to train, but something is eating at your squire, for a change though, he is waiting.

Batman has posed:
    The steady regard and gauging stare has been enough to disconcert many a man before, but Dick knows that such silence is not always a sign of disdain nor controlled anger. In this case he is comparing the movements of the youthful man to the imagery held in his mind's eye of the Dragon moving through the series of strikes and motions that would be required. The subtle differences between excellence and perfection. His standards had ever been high with Grayson. Uncompromising. Adamant.
    Yet when he finishes the sequence the towel is thrown across the distance towards him with a casual twist of one arm to set its flight unerringly across the way. Batman lifts his hands to the cowl on either side of his head and pushes it back from his brow, letting it rest at the back of his neck like some suddenly lifeless horned visage. "I'll shift personnel around, give you some coverage in Bludhaven." A statement, as if it was decided.
    Then Bruce moves to the side, silently past Dick as he moves towards one of those monitors. A gauntleted fingertip extends outwards to touch one of the data displays and he'll bring up the crunch of the numbers that are displayed for him, making sure they match his perceptions. To the side he'll murmur, "Tim spoke with Shiva. Might be extending of himself. I don't think she's going to press a claim against him."
    Then he rounds back and meets the blue eyes of the other and murmurs with a severity. "I don't think she'll seek to take your life." He says, as if cutting him some slack. Only to dash it when he says, "Unless you bore her. Or disappoint her."

Nightwing has posed:
    How long has it been since Bruce really had his attention? He has it now. There is still a metaphorical gulf between them both. There might always be, and all the gratitude the younger man has for the older cannot bridge it. Bruce and Alfred somehow managed to raise Dick Grayson to be a decent, composed, well-adjusted person. He is too much like, and also far too little like his adopted father all at once. Regardless of all the history, Bruce has every iota of the young man's attention. Dick doesn't see weakness, as there is no weakness in the Batman. For certain though, Dragon has taught him and his eyes linger on some of the spots on Bruce where there are days that they ache for no reason.

    There is realization, and for a moment, silence as Dick Grayson is faced with a sudden realization. He knew in his head that under it, Bruce was human. To see the price his mentor has paid for the mission humanizes him a little. Dick's face goes still in practiced composure.

    "I have to operate like she means to." Dick doesn't counter. He makes it sound like he's agreeing. These are fantastic numbers, but there is room for improvement, still. There are just not detailed enough numbers from before to really gauge improvement. "It doesn't matter. Tim's neck is on the line because I messed up. I will not let him pay for my error." a simple, but heartfelt tone."I'm cheating." He admits. "Damian was trained by instructors from different schools of thought. He and I are drilling. Just adding a few techniques. Master Dragon and Shiva come from the same schools. If I sneak in a few techniques that work with my style that come from other, outside schools, it might help." his jaw sets. He won't kill, but she has his focus. Dick wants to live, but beyond that, he refuses to let Red Robin down. It's a fire lit under him.

      "This is what it is like to be you." It's a quiet tone. "I don't like it."

Batman has posed:
    A nod is given at his first words even as he turns away from the monitor to face his eldest protege. Bruce's eyes hold Dick's and for a time there's no reply even as he elaborates on the angle he plans to take with the match, using styles that might be less familiar to her. Yet that subtle furrowing of his brow might single to him some touch of consternation. For in truth taht is partially what it is. Consternation at him travelling down this trail of thought that he had trod some time ago when he first had to face Shiva when she called upon him. The price of her training had come due.
    But then he shakes his head slightly, "Don't rely on that." Not that he said he would, Bruce is gruff as ever even as he adds, "Her breadth of knowledge is unmatched. But if you can find a way to capture her imagination..." He says, his eyes coming to life for a moment. "To give her something that is quintessentially yourself, then she will perhaps consider the debt paid."
    But then there is that quietly offered declaration about what it is like to be him. To have made the choices he made. His response is almost the auto-pilot rote reply he might have expected, the one given to most of the others as he snaps back. "You don't have to like it. You have to live with it."
    There's a brief pause there, as if he considered saying something else. But then his jaw tenses as he allows the silence between them to grow.

Nightwing has posed:
    Nightwing starts to open his mouth to bark back. The knives are about to come out, but then Dick closes his mouth with a soft, audible click of his teeth. He pushes aside the anger and hurt enough to say, "I don't have to like it." His tone shows him really trying to keep the peace. Dick's face retakes that careful composure. He wants to take the bait, but this time he doesn't.

    The young man takes in a cleansing breath. "I do things you don't like. Like the application to the academy." He actually bites his lip. He is so ready to just come after Bruce, but he takes another, shorter breath. "I'll tear it in half, if you and i can sit down, and talk. No masks. No games. No Batman. No Nightwing. Just ⦠a talk. I⦠want to talk." He really doesn't. Not now, but Dick gives the older man a look. "I'm going to back down off quite a few things here. You don't have to meet me even halfway. But you have to meet me."

    Bruce didn't raise him to knuckle-under, so something must have changed if Dick is willing to eat crow and talk about it.

Batman has posed:
    There's a tension in the line of the slightly taller man's jaw, the tendons bunching for a moment. But then he gives a single shake of his head. He says levelly in that controlled tone of voice as he murmurs, "You can make your own decisions." Of course that sentiment wasn't entirely followed when he had tried to force Shiva to back down. Not that that helped.
    He starts to walk away then, turning and holding up a hand as if to force Dick to keep his counsel to himself. But then he rounds back as if the idea of retreating or not giving answer in return did not sit well with him. "Dick." He says simply, the young man's name hanging there for a moment.
    Then he draws breath and adds, "There are no games. This is who I am."
    And with that it might seem like that might be enough. He lifts a hand to the cowl around his neck and undoes the clasp holding it in place. The fabric settles as it slips from his shoulder and he takes it up under one arm as he rounds and starts to walk towards the display case. But it's over his shoulder that he murmurs, "You can ask me anything. You can tell me anything. That's all I can promise."

Nightwing has posed:
    "No. It isn't -everything- you are." Dick counters, but not in a yelling match way. He does not know how hard that was for Bruce. He has an idea though. This is so hard. He squeezes his eyes shut. "It's hard to be you. It is less hard to be me, because I had you growing up." He finds someplace else to look at. Dick doesn't talk to Bruce about his parents, and bruce doesn't talk to Dick about his. "The only reason I am who I am is because you made that possible. Maybe I'm really bad at expressing that gratitude. If I am, let me say it. Something bad would have happened to me if you hadn't stepped in. You saved my soul." He purposefully turns away from Jason's Robin outfit. "But, you didn't give me a life for me to waste it."

    They got really close to talking about the things they don't discuss, and Dick is supremely uncomfortable with it. With another cleaning breath, Dick refocuses on the now. "I want a job, Bruce. I want a job with the Wayne Foundation. I will walk away from the cop stuff. I'll take over some of the social calendar. I'll help do all the stupid stuff that we all scoff at, but generates all that good money for charity. I will be around a little more. I need to be around a little more." there is more to be said. There is always more to be said. Hios left hand rakes through his hair and he follows after the older man, toweling himself off. He's quieter than a mouse as he moves.  

Batman has posed:
    "Dick," Again his name hangs there. It precludes further words, as if the very utterance was totem of warning set before them. He puts the cape away, then takes refuge in the comfort of routine as he disarms. The belt, the gauntlets, each finding their place but a little slower as he uses this moment to gather his thoughts. Without looking at him he speaks instead to the incongruous anonymity of the mannequin's features. "I don't want this for you."
    Perhaps in ages past the former Robin would have taken that as dismissal, disappointment. But he might be able to tell the subtle difference now. He turns around and shakes his head, "You have your own name. Your own role."
    He moves towards the elevator then, even as he reaches to the shoulders of his armored tunic and begins to pull it free, the bindings giving way as he furrows his brow, eyes distancing. "We'll talk about this later. Afterwards." After what is perhaps difficult to say. But then perhaps it's not important as what it is after... simply that is in the future and away.

Nightwing has posed:
    "That doesn't address what I came for you about at all, Bruce." Dick says, and does the unexpected. He follows him, still towelling himself off and moving if not to get into the way, then at least  not let him just escape.

    "You can say that is not what you want for me all you want, but I need to clean up my public persona a little bit. You need a capable hand with charity work, and I need a job. It lets you keep an eye on me, it brings me in closer to the family, and it lets me continue to help people out. Furthermore, it lets me help out the people that Batman cannot help while putting another step of separation between you, them, and the Batman. It is a good plan. Finally, and I hate to say this, but I need to have a job in case something happens to you, okay?"

    His body language changes. He's gone into the weeds, and even though he doesn't like to ever talk about this, he has to. "Someone has to be able to protect Damian when the other folks start to come a calling. I'll need a job, and a track record of responsible behavior." His hand rakes through his hair in an agitated fashion. It goes without saying that Dick would step in for Bruce's son the way Bruce stepped in for him. It never crosses Dick's mind to do anything else.  "He'll need someone to look after him. I don't like to talk about this, and you don't either, but he's a child. You and Alfred have done such great things with him. I told him just the other night how proud of him I was. If the worst case happens, cape and cowl aside, Bruce, I need to be able to pick up the pieces for the others. So, get pissed at me, and tell me you don't want this for me, and everything else. The fact of the matter is this-- the Mission continues." He pulls in a breath. "And so will lives. So, instead of trying to protect me from it, help me be ready for it, even as we both work to make sure it never happens."

    He offers his hand. It is a genuine gesture. His eyes seek out Bruce's. "Barbara is retreating behind a computer. Tim is going to college. Jasonâ¦" He gives a little shake of his head. "And Damian will go on a rampage if something happens. I'm what you have got. I'll protect them in your absence. That is my choice, not yours. Help me be in a place where it if it happens, we're all protected. This has nothing to do with that cowl. This has everything to do with making sure the others are okay. You don't need anyone, Bruce. They, on the other hand, need you. We need to make sure that a single disaster or mistake does not costs them more than it should." He keeps the hand out. "Help me do the right thing, in case you can't."

    He chose the language carefully. He isn't trying to shove Bruce out the door, and he isn't trying to make a play for the cowl. He is simply asking Bruce to be able to take care of the family, in case it all goes wrong.

Batman has posed:
    For a time Bruce turns away from the elevator, Nightwing's advance having placed himself between the man and the departure he had sought. For a moment he rounds and straightens to his full considerable height as those blue eyes harden. Grayson has a better sense for the man than just about any other, can tell when he does get to the core of matters, gets to the shadowed winged psyche of the man. That veneer of Bruce Wayne is still there somewhat, just in the profile and the frame of his features. But this is the face he wears behind the cowl.
    "You are not the one to carry on the Mission." His voice is a steady rumble. "Cassandra is a better fighter. Damian has the temperament. And Tim and Barbara have the edge in technology, forensics."
    He squints, "You have always been distracted, and you will always be distracted." The words are sharped, edged, and hurled at him. Yet there is no malice there. There is judgement and perhaps that is worse.
    He turns to the side and steps forwards to push the button on the elevator, over Dick's shoulder if needs be. Then he straightens and says with almost a grim formality. "You'll have what you need. But we're done here."

Nightwing has posed:
    "And not a one of them has everything else. Never first, but second best at everything. Except one thing. They need you. All of them need your approval. They lack the critical thing. The ability to look you in the eye and say F**k off. I learned my lessons well."

    Grayson graciously steps aside. "When you drive them off. I'll still be here." He moves to head on down the stairwell. He pauses. "Oh." He looks Bruce in the eyes. "F**k off, dad." He then actually gives a respectful nod, to head back to his training.