Tim Drake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackitudes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
gourmetburgers2021-08-08 09:27 am
hackitudes) wrote in gourmetburgers2021-08-08 09:27 am
[timann] grubhub gone WRONG
[ Well, things certainly didn't go as planned. And for a guy like Tim, to whom planning is everything, that's the absolute worst. What is it about him that seems to attract danger, besides being a globetrotting billionaire vigilante detective? How is it that even when coming to Japan through official channels, literally as Tim Drake, that trouble finds him anyway? It's not like one look at him immediately tells a person he's some kind of rough-and-tumble adventurer, ready to throw hands at a moment's notice. The paparazzi has taken great pains to make Tim look like a feeble, caffeine-dependent, sleep-deprived and possibly anemic caricature of himself!
Which only compounds matters, because Tim has to admit to himself: coffee would be good right now. He becomes a bit too fixated on the notion of coffee as he clutches his abdomen, from which he'd been bleeding. Elsewhere, across his arms, chest, and legs, he sustains plenty of cuts and bruises... cuts varying all too concerningly in length and depth, bruises in surface area. The altercation itself wasn't anything surprising in his experience, but he just escaped a greater challenge than anything he'd anticipated from the cult he'd been following here out of Gotham. At least he kept a first aid kit in his utility belt-- before boarding his equivalent of the "Batplane," he really had to stitch up the wound below his ribs, wrap a bandage around it, and yet do it so hastily that he continues to bleed just a little bit if he bends forward too much.
He's in Japan. He probably looks a little more worse for wear than Ann's ever seen him... never mind that he's still in his costume.
Probably gonna be a surprise, then, when he drops out of the sky in costume, gliding down to the edge of Ann's balcony. Far above him, his plane waits - stationary in the air - cloaked by the kind of stealth Wonder Woman would appreciate in her own aircrafts. Hidden, you might say, in plane sight.
Tim looks over his shoulder and up at the sky to confirm to himself that this is indeed the case. The last thing he wants is to attract more unwanted attention. With that reassurance, at least, he steps down from the balcony railing with the intention of knocking on Ann's door. Or, more accurately, the glass sliding door separating her room from the balcony proper.
He winces, however, and clutches his stomach to blunt the sting of his wound. Turns out he can't parkour as liberally as he did before all his injuries, because even his muscles ache and sting from where he's been cut and bruised. Neither were as essential to tend to as the stomach wound: stuff he could wait for Ann's help to deal with... especially without Alfred in town. ]
I promise I'm not a burglar. That's more your department, anyway.
[ He told her he was gonna be out on a mission. What he didn't tell her was how he'd be coming back through the balcony. He's made an effort not to spook or surprise her too often anymore, but now's kind of an emergency. ]
Yeah, look.
Takeout was an ordeal.
[ Sure, Tim. Let's start with that. He's desperate for a way to take the edge off, and Ann's not even at the door yet. ]
...I also promise I'll explain. No leaving you in the dark or whatever.
[ Yet another thing he's working on. Something that clearing his palace helped with, while really only kickstarting his more sustained efforts. ]
Which only compounds matters, because Tim has to admit to himself: coffee would be good right now. He becomes a bit too fixated on the notion of coffee as he clutches his abdomen, from which he'd been bleeding. Elsewhere, across his arms, chest, and legs, he sustains plenty of cuts and bruises... cuts varying all too concerningly in length and depth, bruises in surface area. The altercation itself wasn't anything surprising in his experience, but he just escaped a greater challenge than anything he'd anticipated from the cult he'd been following here out of Gotham. At least he kept a first aid kit in his utility belt-- before boarding his equivalent of the "Batplane," he really had to stitch up the wound below his ribs, wrap a bandage around it, and yet do it so hastily that he continues to bleed just a little bit if he bends forward too much.
He's in Japan. He probably looks a little more worse for wear than Ann's ever seen him... never mind that he's still in his costume.
Probably gonna be a surprise, then, when he drops out of the sky in costume, gliding down to the edge of Ann's balcony. Far above him, his plane waits - stationary in the air - cloaked by the kind of stealth Wonder Woman would appreciate in her own aircrafts. Hidden, you might say, in plane sight.
Tim looks over his shoulder and up at the sky to confirm to himself that this is indeed the case. The last thing he wants is to attract more unwanted attention. With that reassurance, at least, he steps down from the balcony railing with the intention of knocking on Ann's door. Or, more accurately, the glass sliding door separating her room from the balcony proper.
He winces, however, and clutches his stomach to blunt the sting of his wound. Turns out he can't parkour as liberally as he did before all his injuries, because even his muscles ache and sting from where he's been cut and bruised. Neither were as essential to tend to as the stomach wound: stuff he could wait for Ann's help to deal with... especially without Alfred in town. ]
I promise I'm not a burglar. That's more your department, anyway.
[ He told her he was gonna be out on a mission. What he didn't tell her was how he'd be coming back through the balcony. He's made an effort not to spook or surprise her too often anymore, but now's kind of an emergency. ]
Yeah, look.
Takeout was an ordeal.
[ Sure, Tim. Let's start with that. He's desperate for a way to take the edge off, and Ann's not even at the door yet. ]
...I also promise I'll explain. No leaving you in the dark or whatever.
[ Yet another thing he's working on. Something that clearing his palace helped with, while really only kickstarting his more sustained efforts. ]
no subject
The fear of something happening to him was there, it's no question. He'd have to feel the same when Ann has told him how risky some of her adventures into Mementos and beyond had been. The only difference she didn't show up on his doorstep a bloody mess.
They're finding a compromise, a beginning point for more uncomfortable talks they both have to know will come. If this – what they share – was to work, communication has to happen. Fortunately, Ann's parents were gone for a few extra days this week which would give Tim time to test, Ann time to come to terms with her feelings, and for conversations to happen organically.
Resting was number one right now, food can come later. ]
I like you being here too and I like the rare occasions where you get to take the mask off and just... relax. If I knew this is what would do it, I'd totally bring out the whip. [ Kidding. A soft, awkward laugh follows. They're settled for now and he peps up with the comment about seeing her and the excuses that follow. ] No, I get it. ...I know things happen.
[ Her hot-headed nature comes to a low simmer, making her sigh and flop her head against his bicep if they can cuddle in the safest way imaginable. Without, y'know, impending pain. ]
This is enough for now. It doesn't need to be anything more than this until you feel better.
no subject
But that moral reckoning's been belabored enough, hasn't it? The lesson's been learned, though it still falls on Tim's shoulders to show his work. Prove his promises aren't empty words. At least Ann's faith is clear. Faith shown in her little jokes, in her understanding, her willingness to give him comfort just as much as to give him grief for his stubbornness. ]
You sure it's not too late for that, the whip? Bet it's worth powering through the injury for.
[ With a shit-eating grin, he's waiting to get murdered for that. ]
In my current state, [ He peers down at her, admiring the head now resting on his arm. ] this is the best thing I could ask for.
[ He cranes his neck to kiss Ann's head, lips soft against all that floof. She'll have to make an effort to look up at him to see a wistful smile tighten into something more... rigid. Laden with guilt. Tim, who does everything possible yet punishes himself for not doing enough, now punishes himself for doing too much. ]
...I'm still sorry.
[ When he speaks, his lips don't leave her. However he can, he keeps her close.
They were never detailed conversations, but he remembers. Has enough of a sense, from what Ann's told him, of what Shiho went through. The lengths in spite of herself that her own trauma drove her to, lengths that Ann had to witness. Their respective contexts were literally and figuratively worlds apart. But Tim can't help realizing that the same protective impulse that led Ann to fight for her friend is exactly what he witnessed today. Ann fought him on this, alright.
But she fought for him, too.
What else is he supposed to do with that but thank her? ]