[timann] grubhub gone WRONG

[hackitudes]

[ 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. ]

Comments

[burglarize]

[ Figures one of the most adult conversations she's had is with someone her age. These were serious topics. Trust, fear, regret, guilt, bitterness – they all spin together into a cycle that Ann's never experienced before. Tim was her first... well, anything? It wasn't Akira, wasn't Ryuji – she goes in blind with no experience on how to handle guys and let alone, how to handle one so...

...so frustratingly selfless.

When he's settled, she listens – standing and awkwardly holding onto herself. A defensive curl that keeps her arms rooted against her own chest. He shows his vulnerability too, but they're both... just kids. They don't know anything past what they feel. Past the call to do better, to make this world something other than a stain in history. His burdens come in the form of proof, and she gives in like any girl would. It wasn't that she doesn't trust him – she gives in because she does. A standard of stubbornness that many of her friends know her for is melted away. The bed sinks when she sits down next to him, her hand reassuring against his thigh. ]

Okay. Then... I hope the proof is conclusive. [ That sounded legit, right? It was her small, horrible attempt at a detective joke. When he mentions cuddling, she winces a bit - still the grim wound a reminder on her mind. How did he even make it here...? Luck, is all she can say, honestly. ] I think you should keep your medical hypothesis to real doctors. But, alright.

[ The bed was fortunately big enough for both of them, and if it wasn't – they've made it work. All she can do is lay on her side, facing him and watching him. She's not sure by now what she's looking for. Reassurance, nah. Truth? Nah. Hope? Nah. It was something else. She wants to see the fear she has right here, maybe, so she can make sense of it. ]

... Do you remember when we stayed up almost all night the last time I was in Gotham? We were scared time would zip by. So we ordered in... hyped up on caffeine and laughs. Do you think it's okay to just rest here? We don't have to say anything if it doesn't feel right. I just... I want to just know you'll be okay.

[hackitudes]

[ Beneath the weariness of a difficult night that's taken its toll, Tim smiles with half-lidded eyes at the attempt-- Ann's stab at detective lingo. He wants to jokingly suggest a film noir marathon while he recovers, but hesitates. In this day and age that's probably a bit esoteric. Why not just stick to the doctor thing, he thinks to himself. Maybe there's better material there... ]

Trust me, real doctors would say the same thing.

[ Tim's his own worst critic. So even he knows there's a better quip out there he just hasn't found yet. But fortunately he's not wont to say something egregious enough to spoil the moment. To spoil the equilibrium they've both been searching for, desperately reaching for in the dark. Not so much the dark in this room... but the dark of things left unsaid. The dark Tim was willing to get lost in, to hide any accountability owed to Ann.

Because maybe, at it's core, that's what this comes down to. That Tim's selflessness is to a fault, but indeed-- what kind of fault? How much of his derring do is actually a self-inflicted punishment? How much of this mission is just self-flagellation... and how long has it been that? He knows he has what it takes to save lives, to stop the bad guys. None of that has been called to question. But why has he allowed himself to torture Ann like this, the way he did moments before they reached an agreement?

It's like he needs someone to witness him doing what he can. To show that what he's doing matters, that he matters. Even if doing all he can might kill him.

Then she asks her question. Gives him a chance to breathe like he never has. The chance to allow himself to do so. ]

Rest here...? I can do that. I should do that.

[ Speaking of which, he soon rests his hand on Ann's, hers that she planted on Tim's thigh. ]

Whatever we order in is on me.

As for saying anything, don't worry about it. I like talking to you. I like being here.

[ He's settled enough now that shifting in bed is no longer necessary. Gone, for now, is any chance of inflicting pain on himself, making one wrong move to cause discomfort. Still, he feels he has more to do to alleviate the discomfort he's placed on Ann. ]

Though for the record, this isn't what I meant by taking any excuse to see you.

[ Talk about a Monkey's Paw sort of predicament, eh? ]

We don't even need to, like, cuddle cuddle. I don't know.

It's enough just to be next to you.

[burglarize]

[ There's a lot of responsibility divided between the two of them. Ann, as well-intentioned as her heart is, is not analytical. She sees things as a clear shot – that there are hurdles to overcome. While she may not lead the tactical side or as powerful as some of her other PTs, Tim has a responsibility in the real world too. One where he plays detective as much as daredevil.

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.

[hackitudes]

[ It's a good thing, then, that Tim isn't hungry. Potentially bleeding out simply hasn't stopped him from his favorite pastime of being prepared. Though clearly, figuring out which buffet to pig out in presents a very different set of stakes than, say, surviving some demonic cultists. At least in facing the repercussions of such an event, Tim and Ann have had to face each other - learning to do so in such a difficult time, when flaws such as Tim's own are thrown into relief: that detestable self-destructive side of his unending altruism. The expectation that he has to persist, despite himself, despite all the people who care about him who could lose him.

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? ]