11857/The Knock-Down, Drag-Out, No Good Conversation that occurs between Friends in Capes

The Knock-Down, Drag-Out, No Good Conversation that occurs between Friends in Capes
Date of Scene:	28 June 2022
Location:	Batcave
Synopsis:	Red Robin calls the recently returned Balm out on bullshittery and bad behavior in the Batcave. The somewhat one-sided argument, the assemblage of thoughts leaves both Tim and Phoebe wondering where their friendship stands, and if it can survive a lack of trust. Idu is obviously the best part of the scene aside from Tim leadering like a mofo and got extra cookies.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Tim Drake

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The Batcave, June 28th

    Phoebe was still wearing a heart monitor to cover her arrythmia; it was returning to normal, with time to heal (AND, Alfred would probably insist, food that did not consist of leftover bar fodder and ramen noodles made in a coffee machine). She had already regained about four percent of her body mass, and had explained she was looking forward to returning to patrols. Minus the dodgy looks around and anxious behavior. Her near-buzz-cut didn't permit for her usual head wraps or buns, so it was just a bandana around her forehead as she moved from one form to the other.

    It had been several days since she had mutely woken up in the med bay with a startle, and numbly accepted that there was going to be repercussions and a time for a full explaination of just... what the shit happened to make her suddenly bolt. She had, notably, not left Wayne Manor, except to take Idu out on 'dooty patrol'.

    Idu, the good boy that he was, was off to the side, tail curled, head between his paws as he monitored the beeping of the monitor on Phoebe's arm.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's no more a presence at Wayne Manor than he usually is, not after that first night when Phoebe had been brought back. Which is to say not very much of a presence at all, given he has a team to run and a life away, out from under the shadow of the Bat.

    He's not going to hover. Right now he's too mad to fret and worry, and in his usual way he doesn't confront those feelings, just buries them down deep and ignores them. Channels the restlessness and frustration from doing so into other things, which is the secret to his obsessiveness. Poor coping mechanisms make for the best motivation sometimes, you heard it here first.

    The Cave, however, is a different matter entirely. Look, there's just some tech you can't get access to anywhere else, and Tim's made it a point of pride that he's funded much of the Outsiders on his own. More through some careful investments than from his family's money, admittedly, but he'd gone off on his own on purpose. Batman's involved in the way that Batman's always involved when it comes to Gotham, of course, but the point is, the Roost isn't always equipped for everything. Hence Red Robin being here, demasked and capeless but otherwise looking like he's about to go off on patrol.

    He just needs to run down a few particulars first, perched on the edge of the seat in front of the Batcomputer like he's about to bolt at any moment.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Bat family members with poor coping mechanisms? *DO* tell me more.

    Not like Phoebe hasn't been doing kata for two hours because it's working out all the anxious energy that ordinarily she'd be putting into practicing other things.

    It was Idu, incidentally, who hopped to his feet, padded his way towards the batputer with the tippy-tap of his feet, and sets his head in Tim's lap, looking up at him with The Begging Eyes, the hound's blue peepers going wide as his tail wags low, and those up-standing ears drawing back, the longboi with the kneebaps and lebows looking for pats.

Tim Drake has posed:
    A Doggo Approaches...

    And Tim can't help it, his hand lifts and settles atop the hound's head, giving Idu's ears an idle ruffle without his eyes tearing away from the big screen in front of him. He's still scrolling through whatever results or data he could only get here, the set of his jaw and narrowing of his eyes speaking to intense focus.

    Or maybe it's all a lie. Maybe this is just a cover for Tim to come talk to Phoebe. Because he, without looking over, says, "How're you feeling, Balm?" in the dullest tone imaginable.

    Is the use of her codename indicative of his current mood? Hard to tell, without him looking over. He's still petting Idu, though that hardly means anything. There isn't a dog in existence that has met Tim and not gotten pets.

    So long as we're not counting Harley's hyenas.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Idu is an excellent conversation starter. He was also responsible for Phoebe's phone somehow coming off airplane mode, though how will forever be a mystery. Probably because Alpo is gross and he wanted treats and good food.

    He gives a happy sigh with his head on Tim's lap, his tail wagging a little bit more. And Hyenas are not canines, they do not count.

    Phoebe pauses as Tim catches her attention, and she frowns a moment. She rubs the back of her neck, and then taps against the machine on her arm, and gives a shrug -- which if Tim's not looking at her, he probably won't see.

    So she comes around, out of the training area, her neck still gauzed up over where Alfred had indicated there were lacerations. She grabs a tablet computer and types in an answer.

    >Still feel extremely dumb.

Tim Drake has posed:
    At the time, Tim wasn't thinking about who was responsible for getting Phoebe's phone back on the network. Idu definitely deserves a "Good boy" for that one, alas, he'll have to suffer without. Suffering, in this case, means being fed secret Bat-treats from Tim's utility belt. Which are generally in there for Yap, but they come in handy in a surprising number of occasions, believe it or not.

    And Tim might not be looking at Phoebe, but he is spying on her via the Batcave's surveillance system. Which he stealthily exits out of as Phoebe draws near.

    "Makes sense," is all he says after a quick glimpse out of the corner of his eye to catch what Phoebe's written down. "You did an extremely dumb thing."

    Pause for effect.

    Then Tim turns, minimizing the rest of the windows he had open. "How's your recovery progressing?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Idu tail wags. He knows, deep inside, that Tim thinks he's a good boy, even if he's second to Yap. He can accept that. He also looks forward to towering over his littler 'cousin'.

    He will happily accept secret treats.

    >Yep.

    -- that's the text reply over being dumb, which goes two ways considering Phoebe can't speak. It's wordplay even if it's awful.

    Phoebe's fingers type on the tablet. She hadn't looked at the screen, she already knew the ice was thin where she was skating.

    >On course for 6mo recovery time, provided larynxal nerves knit correctly. Regained 10 lbs over the last week from everything w/Thyroid evening out.

she doesn't look at him head on. She typed something in, paused, and then backspaced, and then added in:

    >Should be fit for partner/supervised patrol within a week.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Even playing up the "I'm not upset, I'm just disappointed" angle, Tim's still Tim, so he has a cup of coffee (in a non-spill sealed thermos, which is probably a rule for all beverages down in the Batcave) in front of him. WHich he lifts up and takes a long, meditative sip of.

    And even this is a calculated move, knowing Tim.

    "Hmm," is all he says, after. Very Bruce-like, that hmm. It's not a perfect copy; Tim's face is always just slightly more expressive, something he hasn't yet managed to perfect the way his mentor has. He sets his drink down and twists his arm, turning his smart watch towards himself to glance at a notification, before he folds both hands in his lap. "I'm assuming that's by Alfred's estimate?" he asks.

    The butler in question has butled off elsewhere for the time being, and Tim stands up smoothly, drink in hand once more. He side-steps Phoebe to start walking -- back into the training room where she's come from.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe raises a hand, her eyes looking up and to the right as she makes a face, and waggles her hand back and forth. Mostly hers, Alfred had concurred (tentatively) but she had been dutifully tracking (and, grossly drawing) her own healing process while she was in Kansas.

    She exhales with a huff, and takes up the tablet, giving a whistle to Idu and following Tim with bare feet on the Batcave floor.

    She types as she walks.

    >You're still mad at me.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Oh yeah, Tim reads between the (non-verbal) lines of that expression and hand-waggle. The way his nose scrunches up for just a second is the only betrayal of how he feels about that, viewed from side profile as he turns back to look over his shoulder at Phoebe.

    At the boundary of the training area, he stops, kneeling down to undo the buckles and hidden clasps of his boots. He looks up as his hands continue moving on autopilot, sees what Phoebe has typed out next, and then snorts, as dry as a desert.

    No comment. He sets his boots aside and then steps onto the mat, facing Phoebe once he's across it.

    "Your actions demonstrate a level of compromised judgment that is incompatible with field deployment. What's your justification for being out on patrol 'within a week'?"

    A quick motion widens his stance and then Tim drops down into a side-lunge, starting a familiar routine of stretching.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    At the question of her judgement, that hurt. Phoebe's facial expression was clear as day, the 'wet cat' expression. She looks down at the tablet in her hands, and types in:

>You're going to have to narrow down which actions. Been a busy month.

    She stretches her hands a moment, and her dark eyes setting on Tim as he stretches, and she draws down on the mats, setting aside her tablet and she breathes out, and then signs:

    <This is harder if I have to stop and type.>

Tim Drake has posed:
    Well, Tim doesn't even try to hide the way he rolls his eyes after reading that. "That just proves my point," he says, under his breath. He moves fluidly from one leg stretch to the next, then rises back up, arms over his head. Something pops in a way that has Tim wincing and then immediately exhaling with relief.

    Upright again, Tim rolls his shoulders and then shifts into a defensive stance, arms held up in front of him. His eyes are on Phoebe's face as she signs.

    He raises a brow. "Then don't."

    Within half a second he's across the mat, tumbling into a roll so he can try and sweep Phoebe's legs out from underneath her.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe watches Tim, rolling her shoulder as he stretches, and she raises her eyebrows as he shifts. She sinks into a defensive stance as well, her breath catching in her throat, and for a brief moment a look of panic crossing her eyes.

    Tim sweeps her legs out from beneath her easily, though she rolls and nimbly draws herself back up. She doesn't have to sign right now, though her fingers curl almost into a W for 'wait' -- but she comes back into his strike zone, bringing her foot down just to his instep, looking to push him back and make him lose his footing in kind!

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's a mid-range distance fighter with his staff, but in hand-to-hand he threads a line between defensive and in-your-face. Taking advantage of his general slipperiness, since he doesn't have raw strength like Jason or exceptional skill like Cass to fall back on. So he's right there when Phoebe comes back up onto her feet, already throwing out a quick jab towards her side even as he's skipping backwards. Maybe that means it's little more than a graze of his knuckles against Phoebe, maybe not.

    In-between measured breaths, Tim begins with, "Setting aside how stupid it was for you to go off on your own like that," as he ducks back in for another punch, this one a side-swipe at Phoebe's chin, "Do you understand how impossibly selfish your decision to wipe our memories if you failed really was?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The question caught Phoebe offguard. She's usually the wear-your-opponent out type. Make them dance around her while she plays defense, wearing them down so she can throw them into a wall or capture them with a limb-grab and pin. Benefit of years of Aikido and the detriment of learning to crime fight when your touch and aura just fixes the damage you do.

    No one's feeling her aura right now. It's locked down tight beneath the white ink of her wristband tattoo, hidden beneath Scout's collar.

    She ducks the swipe at her chin, even after his knuckles hit her side. She loses rhythm for a brief moment, but she tries a different tactic, going whole-body for Tim's midsection to try and use his momentumn against himself and judo-flip him to the floor!

Tim Drake has posed:
    The lack of aura is an advantage most people wouldn't know to take advantage *of*, but of course Tim does. Still, that doesn't negate Phoebe's danger as an opponent, and he's quick to backtrack when she comes at him again. Which in turn gives him just enough space between their bodies to get an arm up against her shoulder and stop the flip before it can happen.

    Though there is a nebulous moment of tug-of-war where he has to pull against her attempt, fighting to maintain control of his own momentum.

    "You can't tell me you're not smart enough to be aware of the implications," he says as he dances out of range again, a one-handed backflip putting him near the edge of the mat. His staff comes out from its customary place at his lower back, along the top of his utility belt. It's still half-way through telescoping out when he throws it, so that it bounces across the training area towards Phoebe's feet. Within the space of his next breath, Tim's pulled out a backup, the jerk of his arm as he extends it overly rough.

    The backup staff is not part of his usual kit, not unless that's changed since Phoebe disappeared.

    "I know you better than that. Memory manipulation isn't just immoral, it's dangerous. Do you have any idea the amount of mental damage you could have done to any one of us?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe's slow a moment, drawing up the extending staff. She gives it a spin, and then she plants it in front of her. She watches a Tim pulls out a backup, and she takes a step back a moment, and she just looks down, and gives a nod of her head. She acknowledges how badly she could have screwed up.

    She signs <I know the risk> as she settles downand, into a defensive state. Tim knows her better, some days, than she knows herself. Knows she can't sleep without a nightlight after The Silo. Knows she wakes up at night and has to check what color the pillows are, because each bed was color-coded.

    There is a real fear in her eyes now as she regards him, fear and panic. She wants to run away again. Escape anywhere else but here, but her eyes are settled on Tim's face, unable to answer except that short little blurb.

Tim Drake has posed:
    There's a twitch in Tim's expression as Phoebe's hands move together, but he quashes it fast. Which in and of itself is a tell, in a way, because it means it's an intentional act. Hiding how he's feeling, while not exactly healthy, is just as much a skill as it is an ingrained habit. If somewhat overly used amongst the Bats.

    He doesn't respond, not immediately, not verbally, but he does spring forward towards her, staff above his head.

    It's a wide area to cover between him and her, though. The move is telegraphed in the seconds before he brings it down towards Phoebe with a grunt of effort, no attempts made to disguise what he's about to do, and Tim's far too talented with his weapon of choice for it to be anything but premeditated.

    After he rebounds, Tim doesn't make another advance. His breathing's up, not much but noticeable enough, and his eyes widen for a brief moment before they narrow. "It wasn't your choice to make, Phoebe," he says, barely more than a hiss.

    "The nature of being a leader means that I assess risks all the time. I make choices that could get someone killed. We all do that, to some degree, because danger is a foregone conclusion in our field of work. But I make those choices because we all know that doing what we do makes them necessary! Every member of the Outsiders puts their lives in my hands when they agree to join the team!" He tosses his staff to the ground. "Any one of us would have been right beside you if you'd asked for help, you know that. But being your friend doesn't give you carte blanche to take the choice away from us!"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe is silent, watching Tim. The heart monitor gives a warning beep as she raises the staff to take the hit, her hands aching with the energy as it comes down the me tal shaft of the staff. She doesn't move out of the way.

    But after the blow, she drops the staff, her hands wringing, trying to get the aching out of her wrists as her shoulders draw up. She physically flinches when Tim throws the staff to the ground, and her breath makes her gasp, her teeth against her lips as she tries to force the air through her destroyed vocal chords, but all that comes out is a ticking sound from her, trying to say his name. But she gives up, and she just bows her head, her shoulders hunching up, willing her hands to remain on the mat. Disgraced.

Tears well up in her eyes, drawing down her cheeks and to the workout pants she had been wearing. Her hands form loose fists, and she gives shuddering breaths.

Tim Drake has posed:
    The silence that follows is filled only with Phoebe's shuddering breaths. Tim stares at her, unmoving and unmoved, but eventually his expression softens enough to let his eyebrows draw together. "You know what sucks the most, though? It's not even that I can't trust you, not after all of this." His head shakes, but it's only a tiny movement, restrained as he folds his arms over his chest. Even that isn't as much outward-facing defensive posture as it is inward-facing, shoulders hunched and chin dropped down.

    "It's that now I know that you don't trust me. And I don't know where that leaves us." The kick that brings his staff back up into his hand is a practiced gesture, but he hesitates after, until with a sigh he tucks it back onto his belt.

    Then he moves off of the mat, to put his boots back on. "I'll check in with Alfred about your recovery. Bruce and I will assess when you're ready to go out on supervised patrol." And with that, he exits stage left... or rather, the vehicle bay further down inside the cave, where his bike is parked.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Her eyes draw up, her lips trying, but no sound but air as she struggles, drawing to her feet as Tim brings his staff up. She has her shoulders drawn up, her hands coming up as she looks at his back, and parts her lips. She closes her eyes, tongue against the back of her teeth as she gives a quiet "T-...T-..."

    And she reaches out, and then drops her hand. The monitor beeps on her arm. interrupting her thought -- and she just turns her head, and whistles for Idu.