19328/Reunited Cause We Understood

Reunited Cause We Understood
Date of Scene:	20 October 2024
Location:	Grand Ballroom, Gotham City Museum of Natural History
Synopsis:	Gwen attends a fundraiser in Gotham as a guest speaker representing OsCorp's genetics research wing. In the process, she stumbles into Dick Grayson, who doesn't remember her at all. Magic sucks... or is it a second chance?
Cast of Characters:	Gwen Stacy, Dick Grayson

---

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Magic works in seriously odd ways.

It's been three years since Gwen last saw Dick Grayson in person. She's seen him in news articles, of course, any time she scrolls through 'World Events' comes across some finance article with his picture below the headline.

She's not really a 'world economics' kinda girl. Genetics is really more of her thing. Normally she'd just keep scrolling, but in the same way she still stopped and read J. Jonah Jameson's scathing write-ups of Spider-Man (and the other spider-menaces, herself included), sometimes you can't help being curious about what's being said.

Unfortunately, no matter how many times Ghost-Spider has appeared in a news outlet or tabloid, Dick Grayson would have seen nothing more than just another New York spider getting up up to spider-business. You see, the magic that Zee used to make everyone in the world forget the old Gwen Stacy (or make reality itself rearrange itself... Gwen still wasn't exactly sure) affected Dick, too. She didn't realize this. She'd spoken to him. Told him about her inter-dimensional travel. It wasn't supposed to work like that...

...but it did. Gwen might still remember 'Richard' (she had refused to call him Dick -- it had been a running joke between them), but he wouldn't remember anything about her.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
The grand ballroom of the Gotham City Museum of Natural History is bathed in the soft glow of chandeliers, their light reflecting off polished marble floors. Attendees, draped in their finest evening gowns and tuxedos, mingle beneath the delicate shimmer, drinks in hand as murmurs of scientific progress ripple through the crowd. Gotham has become a hub of research and development, supporting some of the world's most advanced scientific endeavors. Facilities like WayneTech, Daggett Industries, and Foxteca lead technological innovation, while companies like OsCorp, LexCorp, and S.T.A.R. Labs push the boundaries of genetics, renewable energy, and medicine. Tonight's gala is aimed at raising funds to expand those initiatives.

At the front of the room, the host -- a distinguished man with silvered hair and an air of authority -- steps to the podium. His voice cuts easily through the quiet murmur, commanding attention as he lists the achievements these institutions have made, referencing advances in nanotechnology, cellular regeneration, and breakthrough medical treatments.

"And now," the host continues, his tone steady, "it is my pleasure to introduce a special guest speaker from OsCorp, Assistant Researcher in Advanced Genetic Therapies and Molecular Regeneration, Miss Gwen Stacy."

The spotlight shifts, and Gwen's pulse quickens. Every eye in the room turns toward her as she steps onto the stage. Her off-the-rack dress clings a little too snugly under the lights, and though it meets the formal dress code, it feels out of place among the tailored gowns and sharp tuxedos around her. She brushes her short, razor-cut hair back, the glint of her eyebrow piercing catching the light for just a second -- a subtle reminder that she doesn't quite fit into this world.

She smiles nervously at the crowd, her notecards trembling ever so slightly in her hands. Her gaze sweeps across the room -- curious eyes, expectant faces. She inhales deeply.

"Um... Hi, everyone," she begins, voice shaky but steadying with each word. "Thank you for having me here. My name is Gwen Stacy, and I'm an Assistant Researcher at OsCorp."

The lights feel too bright, and her throat is dry, but she pushes forward.

"Over the past few years, I've had the opportunity to work on some truly cutting-edge projects at OsCorp. My team and I have been developing treatments that focus on genetic disorders, specifically in gene therapy and regenerative medicine. We're seeing real progress. Early stages, but promising."
Her eyes flick down at the notecards, then back up to the crowd, a little more assured now.

"The funding raised tonight will directly contribute to expanding research in gene editing technologies, improving safety and precision in treatments, and advancing our understanding of how we can repair and modify the human genome." She allows herself a small smile, the weight on her shoulders lifting slightly. "We're working to eliminate the suffering caused by hereditary diseases. And with your support, we'll continue to make strides in medical science that will impact countless lives."

Her voice softens as she reaches the end. "Thank you for supporting these efforts. Together, we're making the future of science brighter -- and, more importantly, healthier."

She lowers the notecards, and the room bursts into applause. Gwen offers a quick, awkward smile before turning to the host, who shakes her hand with a warm, professional grip. He moves back to the podium, launching into the next segment of the evening, but Gwen barely hears a word. Her heart is pounding too loudly in her ears, the adrenaline from the speech still coursing through her.

She steps off the stage, her hands trembling as she heads toward the edge. Her focus narrows to the exit, needing to find a quiet corner to breathe for a moment. But as she steps down, her heel catches on the edge of the carpet.

Gwen stumbles, her arms flailing as she tries to catch herself. Her foot slips, and for one terrible second, she's sure she's going to faceplant in front of Gotham

Gwen Stacy has posed:
she's sure she's going to faceplant in front of Gotham's elite.

Dick Grayson has posed:
To look at Dick Grayson one would never really suspect that a tiny hole had been burrowed right through his life. That there was a piece of his past that had just been neatly scooped out and removed with nary a trace and not a hint to him. And while he doesn't even know about it, to lament it or worry about it, it is nonetheless still there.

In all fairness it is not as if he knew Gwen Stacy for a terribly long period of time. They weren't best friends, they were no soulmates. Still, he knew things about her that few others could have guessed at. And she in turn knew a few things about him that not many would have guessed at either. Years can be a long time, especially when you're relatively young.

It isn't exactly a secret to, well, anyone, that Gotham City is pretty much his stomping grounds. Not that most people would deeply care of course. While he might be the next best thing to Bruce Wayne's eldest child - of not by blood, certainly by choice - he hasn't exactly followed his more famous 'father' into the family business as either a business magnate nor as an occasionally infamous playboy.

Instead when he isn't dressing up in a dark costume and taking to the city's rooftops and alleyways, or when he is out of town with the Titans, Dick serves as an officer in the Gotham City Police Department. Considering the force's occasionally questionable relationship with the vigilante Bats in the city, it is a somewhat ironic association to be sure. But then if there can be dirty cops on the take, working on behalf of the city's local crimelords, why not an officer who takes things to another extreme?

So while the dark haired young man might not make a living at these sorts of affairs, being seen by high society and the local tabloid press that seems obsessed with the goings on of said group of rich and spoiled individuals, he is at least familiar with the world. And while he might not spend very much time in the board rooms of Wayne Enterprises, he is much more generous when it comes to giving his time to the Wayne Foundation - the charitable arm of Bruce's vast empire.

Afterall, even Gotham's First Son can only attend so many functions inbetween all the various things -- mostly faked -- that he gets up to when not dressed in a tux and in front of a camera. Fortunately he has had a few youngsters pass through the mantle of being Robin, of being his ward - or in the case of Damian, his actual son - who can pick up some of the slack there.

Just as they tend to do once the sun goes down and chaos descends upon their city on a nearly nightly basis. In some ways it is even the same fight. A battle for the soul of a city that has fallen into corruption, that has been shadowed by greed and hatred and even a degree of insanity. A mission to save their city. It's only their costumes that change really.

It is always a good idea to be dressed for the occasion.

Certainly it is safe to say that Dick Grayson is dressed in suitable fashion tonight, that perfectly tailored tux that would be out of the reach of the vast majority of police officers graces a trim, athletic form. While the cause here tonight might be championed by a rival to Wayne Enterprises - and a questionable one at that - the merits of the research is what is the bottom line.

It's not as if they don't have the means and resources to make sure that the fruits of said research are used well, used responsibly.

Elsewise it is always possible that Norman Osborn will receive an unwelcome visitor in the middle of the night.

While he might look the part, while he might act the part, this isn't really his sort of scene either. Understandable, given that he quite literally grew up in a circus. That he was already performing on the trapeze when most children were just starting out in grade school. But he has had some excellent teachers, and perhaps more the most of his 'siblings', as eldest he feels a certain responsibility to live up to the example set by their Dark Knight of the mentor.

Dick Grayson has posed:
With a fraction of the brooding of course.

Either way, by the time Gwen takes the stage, begins to speak the dark haired young man has managed to maneuver himself closer to the stage. There's no glimmer of recognition in his eyes despite her distinctive appearance, despite the fact that she would otherwise surely have made an impression and like others, he applauds politely when she's finished and starts towards him and the edge of the stage.

Which puts him in just about the right place at the right time when the blonde stumbles and threatens to send her crashing to the floor in most unfortunate fashion. Not the end of the world, and the quiet, mocking snickers from socialites who could never hope to do even a fraction as much for the good of society as she's attempting might sting a little, but are equally inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

But really, why put up with such things if one doesn't have to?

So before she can even start to fall, Dick has closed the distance between them, one arm slipping around her, catching her, the other quickly bracing her, straightening her back up quick enough that anyone not paying close attention might not even have noticed the situation. Warm smile on his face. the dark haired young man just bows his head slightly. "Careful. It would be a shame to do anything to spoil your compelling pitch. And some of this lot will take any excuse," he says drily.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
At least she manged not to scream.

Falling wasn't ordinarily a thing for Gwen. But then, neither was wearing heels, but Betty Brant swore they looked amazing and insisted she buy them. This is what she gets for following Betty's advice...

...falling directly into the arms of a tall, dark, stranger wearing a tux that could pay her rent for a couple of months. Maybe she shouldn't be quick to be upset with Betty.

"Thanks..."

Except he isn't a stranger. And she definitely didn't need to be enjoying the way it felt when her weight settled into the curve of his arm. Sorry, Betty. No reprieve this time. Of all of the men at this stupid party she could have fallen into, why did it have to be THIS one?

The first time she met Dick, he'd been... sweet. She'd just been beaten up. Badly. She'd just watched her best friend die in her arms and been forced to run from the police.. of which her dad was one. He couldn't get them under control. Couldn't stop them from trying to use lethal force before she killed again. Except, she hadn't killed Peter in the first place. It had been an accident...

She was trying to hide in OsCorp, but one of the patrol officers fired. There was a machine malfunction. Lots of lights. Colors. A sensation of falling. Then she got dumped, unceremoniously, onto a rooftop in New York. But not her New York.

Nightwing was the first to find her. Her costume had been ripped in so many places. She was bleeding. Confused. Reeling. He... took her in, gave her a shirt to wear. The two of them had flirted a bit, right up to the point where it awkwardly imploded and they both went awkwardly to separate rooms. She wasn't even really in her right mind, but after everything that happened, with Nightwing -- Dick -- taking her into his home and giving her shelter... she just kind of got caught up in the moment. Made her move. And was abruptly shot down.

They'd been friends, after that. More like acquaintances, really. They both knew each other's secret identity. They were there for each other if the other called. But Gwen certainly never intended to end up in his arms, under any circumstances.

"Richard?! What are you..."

The laughter that spills past Gwen's lips is nervous, even as she seems to appreciate the way he righted her and then let go over her, leaving her to cross her arms just below her bust. It gave her something to do with her hands, and as a side effect, it made her look more closed off and defensive. Which she was. Even if there was a nervous, incredulous smile on her lips.

"...what are you doing here? I figured you'd be off doing... you know... cop things."

She sort of meant 'Nightwing' things, but her dad, Captain Stacy, has been a police officer her whole life. She knows a lot more about 'cop things' than the average Joe, but she doesn't spend a lot of time -- or any time -- flaunting that. Not the least of which because that whole situation was incredibly awkward, now. Her 'father' -- the one from this dimension -- doesn't know she's Ghost-Spider. He's still a rabid J. Jonah Jameson fan who thinks the spider-menaces need to be brought to justice, especially after Spider-Man's involvement in 'her' winding up in a 'coma.'

So she... wasn't exactly on good terms with the police. On any front.

The fact that Nightwing was both a cop and could connect Gwen Stacy to Ghost-Spider was... yet another thing that made things awkward between them. At least, from her perspective.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Oddly, catching falling women is a bit of a thing for Dick.

A lot of that comes from that fact that he grew up an acrobat. Catching women in free fall before they could plummet to the ground below was kinda part of the job. And of course, he has done more then his fair share of rescues as well, first as Robin and now as Nightwing. Suffice to say he has far more practice at it then most people would every be expected to have.

Of course, given who she is it probably isn't very often that Gwen needs to be caught. She's far more likely to be the one doing the catching.

While Dick Grayson might be one of the most agile individuals on the planet, a gymnast fully capable of competing for and winning a gold medal in the sport at the Olympics if that was in his field of interest, he's still a human being. With all the requisite limitations that come along with it. Like his mentor, he might have pushed more then a few of those limits to the absolute brink, but there is no way to really go beyond them. At least not for him.

Gwen... doesn't exactly share that problem.

But then this isn't exactly the first time he has come riding to her rescue. Certainly it isn't out of character for him to be there, to lend a hand to whomever needs it, regardless of the situation. This is hardly the highest stakes he'll ever face - heck, it's probably not even the highest stakes that he will face tonight in all likelihood. It certainly doesn't really compare to their first meeting of course, several years ago.

The stakes were a little higher then, with the dazed blonde just having her entire world shattered - and then finding herself in an entirely different world instead. Under the circumstances, how could he do anything else but offer a helping hand then. Just as he has again tonight. That things changed course rather shortly after their meeting is, well, just one of those things. The kind of thing that happens in life sometimes.

So this all is a bit of a reunion then. A chance to renew old acquaintances under unlikely circumstances.

Of course there is only one problem with that particular plan. Dick doesn't remember this particular blonde. At all. And while he might not have the eidetic memory of his mentor, he has a pretty well trained mind. This isn't the sort of thing that would normally escape it. But then it is not often that he, along with most of the rest of the world, has been enchanted into forgetting.

Even the impression that Gwen leaves has a few limits it would seem.

So when she greets him by name, when she recognizes the fact that he is a cop - though he would have been working a beat in Bludhaven when he still knew her instead of being a part of the GCPD - he tilts his head quizzically, that warm smile not fading from his expression as he escorts her a short distance away from the stage, letting the few people who might have noticed that brief slip turn their attention back to the man speaking up there now.

"I'm sorry, have we met? It's Miss... Stacy, right? I'm fairly certain that I would have remembered," he points out, the corners of his mouth quirking wryly.

He's not completely unfamiliar with being recognized. He is, afterall, one of the likely heirs to the Wayne fortune and has been photographed with Bruce regularly for over a decade. He even caused a stir in the society section all on his own with an engagement to another blonde, even if that has now come to an end.

Waiting patiently, those curious eyes still remain fixed to her as if trying to figure out where he might know her from.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
I'm sorry, have we met? It's Miss... Stacy, right?

Ouch. It's one thing to get shot down the night you come out of some kind of inter-dimensional portal and then, still wrapped up in your own feelings, decide to admit that you feel like the two of you are vibing...

It's another thing entirely to have said crush pretend to not even know you.

The MC's still on the stage, still talking about... something. It doesn't really matter what it is. It all just sounds like 'Mrrphererphermerpher' through the cotton-like fog that's filled in the sting of hurt.

"Wow. That's real mature," Gwen snarks, reaching up to sweep some blonde hair out of her face with some clearly mounting agitation. "Is this because I still refuse to call you -- "

It hits her like a truck. The line she'd ignored at first...

I'm fairly certain that I would have remembered.

That wry, playful smile -- the one she'd seen on his lips until she crossed the line and made it weird.

He's... flirting. Sort of. At least, he's not not flirting. She hasn't seen this side of him since that first night. After that, everything was pretty much shut down. And then there's that look in his eye. Not vacant -- not at all vacant. But curious. Confused.

Oh God.

"I..."

There's panic in her eyes. So much more panic than she'd shown on stage. She hasn't had to deal with this in... in so long. Years. There were so few people in this dimension that knew who she really was -- where she really came from -- and she thought she'd gotten them all. She thought she was over being blind-sided by this. She thought she was through having parts of her life ripped away from her.

What is she supposed to do? Tell him? Tell him she knows he's Nightwing and he usually kind of treats her like she might have contagious disease because that first night when her world was falling apart, when he was literally the only person in the entire world who she could trust, she sort of hinted at wanting to sleep with him? Tell him her ex-girlfriend erased his memory? Because, yeah... that's going to do wonders for their friendship...

"I'm so sorry... this was... I mean... I didn't..."

Say. Something. Gwen.

"It was a dare." What? "A friend... she said I was too chicken to talk to you... and now I have."

And won't again. Ever.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Why did that hurt so much? They weren't even that close, but the loss was already showing in her eyes. It wasn't just Dick. It was her father -- her real father, the one who knew she was Ghost-Spider and, after some seriously rough times, embraced her. It was Peter. Her Peter. It was everything all over again. Except now she's standing in the middle of some fundraiser wearing a dress she didn't want to be wearing and shoes she didn't want to be wearing and the first person in this dimension she opened her heart to was... gone. Just like that.

"Gwen. It's, uh... It's just Gwen. Sorry for the..." She clears her throat. "My dad's a cop, so I guess I thought I was being... clever. Thanks for the save back there. That could have been... really embarrassing."

Like this wasn't. By this point, she was having a hard time maintaining eye contact. There was too much emotion rising up into them. Too much she didn't want him -- this version of him -- to see. Dick had seen her... if not at her worst, pretty close to it. But this version of him hadn't.

Dick Grayson has posed:
It helps that there is nothing vaguely put out or vindictve in either his tone of voice or in the expression on his face. It helps that there is genuine curiosity there instead and maybe just a hint of confusion. Certainly he doesn't look put out at having to catch her, nor even when her initial reaction to his lack of reactions seems to be... anger?

He's good with faces, good with names, good with people. He always was, even before Gotham's Dark Knight taught him how to be a true observer, to soak up details like a sponge so that fact that he doesn't know her when she quite clearly expects him to is a little... troubling to the dark haired man. It's not completely impossible of course, no one is infallible. Not even Batman. But it wasn't just flirting when he said that he is sure that he would have remembered her.

To put it mildly, Gwen stands out in a crowd. To be sure she is more then attractive, but she has a look that makes her a little unique. But more then that, she has a presence, one that even he, meeting her for the first time - or so he believes - can feel from here. It's not the sort of thing that one tends to forget.

But he lives a life less ordinary. He encounters magic, encounters demons, encounters aliens and impossible technology. The possibility that he has encountered something that might have affected his memory is hardly an impossibility. Heck, it's not even a far-fetched scenario when you get right down to.

So when her first impulse to his question is to get snarky, Dick doesn't look offended. He doesn't pull back though he is carefully enough to take his hands off of her now that she seems to be on steady ground once more. His brow furrows a little more, those lines a little deeper. But it isn't anger on his expression. Only confusion and concern.

He, of course, has no recollection of their previous meeting. No recollection of any awkwardness between them. No recollection of pushing aside any hint of romance and letting their relationship - such as it was - settle into a friendly sort of acquaintance, without, perhaps, actually being friends.

All he really knows is that Gwen is apparently upset. And it would seem that he has at least something to do with that. He might not know the reason why, he might not actually owe her anything. But clearly he wants to help if he can. Maybe a bit of a White Knight syndrome there.

But then she probably already had some hints of that. In this she most definitely has him at the disadvantage.

The sudden change in tact in the conversation, the way that annoyance and snark vanishes almost at once, filled quickly after only a brief but telling hesitation with her story that this was all a dare. It... isn't the most solid lie that he has ever heard. And he has heard more then his fair share of them over the years. That tends to happen when you deal with criminals a lot.

Not that he thinks this attractive blonde is a criminal mind you. But it is also hardly unheard of when someone is in pain and trying to mask that pain. That much is evident to him too. He might not recognize -her- but he certainly does recognize the look in her eye, the flicker of panic that crosses her expression. Reading people. That's an art too. And one he's gotten damn good at over the years. In some ways better then his mentor - at least when dealing with anyone who doesn't qualify as criminally insane.

"Mmmm, okay," he offers up quietly. Dick doesn't decry her, doesn't accuse her of lying, doesn't try to force the truth from her. His words accept her premise, but he also doesn't make any attempt to mask the look in his own eyes, the doubt there. He hasn't bought her story, that's pretty obvious.

He's not intending to rip it to shreds right here in front of everyone either it would seem.

Dick Grayson has posed:
"Well Gwen," he says, his tone so familiar for a moment when he says her name. "I'm Dick. It's a pleasure to meet you." First time for him, even if it isn't for her. "You still seem a little shaky. Can I get you something to drink? Or do you need to step outside for a moment?" he asks, concern still filtering through those blue eyes, still evident in the tone of his voice.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
No. I'm fine, thanks. I know you don't remember, but we've been down this road before. You swoop in, all square-jawed and broad-shouldered and offer comfort. I start to fall for you, you make fun of me, and then we're right back to where... we... were.

...Right back to where we were.

Isn't that what I want? For things to go back to the way they were?

But do I really want to go through that again just to get there? It was one thing to shake it off when I knew it was all driven by adrenaline and loss... the need to feel some kind of connection with someone. But now there's been Zee and Eddie and Ben. And... do I really want to re-live this, now? It's not like I'm really overflowing with self-confidence right now...

Or do I give up and lose another friend?
.
.
.
Gwen had never been oblivious to the White Knight syndrome. It radiated from him like it was programmed into his DNA. And while she might find that patronizing under some conditions and quaint under others, that night she suddenly appeared in this dimension? That night she genuinely, sincerely, and beyond any measure of sarcasm, appreciated it.

Even tonight, this little dance of theirs... the contact that lingers just long enough to make sure she's steady. A moment longer and she might have started to grow uncomfortable, but as it was, it left her wishing she could find an excuse to trip again. The fact that he can see the bullshit. It's written all over his face. But he doesn't call her on her crazy, made up on spot excuses.

The way he says her name. The way he watches her... dotes on her.

It's easy, at least for her, to remember how she felt that night. The way they talked. It was so easy. So... familiar, but so new. Just for a little while, she could almost forget everything that had just happened -- the fact that she'd lost her best friend, her father, her entire home and everyone she knew... all in one literal shot. All at once. And just like that night, it's a little difficult not to feel a kind of draw towards that warmth... an oasis against the encroaching loneliness.

Besides... if she wants things to go back to normal...

She huffs a mirthless laugh and reaches up to rub the back of her neck, her smile turning apologetic.

"It's... nice to meet you, too." Beat. "Dick." She's not smiling, right? At least, that's what she's telling herself. There is definitely not a faint smirk at the corners of her lips. She is not thinking of 4,276 different ways to make a joke. Except, she definitely is. This is why she settled on 'Richard' the last time, and her sense of humor has not changed. "Some air sounds like a good idea. I'm... not used to giving speeches, and honestly, it's probably just all the adrenaline..."

Once more, her eyes lift to his. That eyebrow ring glints in the light. The way the shaved side of her head is gradually growing back in is more obvious -- though whether that in itself is the style she's going for or if she just hasn't kept it up isn't clear. It's in a kind of in-between stage.

For a moment, she doesn't say anything. She just... gazes at him, like she was trying to... what? Work up the courage? Take one last look?

"To be clear, I don't expect you to come with me. But, if you wanted to... I wouldn't mind the company."

Dick Grayson has posed:
For the most part Gotham doesn't exactly have a reputation for being a particularly warm or welcoming sort of place. There are almost assuredly more dangerous nations out there in the world. There might even be one or two of them in this particular nation. That certainly plays a part. It is hard to be particularly reassured or comforted when residing in a place like this, a place that seems to attract more then it's fair share of the truly dangerous and deranged. Could any other city have given birth to the Joker? To Mr. Freeze? To any and all of the assorted crazies who go in and out of the looney bin that is Arkham Asylum like it is some sort of revolving?

Even it's protector, even it's Dark Knight is not exactly known for being a particularly welcoming sort. Heroes in other cities might welcome the help of outsides in trying to clean up their streets. Not the Batman. It took him years to extend his trust to even the handful that have come to make up the 'Bat Family'. Trust beyond that group is generally only extended grudgingly. And rarely includes any sort of invitation to linger longer then absolutely necessary in -his- city.

For all that he is Gotham's Protector, the Batman doesn't inspire the sort of love in the locals that, say, Superman does in Metropolis. But then he is not meant to. He is meant to be talked about in hushed whispers. Whether he truly exists or not is meant to be debated. Each time that light shines in the night sky over the city, from the rooftop of GCPD headquarters, people are meant to scoff aloud, meant to question why the police perpetuate an urban myth. Even as a small chill runs down the back of their necks at the thought of actually running into him in a dark alley.

Criminals are a cowardly and superstitious lot. That is the entire basis for the Batman. He brings fear to his city. Terror to those would prey on its citizens.

Not exactly something that screams warm and welcoming.

And Dick is his first student. Dick is the original sidekick. The first Boy Wonder. He was taken in by Bruce, nurtured by the man, trained by him to be a vigilante in his image. And while he might have become a formidable detective, a formidable combatant in his own right, he has very much charted his own path.

He has found a way to keep the warmth, to keep the humanity that Bruce turned his back on - at least for most of his life. He found a way to deal with his sense of loss without letting it consume him. To fight the good fight without it becoming all encompassing, letting it become the sum total of his life. To maintain a sense of fun, a spark of light, even in the sea of darkness that is Gotham City.

So while he doesn't remember their fateful encounter, while he doesn't remember the fact that he almost went down a very different path, that if things had been just a little different it would not at all be as if he was meeting Gwen Stacy for the first time today - again. None of what maybe plays through her mind plays through his own.

All he really knows is that right now, it seems like she could use a friend. And, if he's honest, she presents a little bit of a mystery. A little bit of an enigma. She's clearly something of a genius, the fact that she is here, speaking on behalf of Oscorp, working to keep people safe makes that plain. She beautiful and charming - if in a little bit of a snarky way so far - but clearly she is not being entirely forthcoming to him.

He might not be the World's Greatest Detective. But how could he not want to get to the bottom of all of that?

As she makes it clear that it is a little fresh air that she wants more then anything else, Dick Grayson simply offers that warm smile once more, lifting a hand and motioning towards one of the little side entrances that lead out away from the stuffy ballroom, out onto one of the balconies that overlook the city beyond.

"You don't have to ask me twice," he says simply, still smiling. "Lets go."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Charming. Right. That's the thing everybody remembers about Gwen Stacy... her abundance of 'charm.'

It was at one time, though. That's what she keeps hearing -- that the coma really 'changed her.' That she used to be so warm and bright and affectionate. She used to be an aspiring fashion model, for God's sake, and planned to use that to fund her living expenses while OsCorp paid for her college tuition.

But when she 'woke up,' she was all snark and sarcasm, keeping everyone at arm's length. Almost no one knows why. Hell, even her dad went into hyper-over-protective mode over the whole thing because he thought she suffered some kind of brain damage that changed her whole personality.

Dick used to know why. They didn't talk about it a lot, but at least he knew. At least she didn't have to pretend around him.

So much for those days.

Would Nightwing try to bring her in, if he didn't know the whole story? Any regular beat cop would, but even if Dick didn't remember who she was, would he really try to arrest another vigilante? Wouldn't he understand?

...Could she afford that risk? There's no putting that genie back in the bottle again. No Zee to magic everyone into thinking she was just in a coma instead of dead. Dick didn't rat her out before, but once he made the connection, she had no guarantees he wouldn't this time.

One step at a time, Gwen. You haven't lost him -- he's still talking to you, and he's not currently calling in all of Gotham PD and lighting up the Bat Signal. There's time to figure some things out.

... and plenty of time to screw it all up again by sticking her foot in her mouth. Maybe this time they could be friends without the history of the unrequited feelings hanging over them like a cloud. That might be kind of novel. Every cloud does have a silver lining, right?

Gwen smiles a little at that gesture and nods, turning to pick her way through the event (using, of course, the path around the edge that draws the least amount of attention) towards that balcony. She's surprisingly graceful, considering a moment ago she was falling off of a stage, but the heels do seem... new. It's not exactly a duck walk, but it's not that perfectly lined up, heel to toe sway that catwalk models use. And these heels aren't even all that high. Like the dress, they live up to the dress code more in the 'letter of the law' than the 'spirit of the law.' They are, technically, 'formal wear,' even if most of the people here would question whether they're closer to thrift store deals.
Nevermind that she got them from an actual thrift store. At least she was blinging it out with some chunky costume jewelry (which also didn't really fit in with the crowd, but it added a kind of punk-rock feel that helped the whole thing fit her overall aesthetic).

Overall, the trip to the balcony gave Gwen some time to think as she walked in front of him. She didn't even have to look at him. She could focus on figuring out what the hell she was going to say once they were alone, because when she invited him, she didn't really have a plan. She honestly didn't really expect him to accept. So now, step after step, that bill's coming due.

The evening air is.. crisp, to say the least. The city's still bleeding off heat from the day, but the wind that cuts across the balcony is enough to send a chill down her spine. Gwen's arms are soon crossed over her stomach again -- this time to fend off the cold rather than outright defensiveness.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Or maybe it's both.

"So."

She needed to talk first to keep control of the conversation, to focus it towards something more natural and keep him from prying into the things that didn't add up. He's Nightwing. He's a cop. He's going to start putting things together if she doesn't establish some some of simple narrative that doesn't keep raising more questions.

"My friend said you're a cop in Bludhaven?"

She steps up to the balcony railing and looks over at him, her smile... hopeful. If she hadn't already been so suspicious, that whole look might make more sense. She's just some awkward, early-twenties uber-nerd with a punk streak that's out on one of the private balconies talking to a Wayne. Or.. at least.. a Grayson. And if his status alone wasn't enough to be intimidating to most people, the fact that he's probably the most handsome guy in... well... a very, very large radius... only adds to that.

So maybe that works in her favor? Maybe she just seems awkward around him because of that, instead of all of the reasons she's actually awkward about him? Because, she long since got over the fact that he was some super-hot trust-fund boy.

"I go there every once in a while... to the GIRL headquarters. That must be a rough job."

Because apparently her 'friend' hadn't gotten the memo that he changed jobs, either.

Dick Grayson has posed:
In all fairness, Dick Grayson never knew this world's Gwen Stacy. He had never heard of her until this woman - this Gwen Stacy - came into his life and he did that search that began to reveal certain truths about her place in this particular world. Unlike some of those in her life who have noticed a clear and obvious change, he has nothing to compare her to.

Of course, he doesn't even have his previous memories of her to compare her to either so there is that.

And what would be his reaction to all of that? That he once knew her? That for a brief moment in time there was the tantalizing possibility that they could have been more then friends? If things hadn't gotten a little awkward. If they hadn't settled into something safer, maybe something a little bit more comfortable and just stayed friendly acquaintances. How would he react to the knowledge that magic had stolen away a part of his life?

It's the sort of thing that is difficult to judge. On the one hand, very few people are likely to be happy at losing a piece of their lives. At least when it is done without their knowledge or consent. Having that stripped away can't help but feel like something of a violation, no matter what the intentions of the person doing said stripping might have intended.

On the other hand, if he knew it happened it would mean that he remembered. That he would remember how hurt and scared and lonely she probably was, to wake up and find herself in a world that wasn't her own. To be surrounded by familiar faces who weren't the same as the people she knew. Her father, her friends, her best friend. All the same. All so very different.

In that moment, would his own indignation trump his sympathy for her? Anyone who really knows Dick can be fairly certain of the answer to that.

It would not.

He might be hurt for a time. He might wonder why he wasn't on the list of people that she chose to reveal the truth to. But chances are he would understand. Putting himself in the shoes of others is one of his strong points afterall. For all that he is a Bat, for all that he can channel some of their greatest strengths, can utilize fear and misdirection against his enemies, unlike his mentor those same things are never directed towards his friends.

And whatever else could have been, might have been, Gwen was his friend.

Nor is it likely that his attitude towards her would change if he suddenly knew who she was. Or rather what it is she does her the mask goes on and the hood goes up. No matter her reputation, no matter the sometimes sketchy reputation of the Spiders in general, it does seem relatively safe to assume that if anything Dick is likely to be sympathetic. He is, afterall, a vigilante himself. One that is tolerated in Gotham City to be sure. The lesser of two evils in the end.

But he can also remember a time when that wasn't the case. A time before Commissioner Gordon gained the power and influence to start reshaping the GCPD. A time when the corruption in the local authorities, in the local politicians ran a whole lot deeper. When City Hall, when GCPD Headquarters were practically owned and divvied up amongst the various crime families of the city.

When the Batman - and his allies - were the biggest enemies to the establishment. Not organized crime. Not the criminally insane monsters that periodically make existence in Gotham a nightmare.

Put against that and given his tendency to make his own mind up rather then be guided by the opinions of others alone, well, how could he do anything but support her? If anything it would probably add to the intrigue. He's not going to apologize for that. They live a unique sort of lifestyle afterall. One that's hard to explain to others. One that can make it difficult to include those not in the know into.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Under those circumstances how can one help but be drawn towards those in the 'business'? His own previous engagement to another member of the 'Family' is testament enough to that.

So he walks along with her, close. Anyone watching them might assume they are two attractive young people slipping out the event early to do the sorts of things attractive young people do. But he doesn't touch her, just hovering close enough to help should she need it, apparently realizing quickly enough that her comfort level with the heels she wears might not be all that high.

That it is chilly out is no real surprise. The press of the seasons pretty much takes care of that and while there might still be warm days ahead for Gotham still, the evenings are almost always at least a little chilly, the days heat more easily draining away with the onset of dark. Again, he shows himself to be pretty attuned to his surroundings, pretty attuned to her and she barely has to wrap those arms around herself before that tuxedo jacket is off of his shoulders and draped around her own, the faint hint of his aftershave clinging to it.

"Your friend did, huh?" Dick asks archly, a small smile playing over his features. Again, he doesn't ask her who this 'friend' is, or why they are apparently feeding her information that's several years old. There might be a hint of those questions in his voice, in those piercing blue eyes, but the actual questions don't pass his lips.

Still, if she was hoping to dispel his curiosity, she might not have succeeded.

"I was a cop in Bludhaven, but it's been a couple of years. Gotham has been home for a long time so I transferred back here awhile ago," he offers up simply, offering a glimpse into the fact that she is not the only one that has changed since they fell out of touch with one another.

"So you work with GIRL, hmmm? I know a little about them," he says. Enough so that intrigue only grows a little.

It is possible that SHIELD knows more secrets then the Gotham crew. Possible, but not guaranteed. There is a reason that Batman, that Nightwing and the others can walk amongst Amazon Princesses, Alien Gods, Space Cops and every other sort of titanic figure and do so as equals.

They say that knowledge is power. There is perhaps no better illustration of that then the Bats of Gotham.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
It's not exactly an 'offer.' Gwen doesn't get a chance to politely decline the warmth of that jacket so she can suffer in angsty silence while the bite of the wind reminds her of her solitude. Instead, it's draped over her shoulders before she can even fully appreciate how cold the autumn night air is. It's as heavy and warm as a hug, and the scent of him fills her nose, surrounds her like an intoxicating cloud of masculinity.

She'd stiffened in the first few microseconds of feeling it settle over her, but it took only the space of one inhale for her shoulders to sag as her fingers slipped out to draw it closer around her.

"Thank you."

It's so quiet. It's so careful. But she watches him with same kind of awe-filled skepticism that she might a bengal tiger -- beautiful, majestic, and dangerous. She didn't realize that the first time, when she started feeling safe and blurted out her feelings like an idiot. It was happening again -- that spark of hope, except maybe it was worse this time. To him, they'd only known each other for a few minutes. But she'd had two years to get to know him and the kind of man he is...

...the kind of man who wasn't interested. Come on, Gwen. Pull it together. You're reeling from Ben and being alone again. The last thing you need is to start falling for another guy you can't have. You've already decided it's best just to go back to your 'No Friends' policy, so maybe the fact that he doesn't remember you isn't a second chance. Maybe it's a sign... fate stepping in and reminding you that you don't belong here.

But that aftershave...

Your friend did, huh?

Oof. Now is not the time to get light-headed.

...but it's been a couple of years.

"Wait... you moved? I thought you moved to Bludhaven to get away from Gotham... away from..." Batman. Shit.

She blurts the question out in exactly the tone a friend might -- a little disappointed and offended that she didn't know. Not that he owed her anything. She just... didn't have that many friends. Real friends.

But suddenly she's trying to find words to fill in where her mouth had gotten ahead of her.

"...I guess... Bruce?" Quick thinking, Gwen. Use the actual adoptive-father as a surrogate for Batman. Smooth. "I mean, I can only imagine how hard it must have been to grow up in that house and eventually want your own identity."

At least she didn't add 'or so my friend told me' to this one. She seemed to understand that she'd played that card one too many times already.

"Anyway... yeah. I do genetics research for OsCorp while I'm working on my Master's, but I also volunteer at GIRL. It's not like I'm one of their chief scientists or anything, but there's a lot of really smart people there. I learn a lot, and if I can contribute even a little... I feel like I can use all the good karma I can get, you know?"

She's trying to play it off -- that drive to help that runs through her veins thicker than blood. She didn't stop when her father begged her to. She didn't stop when her best friend died. She didn't stop a thousand other times she could have. It's who she is, in every breath she takes. She's like... whatever the 'good' version of a Terminator is. Or the Energizer Bunny. And if Dick can't spot the modesty with all of his perceptive abilities, he's blind.

"So... why leave Bludhaven? Last I heard, you were doing a lot of good there. Did you really get home-sick?"

She turns back towards the Gotham streets at night, but she cuts her eyes back towards him as a grin creeps across her lips.

"Or were you just chasing a girl?"

Dick Grayson has posed:
It would probably have been a little more polite if he at least checked with her before he went and draped his jacket over her shoulders, no matter how well intentioned. But that's just how it is. It's that White Knight syndrome again. He can't really see something wrong without having the instinctive need to at least try and fix it. Even when someone might not want his help. It is one more thing that tends to separate him from his mentor. That natural empathy that somehow seems lacking in Bruce.

So much of what Batman does is perfectly reasoned, no matter how cold or how logical that reasoning might be. Nightwing manages to straddle the line between reason and emotion in a somewhat more balanced fashioned. Maybe he tips one way or the other depending on the circumstances. But very few of his decisions are completely devoid of both elements.

That said, one the jacket is draped over her that seems to be the end of it. He simply gives a little nod at her thanks and lets it go. Instead he turns to casually lean against the stonework rail at his back, that white shirt, perfectly pressed, practically gleaming under the soft glow of the exterior light that pushes the shadows of darkness to the edge of the terrace - though does not completely banish them. In Gotham nothing completely banishes the dark.

The shirt is likely Alfred's work, it is doubtful that any twenty-something bachelor, no matter how diligent could manage to get that sort of suit into such pristine condition without any help. Though it is likely far from the only lessons that his association with the older gentleman have left imprinted on him. If Bruce is the father to replace the one he lost at far too young an age, Alfred would be the doting grandfather. The one who shares both the affection and wisdom that he didn't necessarily get from his father figure over the years. The reason why he is more then another fearsome shadow in the night.

He doesn't remember their first meeting. He doesn't remember that spark of attraction, that flirtation that was cut off before it could fully blossom. He doesn't know what might have been had things gone just a little bit different.

Nor, in truth, is he necessarily looking for something even now. Coming out of a serious relationship that lasted years, seeing his engagement fall through, well, that just can't help but leave a mark on a guy. No matter how amicable it might have been. Emotions like that don't just get set aside after several years.

But they also don't necessarily prevent him from feeling the lure of her, even now. Yes, some of that is surely the unanswered questions that linger between them. Like who this 'friend' might be. Like how and why she keeps dropping little clues, little hints - however unintentional - that she knows him. Knows him even when he can't remember her. Knows things about him that not a ton of people do. And somehow seems almost... offended that there have been changes to his life that she wasn't party to.

It doesn't make sense. Not entirely. And clearly Dick has a little bit of a desire to make those pieces fit. To understand what it is about him that interests her. And to maybe figure out why he is drawn to be standing outside her in the cool autumn air with her, why his eyes search her features that are both somehow strangely familiar to him - and completely new at the same time.

Again one of his brows quirks. Again he regards her with a slightly quizzical expression as she displays that sort of insight into him that a stranger just shouldn't have. Yes, there was a time when he felt the need to get out from Bruce's shadow. That it was time to stop being Batman's kid partner and become a hero in his own right. To set aside the mantle of Robin and become Nightwing. But it's not the kind of thing that he shares. And, in his general experience, it is not as if a lot of wealthy trustfund brats are all that interested in getting away from that center of wealth.

Dick Grayson has posed:
He might be nothing like that. The people who know him might understand that he is nothing like that. But in his general experience, strangers who don't know him just naturally assume that he is one of them. Another trust fund brat. They can rarely believe that he is a GCPD officer, let alone that he might want to leave Gotham for Bludhaven of all places.

Of course, that's just one of the many, many surprises that Dick has up his sleeves.

"I came back a couple of years ago," he says conversationally, though those blue eyes remain intent on her. If her intent was to dampen down his interest, to kill that curiosity, well, she's doing a terrible job on that front. "Mostly because Gotham is my home," he reiterates once more before just a hint of a wry smile curves over his lips. "But there might have been a girl involved too. We were engaged for awhile, but that's come to an end," he admits, perhaps struggling to keep his voice quite so casual. Just for a moment.

"And that's pretty remarkable. About GIRL," Dick offers, perhaps shifting the topic for a moment. "I know a little about that think tank. It takes a pretty brilliant mind to get involved I understand. They have pretty high standards," he says, that smile coming easier once more. "If I had known I was coming to the rescue of a certified genius intent on saving the world maybe I would have made a bigger fuss..." he teases, a sly note creeping into his words.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
We were engaged for awhile, but that's come to an end.

"I'm sorry."

The words are soft soft and sincere, her eyes locked back on his with a sudden ease that comes from hours -- not minutes -- spent in comfortable company. Even if it only lasts for a short while, the hitch she heard in his voice flipped off the switch that powered her own nerves. Suddenly she was more worried about him, as her friend, than she was her own feelings about being forgotten and how to navigate that.

Just for a little bit, she slipped back into 'friend' mode like they were just picking back up where they left off.

"It's... hard. I get it."

She and Ben might not have been engaged, but that didn't mean they weren't attached at the hip... that he wasn't her go-to partner, confidant, best friend, lover...

Woah. That's more than enough emotion. She could feel it creeping up into her eyes and she refused to go down that road. Was she finding healthy ways to process the loss of that relationship? Absolutely not. And she wasn't going to find any at this fundraiser, either. So, the best think she could do was stuff that shit back down under something heavy where it belonged. Right beside everything else she never actually dealt with.

So, she's grateful for the that last comment. It gives a reason for that playful, lopsided smirk to crawl back onto her lips.

"Pretty sure I made a big enough fuss for both of us," she points out wryly. "So I think we're good. But I'm sure if you wanted same additional fanfare there are like... balloons we could get with your face on them. I mean, it's 2024. How long could it possibly take to get those printed up, am I right? Maybe a cake. I'm sure the old guy that introduced me would be willing to read a speech about your selfless heroics..."

She gasps, her eyes widening, and she turns to rest one hip against the railing so she can face him. She still has that coat draped over her shoulders, mostly closed in the front, but she releases her grip on the lapels so that she can gesture with her hands, mimicking sizes and shapes as she talks.

"We could get those little plastic trophies! You know.. the gold-colored ones?! And then, it could be like... me, about to fall on my face, and you standing there with your arms out..."

She makes the little two-handed catch gesture, still grinning broadly.

"We could give them out as party favors.. save one as a cake topper. We could do a live reenactment... a whole PR campaign. You'd be set for life. By the time we're done, you could literally start robbing banks and no one would even believe it was you."

And for the first time in the entire conversation, Gwen actually seems relaxed, her blue eyes alight with amusement and the faint note of playful laughter carrying every word.

She's teasing him, of course, but it comes so easy. How many times has Dick Grayson met a complete stranger at a fundraiser who can settle into easy banter this quickly?

In truth, this was much closer to what they had on that rooftop. Ghost-Spider is much better at keeping everything light and at arms reach than Gwen Stacy is. Gwen is the one that has to face the cold, hard truths... that she's stuck here, that her family isn't her 'real' family, that she took the place of some dead girl that's supposedly an alternate version of 'her,' and that even if she found a way to go back home, she'd be labelled a murderer and a fugitive from justice.

Her dad -- her real dad -- must think she's dead. And that makes her heart ache every day. But Ghost-Spider gets to go to work. She gets to swing and help people and fight bad guys and push all of her own crap aside so she can focus on what's important...

...literally anything other than her own problems.

Dick Grayson has posed:
The tone and tenor of those words, simple as they might be, just seems to sugest that they are coming from someone familiar with him, who can relate to him. Who knows him and has some conception of the impact that the situation might have. Not from a near stranger that he has met for the first time today.

But again Dick is willing to let that pass, let that slide without launching into an interrogation. He is, all things considered, just about as good with the situation as can be reasonably expected. It is, admittedly, made a little more awkward by the fact that there is no real way to escape their 'work' connections in this case. He's Nightwing and she's Batgirl - well, one of the Batgirls at any rate - and there is very little chance that they can avoid running into each other. In the Cave, on the streets or rooftops of the city. It's inevitable.

That it was amicable helps to be sure. But still, severing ties that were that close, that personal, enough so that he was willing to promise the rest of his life to her? That can't help but leave a mark.

Still, he hardly seems a complete wreck. Nor does it just feel like he's putting up a front, just putting on a brave face. Whatever impact the whole thing is having on him, he's handling it. At least so far.

One might almost think that he is a relatively stable, emotionally secure kinda guy. Is that even possible in their line of work? Is that even allowed? It seems like it should be against union regulations or something at the very lease.

But just because he's dealing, doesn't mean that it is all sunshine and lollipops and her words draw a brief smile to his expression as he dips his head towards her. "I imagine that just about all of us go through something similar sooner or later," he agrees, eyes searching hers for a moment. Perhaps well aware that he isn't the only one that might be harboring a few scars when it comes to the romantic life. Which is probably true of just about anyone, but the look creeping into Gwen's eyes suggest ones that run a little deeper, a little more fresh then some.

Look, he doesn't brood. ...much. Okay, he broods from time to time. He's a Bat. It seems to be instilled in all of them to a greater or less extent. But unlike his mentor, he is definitely a little more comfortable, and little happier to keep things light. So when she takes the bait, when she plays a long Dick is only too happy to do the same.

"Ooooh, good call. Balloons are always good. You can't go wrong with a good balloon drop. Who doesn't feel better with air-filled spheres of rubber bouncing off their head? No one, that's who," he agrees with a firm nod, eyes glinting for a moment under the lights that perch by the doors that lead back into the ballroom where the speakers continue to drone on, interrupted only by that occasional polite applause.

"I'm not going to say no to the cake, either. Contrary to popular belief there isn't something in the local water supply that drives us all crazy," he notes wryly. "But the trophy, the trophy is a must. It needs to gold. But it needs to be flimsy. And plastic. That's a must," he insists.

They might be having just a little too much fun with this entire idea.

But it is possible that both of them need a little bit of fun in their lives right at this moment.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Laughter, pure and warm, bubble up past Gwen's lips. It hadn't been this way between them since that first night at his place. Sure, they knew each other. They trusted each other. But they didn't play, like this... not after that line had been crossed and they both went to bed. Separately.

"Look, I'm telling you, the next step is Dick Grayson for Mayor, and that ticket wins eleven out of ten times. Especially with me as your campaign manager, because we both know what a pro I am at public speaking. It's my second best skill, right after walking in heels. Which reminds me..."

There is no sense in standing around on literal pain-sticks if she doesn't have to be, and if they're just going to stand on the balcony and talk, she sees no reason she can't just...

...reach out and grab his arm as she leans forward and sweeps her other hand down to hook a finger into the ankle strap of her shoe, tugging it off. Placing that bare foot on the cool ground, she repeats the process with the other, then lets out a soft, content sigh.

"So. Much. Better."

And shorter. He's already had a good 3 inches on her. Now it's closer to five or six inches, as she lets the shoes dangle from her fingers... then realize she was still holding on to his arm.

"Sorry..."

Ahem. She pulls her hand back and uses it to sweep her hair back behind one ear, which only exposes a little of the color that had crept in.

"So, do you like working for Gotham PD? What's your position? Is it going to interfere with your mayoral run, because if so we're going to have to talk about you scaling back hours and maybe taking a desk job..."

Her lips quirk back to an easy smile.

"Seriously, though... is it difficult? I mean, Bludhaven is one thing, but like you said -- Gotham is home. I'm sure everybody knows you here, and we all know how cops are. I'm sure they give you crap for being a pretty boy that grew up in a mansion, but is it... safe? I mean, do your partners still have your back?"

Surely there are other questions a complete stranger would want to know about before they start digging into whether or not he feels safe with his co-workers, but it's such sincere concern. She did already say her dad was a cop, though, so maybe that's as comfortable a subject as anything else to her.

Dick Grayson has posed:
While Dick might not have been left completely and utterly devastated by his relationship status - or at the very least has still been able to function relatively normally - that doesn't mean that there has been a whole lot of laughter in his life since his previous relationship reached its end either.

For one thing, those that know you best tend to walk around on eggshells a little bit, careful in what they say and do and solicitous about your well being. And while that is considerate to be sure, it doesn't exactly lead to a great number of laughs.

So this is a nice change admittedly. One of the rare occasions when he isn't dressed up in his uniform, when he isn't taking to the streets with his escrima sticks, acrobatic skills and wits that he is pretty much able to forget about the state of his personal life. At least for a few moments at any rate.

Why it comes so naturally though, why it is so easy to fall into that playful bantering with her is another matter entirely of course. And while a part of him is only too happy to just enjoy things, enjoy this moment, enjoy her company, another part of his mind is busy analyzing why this feels vaguely familiar. Why it is so comfortable. And while he'd kinda like to tell that part of his brain to just take it easy for the night, he isn't really built that way.

"Oh is that where this is headed?" he asks, that playful grin still playing over his features. "Mayor Grayson, master of Gotham City with First Advisor Stacy, so well spoken, so eloquent and graceful the real power behind the throne," he suggests archly, the corners of his mouth still curled upward in amusement.

"Is it any wonder that I was right there, at the edge of the stage, practically throwing myself at you? Who could resist such grace and elegance?" he asks slyly.

He doesn't seem to mind being used as a support for her to slip those shoes off, no matter how cool those flagstones might be underfoot. Who knows, it might even be a relief and when she abruptly pulls back, perhaps lingering too long he just gives an easy shake of his head as if to dismiss the matter. HIs fingers also twitch, almost as if his instinctive response is to reach for her, to claim her hand once more. To put it back where it belongs.

But he does catch himself.

If he has any questions about why she's so curious about his job, about him in general, those too seem to be stifled for now. No longer, perhaps, to avoid scaring her off, to sound accusing. But just because he rather enjoys speaking with her and doesn't see any good reason to stop.

"I might be able to swing it. I'm just an officer for now," Dick says with a smile. "Though I was considering writing the Detective's exam when the next session rolls around," he admits. Not that it will be a challenge to him of course. But he needs to balance increased responsibility with his... extracurricular activities. While his personal life might have issues, his professional life is rock solid for the moment.

"And on the whole I'm fortunate. I've been on the force long enough that any grief I take over my background is mostly of the playful variety. My partner is pretty great too. We get along well," he admits with a smile.

"What about you? What's a day in the life of Gwen Stacy, Girl Genius like?" he asks, just a hint of that playfulness creeping back into his words.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Who could resist such grace and elegance?

You, she wanted to say. But she doesn't. Not out loud. It's barely a flicker of an ironic thought across her eyes, and in fact, it doesn't even cause a stumble in the dramatic roll of her eyes as her hip bumps once more against the railing.

"See? I knew you were a born politician!" She even points her finger playfully. "Already schmoozing... and so what if we're a power couple? At the end of the day, we're both trying to help as many people as we can."

There's a pause, then, and a flicker of her eyes to the side.

"Not a... you know what I mean."

But the twitch of his fingers is just enough to draw those blue eyes back to where his hand rests, to watch the little ripple of movement. Was he about to... no. He was probably just adjusting. She's being hopeful, and that thought brings her own fingers back to the lapels of his jacket, adjusting it slightly around her.

There's no sign from here that she's intending to go anywhere, either. By any reckoning, she seems perfectly happy being wrapped up in that jacket, leaning against the railing, and -- though he wouldn't know it -- being the happiest she's been in a while.

"I'm really, really glad. And, I think you should take it! I mean, it's going to be easy for you, and it's not like you don't have plenty of resources to help you close cases."

Beat.

"I... assume. Because you.. have experience and... connections."

Smooth.

Made even worse by the fact that it's followed by a short bout of nervous laughter as she looks down and touches a barely visible crack in the flooring with her big toe.

"Oh! Uh. I mean... it's not as exciting as yours, unless you count trying to get from my classes at ESU to OsCorp Tower before my shift in the lab is supposed to start. That can get preeeetty dicey."

Her eyes lift again, her smile soft and bashful.

"Honestly, there's not a lot to say about it."

There's no a lot she can say about it. To... almost anyone. Including Dick, now.

"That's probably why nobody picks becoming a scientist for the glamorous lifestyle, though, right?" She grins a little more and rolls one shoulder. "I spend a lot of time in the classroom and a lot of time at the lab."

And tries to balance eating with her need to pay rent. No sense throwing that in there.

Dick Grayson has posed:
In Dick's defense, he doesn't actually remember the fact that he once walked away from the opportunity to get involved with her. So can he really be held responsible for that? Is he even really the same person who made that decision? If a person is the sum of their experiences, Dick Grayson is not, in point of fact, the same individual she knew when she first came to this world. To this reality. Because every last memory of her would seem to have been wiped clean. Or perhaps just masked.

Look, how is he supposed to know how all of this works? He doesn't even realize that there is a -this- to understand. And at the best of times magic can get a little messy.

He doesn't know what made him walk away from any sort of romantic involvement with her. Admittedly because he isn't even aware that it was ever on the table. But he isn't exactly in the same place anymore. And while he certainly isn't looking for anything at the moment, not after such a relatively recent breakup, he also can't deny that there is a little bit of a spark there. He's not entirely sure just what the source is, not entirely sure why the mention of him and her as a couple - power or otherwise - seems like a strangely good idea.

It doesn't make a lot of sense admittedly. He knows that she is, well, if not lying to him at least concealing something. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to tell that there are just some things about their story that feel a little... made up on the fly. A hasty story meant to fill in blanks and discourage further lines of inquiry, but not exactly graced with the ring of truth. And despite all of that, there is a part of him that just... trusts her.

He doesn't know why. He can't explain it. That's just how it is. And that is, apparently, that.

But he's not looking for another relationship. Definitely not. He just got out of a serious one and while it might have ended in amicable fashion, you just don't get over that kind of thing. No matter how emotionally aware and stable you might be. It will take time. Meeting one attractive woman who makes him smile doesn't heal all wounds and if he finds himself wanting to reach for one of her hands instinctively, well, something the heart is just a very stupid muscle. Bad heart.

But smile he does, even as he arches a brow, glancing her way once more as he leans against the rail at her side. "Do I? Because it sounds suspiciously like we are suddenly a couple. I mean, don't get me wrong. It seems almost fitting. One moment you're walking along, minding your own business and then you're teetering on your heels about to fall over. Same thing here. One moment you're single and then you give just a little wobble and -bam-," he says, flashing a toothy grin. "Couple time."

He doesn't tease her too much though, letting the matter go readily enough, if only because the topic flickers back to his career. Where, once again, she seems to show a surprisingly insightful glimpse into him, his abilities and resources. It is another little clue that something is just a little off. That there is something not quite right about this entire thing. His curiosity is entirely undimmed.

It's just a matter that Dick can no longer find the matter troublesome. More... cute. He just wishes he could figure out how she knows him and he, apparently, does not know hers.

She is not exactly fooling anyone. Certainly not him. But Dick merely smiles and puts aside that nervous laughter, puts aside her insightful assumptions. "Your confidence is suitably flattering," he offers up lightly, forcing a certain levity into his voice.

"Hey, glamor is overrated. There isn't a lot that's glamorous about being a police officer either," the dark haired man asserts wryly. "But clearly if you've gotten in at a major conglomerate like Oscorp, if you've attracted the attention of GIRL, you're a pretty special young woman. "I kinda left school relatively early on. After my first year actually. I regret it from time to time. I mean, I eventually finished

Dick Grayson has posed:
I mean, I eventually finished it remotely, but I feel like I missed out on part of the experience."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Okay... there's a lot to process all at once, here.

Because it sounds suspiciously like we are suddenly a couple...

That statement alone is enough to be panic-inducing because she really hadn't meant it that way. She hadn't been trying to walk down the exact same path she'd already tread with him, where they have all of this flirty banter and there's definitely a vibe (There is, right? There's undeniably a vibe, here. Again, just like there was like four years ago.), and then she says something stupid about how she's into him and it all blows up in her face.

Or maybe that's just what's 'supposed' to happen with them. Maybe that's how the universe or the timeline or the canon or whatever you want to call it works. Maybe she's supposed to take the bait, get dunked on, and settle back into a very distant, polite friendship with this man she obviously has sparks with.

Or...

Maybe it's different this time.

Maybe there's a way to take the bait that's not beating him over the head with it. Maybe she, too, has grown and matured over the last four years. After all, when they met the first time, she had just graduated high school... and watched her best friend die in her arms. So maybe four years of life experience has given her better tools to handle this kind of situation, too.

Couple time.

It's very nice of him not to tease her, but she's not going to let it go.

"Oh, really? You think you can just sweep me off my feet... literally... and then whisk me out to a freezing balcony," it's not freezing, it's chilly at best, "so you can be all chivalrous and give me your coat... and you'll just win me over with your charm?"

She purses her lips.

"If we were a real couple, you'd know it takes more than a pretty face and some smooth moves to impress me."

Gauntlet. Thrown.

Of course, this part wasn't entirely fair to him. She knew so much more than he realized she did (although, even if he doesn't know the extent of it, it seems like he's caught on to the fact that the disparity exists). She'd met Nightwing before she met Dick Grayson. If being a police officer didn't already speak enough to his general character, being Nightwing definitely did. He was kind. And dedicated. And he worked hard for the Titans. And he cared... he genuinely cared.

She didn't actually need any more convincing, but she was curious how he would react to this approach, rather than the more straight-forward 'I'm into you' tack she tried four years ago. If nothing else, maybe it would mean that things could stay light-hearted between them, rather than going back to the all-business relationship.

"As far as the school experience... I don't know. Everything's an experience, and they shape us. Opportunity cost, you know? You had the experiences you had, and if you'd gone to school traditionally, you wouldn't be who you are now. This is an experience. You're.. out here talking to me, instead of in there... so what are you giving up? And, is it worth it?"

She doesn't presume to answer that last question. She just sort of lets it hang rhetorically, offering a little shrug of one shoulder.

"If you want to come see what the 'school experience' is like, you can always come hang out in my classes with me for a day. Pretty sure a day sitting in genetics lectures will cure any of that pesky lingering doubt you've got bottled up."

Dick Grayson has posed:
Is Dick walking down previously tread paths, doomed to repeat mistakes from the past over and over again?

It is always a possibility of course. Though in his defense he has no idea that this is a path that he has tread before with this particular blonde. He has no idea that there tends to be instant sparks between them when they 'first' meet but that something tends to come up to pare that back. Whether it is something in him or something in her, who's to say. Definitely not him. None of that is something that he can take into consideration.

Though in truth he's not a big believer in fate. In destiny. Which, given the sort of things he does makes a certain amount of sense. He's not really built to sit back and accept things as they come, accept that some things are just meant to be. He is very much a get out there and make a difference sort of guy. Sometimes that means that being willing to trust that somehow things will just work out. Sometimes that means not accepting that something bad is inevitable.

Is he looking for a new relationship?

He sure the heck was not when he walked into this particular ballroom earlier this evening. That was about the furthest thing from his mind. He doesn't mind doing his part. The Wayne Foundation might be one of the best contributions that Bruce Wayne has made to the world - certainly to Gotham - though it is fair to question whether it could have thrived or even existed without Batman out there trying to make a difference too. So Dick Grayson is more then happy to attend the occasional event like this even if he would much rather be in costume and on the streets. Or even just grabbing a bite in one of the little hole-in-the-wall restaurants in the city that fly under the radar.

But make no mistake, he is here, listening to representatives of Oscorp out of a sense of duty. Not any great desire to socialize with most of these people. Not to drink fancy champagne and nibble at overly expensive hors d'oeuvres. There are some genuinely decent people here. Gotham society isn't just filled with the idle rich who are more interested in being seen then supporting worthwhile endeavors.

But it's not devoid of them either.

Either way, the dark haired young man was most definitely not looking to start something. He's not quite ready for that, right? Surely not. But bantering back and forth with Gwen, well, it is at least making him wonder.

"I mean, I suppose I didn't actually sweep you off your feet. But that's only because I steadied you before you needed it," he points out with a slight smile. "And if you recall, you're the one that wanted fresh air. So I can at best take credit for making the most of the situation to oh so gallantly offer a little succor from the chill with my jacket," he adds mildly.

He shouldn't feel quite this comfortable with a stranger. He's not Bruce. He's not closed off from the world. Dick Grayson isn't the mask for Nightwing, like Bruce Wayne is the mask for Batman. He is not some construct, designed to divert attention from the fact that of course the richest man in Gotham would be the one running around with an arsenal of high tech gadgets and a fleet of cutting edge vehicles. But he's not careless either. He understands the relative importance of protecting his identity. For himself, but even more for those that he works with. It's not paranoia that drives Batman to be so secretive.

It's pragmatism.

Still, as she tosses that gauntlet his way, Dick smiles, turning away from the view of the city, turning back towards her and taking a step closer. "But I take your point Miss Stacy. I certainly don't expect you to be impressed. Yet," he agrees.

Reaching out, hands find the edge of that tuxedo jacket, using that hold to reel her a step closer to him, that faintly amused smile still curved on his lips. "Though that does sound like a challenge. One that I might just take you up on sometime Gwen."

Dick Grayson has posed:
He lingers there, just for a few seconds, invading her personal space and while there is a temptation to slip hands past the edge of the jacket, to seek out her sides and pull her closer, he finally lets his hands drop once more, taking just a small step back so her presence isn't quite so obvious, so overpowering to his senses, that smile growing once more. "That's fair. And you're right of course. I probably wouldn't trade anything I did get to experience for a little more schooling back then," he admits thoughtfully.

Then those lips curve wryly once again. "And I suspect you're right. While I have a solid grounding in science, particularly forensic science a day in the kind of courses you likely take might disabuse me of any notions that I'm missing out on something immensely fun," he concedes, a sly grin sliding over his expression once more.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
I didn't actually sweep you off your feet...
And if you recall, you're the one that wanted fresh air...

"Woah... okay, counselor. Sorry. I thought I was talking to a cop, not a lawyer," Gwen snarks, finally falling back into that same comfortable cadence she'd started with before she realized what had happened to his memory. She was even holding her hands up in surrender, shrugging. "It's fine. I mean, if you don't want any credit -- "

I certainly don't expect you to be impressed. Yet..

But then he's right there, having closed the distance, and Gwen's brain slips out of gear.

If you've never been faced with a wall of chest and shoulders like Dick Graysons, especially if you've never melted a little at the thought of what it would feel like to touch those shoulders, it's hard to explain all of the various little processes that clench and panic and start to very quickly build up heat.

But as if that weren't enough, he actually has the nerve to reach out use his own jacket to tug her towards him... and is possibly the single hottest thing Gwen can ever remember happening.

Though, in fairness, she can't remember her name, right at the moment...

It's all there in her eyes. All of it. The want to respond. The want that goes so far beyond just a response... but also the fear. She's too petrified to move. Too petrified to breathe.

One that I might just take you up on sometime Gwen...

There may be a little gap that the initial shock left between her lips, but words aren't even remotely possible.

Please.

Maybe, if there was one word to be plucked out of the explosion of emotion in her face, it would be that one. But she can't say it. She can't touch him. She can't feel her fingers or her toes. All she can do is turn her face up towards him, to watch him, to offer those very perfectly positioned and kissable lips. But her chest is pounding so hard she can't hear herself think...

...for a little more schooling back then.

He let go. When had he let go?

...might disabuse me of any notions that I'm missing out on something immensely fun.

Was he talking about her? No... school. Get it together, Gwen.

Heat was growing around her ears and the backs of her cheeks as she slipped a hand out of the jacket to rub at the side of her neck.

"See?" She laughs faintly, awkwardly. "We... got you past your FOMO, and it didn't even take a trip to New York. Normally I'd charge you for an office visit, but for the future mayor of Gotham, the first one's free."

She didn't put any more distance between them, but she didn't close it again, either. There's so much that she wants to say.. wants to do. There's so much she's holding herself back from. But with every passing second, it starts to seem like the pressure of all of it is drawing her attention back to the party... to the closest possible escape route.

"Listen, I... I've gotta get to the hyperloop before it gets much later."

Her smile is small, filled with apology that reaches up into her eyes.

"It was great to see you -- " Shit. "Meet you, I mean. And I hope you stay safe out there. Gotham can be... rough. Watch your six."

Dick Grayson has posed:
She's kinda cute when she's snarky.

Of course she's kinda cute period, so that pretty much stands to reason. Still, it's hard to keep that smile from his place at the sharp reply. He doesn't mind getting as good as he gives and it is possible that he deserves it. Just a little bit.

Still, in the end it is not as if he gave either himself or her all that long to dwell on things. Which wasn't exactly his intent. It was all meant to be playful. All meant to be fun. Just a little back and forth for no other then he enjoys her company. Maybe enjoys it a little too much, given just how easily he is able to put aside some of the questions she instinctively raises up in him. The little things that don't quite add up.

He doesn't want to press too hard right now. Because he is kinda enjoying himself. And that, for obvious reasons, is something that he hasn't done a whole heck of a lot as of late

Grabbing that jacket, pulling her in close might have been something of a mistake if he is honest with himself. Fortunately for him it isn't pushing her just a little too far. It could have been taken the wrong way. A little too aggressive. Less playful and too soon instead of a teasing gesture. Any of that would have been conceivable, would have been a not entirely out of line response to the situation.

He hadn't really bargained on just what it would be like to be quite this close to her. Just what it would be like to drink in her presence. That jacket might retain a little heat from him wearing it all evening, but some of her own has begun to seep through as well and while it is just in his mind, in that moment it certainly feels to Dick as if there is a distinct and compelling difference to it somehow.

More then the heat even, it is perhaps the way that the respective scents of them mingle and merge, nearly washed away by the cool evening breeze. But this close? To senses as finally honed and trained as his own? No, he definitely doesn't miss it. Nor can he deny that the combination somehow seems... just right. Somehow manages to be that much more enticing.

Nor doesn't it seem like he is the only one so affected by their close proximity. If he had expected to find annoyance or even amusement in her eyes, that is most definitely not what he catches a glimpse of. Instead it feels to him that it much closer to his own reaction. A little surprise, perhaps, at how natural it feels. A little attraction, expected or otherwise that - no matter how much they might wish to chose otherwise - can't be entirely denied. Can't be entirely shielded from the other.

Does her head actually tilt a little? Are those lips just a little more inviting? Would she recoil if he did just finish the job, did let hands slip beneath that jacket, let fingers find that dress to pull her the rest of the way in so his lips could find hers?

For a moment Dick is sorely tempted to do just that. It's not disloyal, or presumptuous. Sure, he was a perfect stranger to her until a few minutes ago - except that she seems to know a surprising amount about him and has hinted at even more.

The possibility that she might recoil, that she might pull away and that awkwardness might suddenly come crashing down like a hammer is the only thing that makes him give up that hold right then. But like her, he is unwilling to retreat very far. He doesn't meet her gaze for a moment, though it isn't shyness or anything more then maybe a touch of uncertainty. Instead those eyes dip to one hand, almost as if he's still thinking about taking it.

Then mention of FOMO, of her helping him work out a past regret brings that smile flickering back to his face once more. "So you did. Though it feels like a pretty good reason to keep in my back pocket, just in case I want to look you up sometime," he points out before he can catch himself.

Dick Grayson has posed:
He gives a little cough then, just clearing his throat as as she mentions having to go, as she stumbles over her words in a way that once again suggests that maybe this isn't really their first meeting afterall, the words bubble up again before he can catch himself.

"Can I walk you to the station?"

Gwen Stacy has posed:
It's sort of... magical. This balcony, draped in this incredible warmth that smells like heaven and makes her regret the thought that she might ever have to give it back. Dick Grayson, still smiling the same way he did that first night, four years ago. The cool autumn air, and yes.. maybe it smells of Gotham.. but she can barely smell that at all above the jacket and the scent of the man himself standing so close. It's just the twinkling lights of the city. The busy streets. The distant sirens.

Can I walk you to the station?

Yes. Please.

It's on the tip of her tongue. It's what she wants to say. Hell, maybe it's the 'right' answer. If there's such a thing as a detectable, mental 'lean' towards an answer, she's definitely doing it...

Maybe... maybe that 'moment' they just shared was supposed to be playful, but it had hit so close to home, for her. It was, in some ways, the 'third act' of this whole reunion play -- the climax of their little 'getting to know you' conversation, the playful flirtations as the evening draws to a close, and then a singular moment where she has to choose to be honest about her attraction (again), to lie and tell him she only wants to be friends...

...or to just freeze up. Because maybe, no matter what her GPA is or how many times she's jumped off of the Empire State Building, she's just... bad at this. Bad at friends. Bad at relationships in general.

What proof did she have otherwise?

She lied to her father for years, and she was back to lying to him again. In fact, she lies to everyone except a very select few. She watched her best friend die in her arms because he wanted to be more like her. She couldn't make it work with Zee. Or Eddie. Or Ben. Or... Dick, though that was over before it ever even got started.

And maybe.. maybe that was for the best. Maybe it's not that Gwen Stacy and Peter Parker are destined for tragedy in every dimension.

Maybe it's just Gwen Stacy that's cursed... and that touches everyone she interacts with.

"Don't you have... other obligations?"

It's asked with a pointedly rueful twist of a smile and a jerk of her head towards the party. Her eyebrows are raised in that way that teases, Don't just use me as an excuse to blow this thing off.

It's friendly. A little catty. Playful.

It's also a soft 'no.' She didn't actually want to tell him no. She didn't want to hand him his tuxedo jacket back and dismiss... whatever was happening, tonight.

And maybe... just maybe... that look in her eye is one of hope that he'll insist.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Every once in a while Gotham City can manage to just... come through.

While it might not be the most romantic place on the surface of things, with the crime, with the seeming grab bag of insane villains, and the less than pleasant atmosphere in certain parts of the city, it is still possible to find those moments now and then. When everything just works out. When the light coming through the nearby door leading back into the ballroom falls upon them just so. When the breeze is cool, refreshing as it stirs through their hair, rustling it. When the moon is high in the sky, framed right inbetween those towers that rise up out of the city center, framing that orb in the sky instead of obscuring it.

That request he made of her was instinctual, offered entirely without thought. In large part because he isn't quite ready for this part of his night to end. Whatever appeal this little gathering might have had has certainly run its course, especially now that she is leaving it and otherwise it is a long night of patrolling the streets and rooftops of the city ahead of him. It is no bad thing, not at all. Most nights he looks forward to it.

It's just right here, right now, she has a little more appeal for him.

At the same time, some part of him does immediately kick himself. For perhaps pushing too far, too fast. He doesn't even know her - at least so far as he knows - and what he does know raises a few questions. He still has a few personal issues to work through, still has a breakup to fully get over. This really isn't the right time.

But maybe that's the point. There is never a 'right' time. You either make it right, or you don't. Either decide that it is worth it, or don't. Anything else is just an illusion, a justification to tell one's self after the fact.

He's a pretty good judge of people. And while he would have to admit there is something about her that throws him for a bit of a loop, he is almost sure that he isn't crazy. That the little fission of attraction that hangs in the air isn't one sided. That it isn't just him and him alone. He is almost positive that he say that glint in her eye, that invitation in her posture moments before suggesting that she would be more then okay with him kissing her.

Just like she would be more then okay with him insisting on escorting her to the Hyperloop station now.

But she hesitates and that attraction between them seems to dim just a little, like a shadow passing over the moon. Just for an instant. Like she is somewhere else for a moment and no longer absolutely certain that she wants this.

Which very well may stand to reason. He doesn't know her, doesn't know what is going on in her life besides the fact that she is a graduate student and here on behalf of Oscorp where she also works. That leaves a whole lot of ground uncovered. Like whether she is seeing someone. Whether school and work keep her too busy to consider any kind of relationship.

And it would seem that he isn't going to have the time right now to get to know her well enough to start finding the answers to all of those questions.

Her comment makes him glance back towards that door, back towards that brightly lit ballroom beyond. And it's his turn to hesitate, for just a moment. Then, "No obligation that I'm quite as interested in as you," he allows.

Turning back to her once more, he closes that distance between them again and when his hands reach for that jacket they aren't content to just find the lapels of it, instead slipping inside so that they can rest atop the dress that frames her hips. He hesitates for just a moment before leaning in closer, lips brushing softly across one of her cheeks. "It has been... interesting Gwen Stacy. And I very much hope this is not the last time we run into each other," he adds.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Then he flashes a playful smile. "Believe me, I'll be waiting with baited breath for you to fall into my arms again."

Then he hesitates for just a moment and those lips slide from her cheek, instead brushing a quick kiss across the line of her mouth instead before he leans back with a sigh. "If you're absolutely certain I can't walk you to the station?"

Gwen Stacy has posed:
No obligation that I'm quite as interested in as you.

If there's a book of 'right answers,' that one is near the top. It stirs a quick bout of nervous laughter from her lips that's only stalled by the way he closes on her again, touches and then scoops inside the jacket that has been serving as both armor and, on one occasion, leash.

It's not the lapels that get his attention this time, though. This time, his hands warming her through the thin fabric of her dress cuts through her senses like red-hot steel, and it halts her breath. This time, though, she isn't just a statue to be manipulated. This time, her hands find the freedom to do what they should have done the last time -- to find his firearms through that shirt, to trace the line of muscle up to his elbows and cling there just above them, at the swell of his bicep.

And as he leans forward, her chin lifts to receive that kiss, her eyes sliding briefly closed at the feel of him -- his lips, his cheek, brushing against hers. She was going to speak, to answer him.. she'd almost remembered how. But then he spoke again...

Believe me, I'll be waiting with baited breath for you to fall into my arms again.

...What?

Her eyes are so full of wonder and confusion. What had she done differently? The scientist in her needed to know -- needed to understand how to avoid making the same mistakes again. Had it been Spider-Woman he didn't like? That didn't make any sens --

She's still trying to figure out what to say that won't ruin everything when he brushes his lips against hers, and her reaction to that is instinctive. She presses into him, dragging that simple brush of lips out for just another heartbeat. It isn't much. She isn't trying to climb him or fight him to stay, to spend the rest of the evening making out with her on that balcony, though the sudden image of that has her flushing even deeper.

If you're absolutely certain I can't walk you to the station?

"Yes." It's so soft and warm, wistful, and it comes with a smile to match.

...Right up until she realized she was answering the original question, and not this question. Then, panic fills her eyes.

"I mean no!"

Wait.. is she telling him no again?! Why were emotions so stupid?!

"I mean, I... I'd like that."

Smooooooth, Gwen.

At least it doesn't at all take away from the fact that she's still clinging to him, holding his hands in place right where they were, and 'keeping him' from drawing too far away again. She wouldn't fight him if he started to, of course, but the pressure makes it abundantly clear that she doesn't really want him to. As does the way she keeps her weight on the balls of her feet, stretched through the sinews of her lean body like a dancer ready to take a lead.

"You know, the more time we spend together, the less you'll have to wait for that chance..."

Dick Grayson has posed:
What If.

Life seems to be positively full of those little moments. Moments where one is left to wonder what might have happened if they just changed something small. If they turned left instead of right. If they picked up the phone instead of letting it go to voice mail. If they just made a slightly different decision at a moment. And many of those moments don't even feel like they are key in that instant, when living through them.

It is only afterward that the individual is left to sit back and wonder what could have been if they just changed things slightly.

Maybe that's all this is. A rare chance to make slightly different decisions. A rare moment of correction. And maybe it's not even a matter of making different choices. It might just be an issue that they are both almost five years older and wiser then they were when they met for the first time. You know, the first, first time. Maybe they aren't in quite the same spots. Maybe they aren't quite the same people. Maybe that is the only thing that needs to be different.

He might recognize the wonder in her eyes, but he certainly doesn't understand just why it's there. Not entirely. I mean, it's a pretty good kiss. He would certainly like to think so at any rate. And it definitely makes him a little more inclined to see if she's willing to explore the whole thing further. But he doesn't have all of that hanging over his head, all that history there to raise up questions. He doesn't have to wonder why things might be a little different this time.

What Dick does have to do is resist the urge to just... submerge himself in her. To let that kiss go on and on indefinitely until the chill in the air is forgotten, until the roomful of people just a dozen or so feet across the balcony are forgotten. Until it's just him and her, lost in one another.

That feels... too fast. But it is insidiously tempting none the less.

Still, the dark haired man manages to pull back, manages to coax an acceptance for his offer out of her afterall - at least after a confusing little dance where she manages to seemingly both accept and refuse the offer to join her within seconds.

But that too brings a smile to his face once, head tilting ever so slightly to the side as he regards her in bemusement for a moment.

"I'd like that too," he agrees quietly, his eyes locked on her lips as if he might kiss her again. And then he gives a little shake of his head to himself and instead draws himself straight once more.

That playful glint lights in his eye, maybe to keep him from getting lost studying her features. Or maybe to keep him from thinking about kissing her again. Instead he adds, "I figure that those chances go up considerably given that you probably have to put those heels back on to get to the Hyperloop station," he points out, lips curving a little. "I have to say, I'm liking my odds."

Then he laughs and this time he doesn't hesitate to slip his hand into her own, fingers wrapping around hers there, leading the way back towards the balcony door, to the ball room beyond. Up on stage, the presenation continues and only those close by who get a brief chill even notice their return. "Follow me," he says quietly. "I know a shortcut."

Because of course he does.

Leading the way along the fringes of the crowd, he pushes through a door into the service area, past where the caterers have setup. Perhaps in deference to those same heels, he doesn't guide her to the stairs and instead to the service elevator.

Moments later they are out on the street with few the wiser to their departure, just Gotham's brisk evening air wrapped around them.

And Dick's hand still very much emmeshed with her own.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
This is weird.

Coming from a Spider-Woman from another dimension who had an entire planet rearrange its 'reality' regarding the death of the last Gwen Stacy so that she could commit the most extravagant act of identity theft she's ever heard of, her thinking 'this is weird' should probably count for more than the average person thinking that.

It's not weird like, 'Huh, that shade of paint looked different in the store.'

It's more weird like, 'I tried to put the chicken back in the fridge but an alligator with Loki horns ate it.'

And yes... there are some perfectly logical explanations that may or may not explain away everything, and regardless, could never be tracked down to quantum level because we simply cannot KNOW all of the little things that happen to change us along the way. She won't know whether _this_ version of Dick freaks out about Spider-Woman until she tells him. She may _never_ know why everything imploded last time and this time...

...this time he kissed her. And it made her cheeks flush. And her heart flutter. And her whole body sort of reach towards him like a plant stretching for sunshine -- not to grab and cling, but to bask in that warmth.

The fact of the matter is that she came to this fundraiser on behalf of OsCorp to give a speech on their ongoing genetics research and the enhancements they've provided to the medical community, which she did. She did not, however, expect to run into Dick Grayson while she was doing it. She certainly didn't expect him to not know who she was, and she would never in a million years have predicted that he might kiss her on a balcony that same night.

It's weird. And it's... kinda great.

I'd like that too.

She smiles. A big, genuine smile that reaches up to her eyes.

Is he... going to kiss her again? She's not saying no. She's also not pushing. There's a lot of moving parts, here. There's a lot of math happening in her head that Dick doesn't even realize she's doing, but there's also all of the _normal_ stuff... is this too fast? Is it too soon after his engagement? Is it too soon after Ben? What is the appropriate time for them to wait? Is he going to be mad when he finds out what she already knows? Is she... ever going to tell him? Is it even remotely possible to have a relationship with him if she doesn't?

..you probably have to put those heels back on..

"Ugh. Don't remind me..."

...I have to say, I'm liking my odds.

"Yeah, me too," Gwen muses, her suggestive tone hinting at a deeper meaning that she doesn't linger on. Instead, she busies herself slipping her shoes back on.

They're barely in place before her smaller hand slips so effortlessly into his, wrapped up, fingers laced, and then she's moving to keep up.

"Wait," she hisses. "Your coat!"

But they're already moving, hand in hand, into the back of the crowd.. around the edges. A few gazes follow them with interest or amusement, but she tries not to make eye contact. Her focus is on keeping up with Dick, tucking herself in against him as they dip into the service area.

"Are we allowed to be back here?!"

Then there's the service elevator. It's not the fastest, but it certainly beats the stairs, and it gives her a couple of minutes in the quiet to lean her shoulder against him. She's laughing softly. She has been since they slipped into the service area and started cutting through the servers. It's a rush. It's fun. It feels _free_ in a way that she doesn't usually get outside of her Ghost-Spider costume.

And by the time they're on the street, Gwen is clearly beaming. She still has that tuxedo jacket draped over her shoulders, and with her fingers laced with his, her shoulder tucked in against his side, there's not much of a chance for those they pass to mistake the chemistry that crackles in the air between them.

"I guess rank really does have its privileges," Gwen muses once they've settled into a stride on the street. "You probably know all the shortcuts in Gotham, and I'm willing to bet not many people give Dick Grayson a ha

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"I guess rank really does have its privileges," Gwen muses once they've settled into a stride on the street. "You probably know all the shortcuts in Gotham, and I'm willing to bet not many people give Dick Grayson a hard time about using them, either."

Much less Nightwing..

When was _that_ supposed to come up? She wasn't _expecting_ to kiss him, so they're already well past the point of, 'Hey, bee-tee-tubs, I know your secret identity,' being awkward just to throw out in conversation. But maybe it didn't have to come up at all. Maybe... maybe she could let him 'discover' hers and then when he admitted his, she could act all surprised!

Because lying has gone _so_ well for you in the past, Gwen...

Whatever. Just make small talk. This doesn't have to get heavy or awkward.

"So... how do you spend a quiet night at home? Video games, books, movies, or something else?"

Dick Grayson has posed:
Man, there is so much subtext in this particular conversation that each word is practically dripping with it until one has to wonder why there aren't actual puddles on the ground even though it hasn't rained in a few days now.

Some of that subtext is perfectly natural. It would be found in any situation such as theirs when two individuals feel those sparks fly and decide to act on it, to do more then just exchange numbers and vague promises to call each other sometime. That, of course, is only to be expected. They know virtually nothing about one another afterall - though that might hold true a little more for him then her - and can't help but be in that early phase where one tends to be a little more careful. Where what goes unsaid can be as important as what is actually said.

Some of it comes from who they are and what they do. They are not just two attractive individuals who have run into each other at an event. They also happen to be Nightwing and Ghost-Spider - a pair of costumed vigilantes. They take to the streets and rooftops of their respective cities and battle for their souls in the only way they know how. That has to complicate things for both other them, though moreso for Dick in this particular case. She knows that he is Nightwing afterall, but he can't say the same about her secret identity. For the last several years keeping secrets from the woman he was involved with wasn't something he had to worry about. But now he is facing the possibility that he might have to start doing that again. At least for a time. If it was just his secret it would be less of a big deal. He might be more willing to take his chances and let the cards fall where they might. But it's not just him. Telling a stranger means revealling Bruce at the very minimum.

And then it becomes a much shorter hop to Damian, to Tim, to Jason and Barbara and Stephanie and the rest of the 'family'. That, more then anything is why he hides his identity. It isn't his decision alone.

And then there is the subtext that is for her and her alone. The fact that this isn't their first meeting. That she already knows the truth about his secret identity. That they started to dance this dance once before before it was cutoff before it could begin. And that Dick doesn't remember any of that because of a spell cast by her former girlfriend.

That's some serious subtext. Some serious shading to everything they do, everything they discuss. It is not easily dropped into casual conversation and in theory should be all but impossible to discern any other way.

But relationships are generally built on trust - at least those that don't try to make it by with raw naked chemistry which might be fun for awhile but is rarely sustainable. And the longer the truth goes unspoken, the less predictable the response is likely to be. Which in turn makes it that much more difficult to contemplate revealing it.

It has the potential to be a viscious little cycle.

For the moment at least, Dick doesn't worry about any of that. He might not be completely free, completely open - he can't afford to be, no matter how the sparks might fly between them - it is pretty hard to catch him without a smile on his face as he guides her through the building, through the service area and back out onto the streets of the city, strolling hand in hand for those blocks that seperate them from the nearest Hyperloop station.

Even if the fact that their fingers are clasped, locked together didn't give away the fact that they are 'together' at least in some fashion, the fact that his jacket is draped over her shoulders would almost surely give the same. As would the fact that very little space seperates them, mere inches as they stroll along the sidewalk in unhurried fashion, the cold not enough of a motivator to urge him to speed their way to their inevitable parting.

Dick Grayson has posed:
He grins at her assessment that his odds are good - though perhaps for different reasons - and he shamelessly lets his gaze roam up and down her as she walks along beside him, more of a show then an genuinely leering gaze given the jacket draped over her. "We probably should have taken the stairs. Improved those odds a little more. Next time," he says with mock regret.

He laughs at the mention of rank having rewards, shooting a look her way and pursing his lips in amusement as he gives a little nod. "I'm practically on a first name basis with every catering firm in the city," he points out, brow arching. He might not be exaggerating. "But you think that's impressive you should see my pull at the public library. No late fees. Ever," he says with a straight face and a sage nod.

The streets are quiet but certainly not deserted and the orange lights overhead cast little pools of illumination that only dim at their edges, little lines of shadow seperating each one before the next puddle of light starts.

"Quiet night at home?" he asks blankly before offering a sly smile once more. "What's that?" he asks before laughing quietly. "Honestly, there's not many of them. If I'm not working there's usually some event like this one that I might be attending. But when I can spare the time I do like curling up with a good book or movie," he admits, the corner of his mouth curving upward a little once more. "Or something else," he adds, making a show of looking her up and down once more before giving another quiet, playful laugh.

"And what about you? What does a day in the life of Gwen Stacy look like?"

Gwen Stacy has posed:
'...Should have taken the stairs. Improved those odds a little more. Next time.'

She doesn't miss that deliberate and intentionally hard-to-miss up-and-down, either.

"Wooooow. So your big idea for getting me into bed involves a hospital bed. That's good to know."

Her smile is so relaxed, the bump of her shoulder against his side so natural it's almost like she'd done it before.

'You should see my pull at the public library. No late fees. Ever.'

"And you didn't lead with that?! Dude, I'm a starving geneticist. I spend half my time in the library because I can't afford to buy books, and you've got the no late-fee hook-up? Come on. Read the room."

It's so... easy. Out here on the street without the pressure of the fundraiser pressing in against them, having just absconded through the service areas, down an elevator together, hand in hand, with Gwen laughing most of the way.

Once the conversation starts flowing, it's almost like she'd forgotten all the rest of it -- the costumes, the memory, the lies, the fact that she took the place of another human being in this reality... that her dimension, including her father, is now missing their Spider-Woman so that she can live out the rest of her life as a fugitive in this one. And Dick doesn't know any of that anymore.

'Or something else...'

"Oh, suddenly you want a bed big enough for two, now?"

Her smile matches his, though, curled playfully at one corner as she basks in his laughter. Nevermind that he's checking her out again... or maybe, if the glint in her eye is any indication, she doesn't hate that, either. It's so rare that she gets this time to just relax and be herself.

Herself...

It's odd. She's thought of herself as Spider-Woman for so long that she's kind of lost touch with 'herself.' The version of her that doesn't wear a mask and fight crime, stand up for people who can't stand up for themselves.

Dick gets it, whether he understands her appreciation or not. He gets living two lives. He gets trying to hang on to 'yourself' when half of your life is spent behind a mask and the other half is lying to everyone you know about it.

'And what about you? What does a day in the life of Gwen Stacy look like?'

"I don't know." It's an honest answer, at least. "I mean.. school and work, obviously. I used to be in a band." A band that doesn't actually exist in this dimension. "You... wouldn't have heard of us. Um. I like to read, but I.. sort of said that already. I like movies that have turned into classics, like... Ghostbusters," irony of ironies, "Back to the Future, Shaun of the Dead, Beetlejuice..."

She chews on her lip for a moment.

"Most recently I was thinking about saving up for one of those Hyperloop passes instead of just a ticket so I could spend more time in Gotham..."