19403/A Rainy Night in Gotham

A Rainy Night in Gotham
Date of Scene:	29 October 2024
Location:	Lake House - Wayne Estate
Synopsis:	Late one night, still recovering from a particularly harrowing day that involved a lot of cuts and bruises, Gwen goes to visit Dick at the Wayne Estate Lake House.
Cast of Characters:	Gwen Stacy, Dick Grayson

---

Gwen Stacy has posed:
12:51AM
>> Out of the loop. Got a cab.
>> (location sharing enabled)


Why does everything cost money? Seriously.

It's easy to get spoiled by not having to pay for any kind of public transportation in New York City when your primary (and really only) method of transportation is running and web-swinging everywhere.

And yes, she could have tried that. The GPS in her suit would have guided her to the mansion, and she could have changed and gone swinging for it. But.. then she would have had to have figured out how to change back.

And, frankly, she felt kind of cute.

Aside from the fundraiser and a couple of other events where she was specifically expected to be professional or better, this is the first time she's put any effort into her appearance because she wanted to in...

...well... in a long time.

She actually enjoyed the process of picking out a shirt (a garnet one, this time, with big bold letters that read 'GEEK' across the front), rolling up the sleeves, selecting a pair of high-waisted shorts, hose, thigh-high socks, and heeled boots.

Her standard backpack is sitting beside her on the seat of the cab. It is, of course, the container for her costume, a small purse (which contains her new hyperloop pass), a couple of books, her phone (when it's not in her hand), a few cosmetics, a hair brush, and some other necessities.

She's got a long-sleeved, knee-length black cardigan over the whole thing, and some chunky costume jewelry and a wide-brimmed hat top it off. Which is good. Because this is Gotham, and it's raining.

Not something she expected when she got on the hyperloop from New York, but now she's here, without an umbrella, riding in the back of the cab and listening to the wipers thump, thump, thump, thump.

"Are you sure you want to go to Wayne Manor, lass?" asks the cabbie as they drive along. For the third time. He's been eyeing her in the mirror ever since she got in. "It could'nae be you meant somewhere else?"

Gwen has her head buried in her phone, not necessarily waiting for a reply, but... you know... just in case he sent something, she didn't want to miss it. And, besides, she might as well live-text this conversation.

"Yup."
>> The cabbie literally thinks I'm confused about where I'm going.

"An'ye know it's nae open to the public? It's nae a hotel?" the cabbie continues.

"I'm not planning on sleeping there."
>> He's pretty sure I think it's a hotel. Is it because I'm blonde or because I look so out of place at 1AM?

"Aye? Oooohhh... aaayee," he finally conceeds.

That brings Gwen's eyes up from her phone.

"Dude! I am not a prostitute!"

"Nae! Of course y'arnt. Y'er much too pretty. I 'magine the Waynes have a special service..."

"Oh my God. Stop. No one is paying me to be here."
>> And now he thinks I'm an escort. Classy.

Mostly. Except for a really expensive hyperloop pass that she wouldn't have otherwise been able to afford, but she traded that for ice cream. So.. that ledger was.. ugh.. a long way from being even, still. But she wasn't here because she was being paid to be, damnit!

"My apologies, lass. I meant no offense. I just... I don't take a fair many people out to Wayne Manor in the middle o' the night."

"It's fine. Can you just... watch the road instead of trying to figure out my life story?" Gwen snips.

"Aye, lass. That I can."

"Thank you."
>> GPS says ten more minutes... I cannot get there soon enough.

Dick Grayson has posed:
As a general rule, Dick Grayson would normally still be out and about in the city proper for at least a couple more hours. Gotham City never really sleeps which means that the criminals don't either and while he can't always afford to stay out all night, every night like Bruce - he still has to get up some mornings - he still generally puts in as much time as he can on the streets and rooftops of the city.

But in his defense he has a pretty good excuse to call things just a little bit early tonight. It doesn't happen all that often so he feels it's justified. And who knows, maybe it will start happening a little more often.

>> Kk. I'll be waiting when you get the gate.

While he might have offered to come to her, both to make it easier given that she might be a little banged up and because he can certainly more readily afford it, it does seem only fair that she get a glimpse into his life as well, given that he has visited her apartment and the ESU campus.

He also doesn't need to worry about straightening up either - with both the Manor and the Lakehouse being well tended by Alfred. It is a mystery how he manages.

Which means that he just needs to take care of himself. Stepping out of the shower, he runs a towel through his hair, leaving it some semblance of dry though with just a little bit of a sheen.

And while he might debate whether it is better to keep it casual or at least make a little bit of an effort, he ultimately decides to keep it simple but at least a little more then a t-shirt and gym shorts, dark slacks and a crimson shirt fitting him nicely. Something he could get away with wearing on a date without going all out.

Though it's possible that he will regret that by the time he lays eyes on her.

>> I mean, if it would help sell it I can yell over the intercom when you get here that we don't welcome solicitors and refuse to buzz you through.

Such a helpful offer.

In truth, she has made a good decision with the cab and choice of attire, regardless of her difficulties with the cabbie. While there might be options for city living open to the them - the penthouse of the Wayne Foundation building has served as living quarters for a number of them at various times over the years - the Manor itself is in Bristol Township, along the north coastline. Still inside the city limits perhaps, but off the islands that make up the heart of the city.

For the most part said township is given over to the wealthier members of Gotham society, carved up into elaborate estates though a part of it is just more rural in general. But either way, no towering buildings to swing one's way between and there isn't exactly a heavy demand for public transit. Just a lot of walled, tree-filled estates as far as the eye can see.

It's hard not to smile at her reported trials and tribulations with her ride and much like Gwen, Dick seems to keep it close at hand, glancing at it every few minutes if he doesn't happen to hear the little bzzzt that indicates another text received.

>> A classy escort? I hope not. I'm on a cop's salary here.

>> Next time I can pick you up. Unless you're looking for new material mind you. Some of this stuff is pure gold.

Isn't he the helpful sort?

>> Headed down to the gate now. See you in a few.

Then Dick is out the door, pausing only long enough to snag an umbrella from beside the door, stepping out into the dark night, little lights illuminating the first part of the walk as he begins to stride briskly towards the entrance of the Wayne Estates.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
No matter how irritated she got with the driver, Gwen could not possibly contain the smile that spread across her lips as she read the replies that came back in. Dick 'got her' in a way that so few did.

Peter always had. He was always willing to give as good as he got -- funny, smart, kind. And yeah, he was incredibly nerdy, but she wasn't trying to jump his bones. They'd been friends since they were kids! And then he... died. And yes, in some strange ways, she had him back. But it... it wasn't the same. He was different. He'd had different experiences. Hell, he'd been bitten by a spider, too, in this dimension, and that all on its own made him so much different than her Peter.

Plus there was always that cloud hanging over their heads -- that she wasn't his Gwen, either. And so, Peter... this Peter... was her friend. They could joke. They were certainly there for each other when it mattered. But every interaction was colored by the knowledge that neither of them were exactly what the other remembered. It softened everything, made it more tentative and... a little more awkward.

She felt that way when Dick had forgotten her. That tentativeness -- the need to hold back, to keep secrets, to not say the wrong thing. But not anymore, and that freedom to be able to be herself? That both of them are willing to give as good as they get? It's amazing.

...we don't welcome solicitors and refuse to buzz you through.

>> You wouldn't dare! This guy will never give me a ride out here again! And at this point he may want something other than cash. If I get taken home by a smelly, middle-aged Scotsman, I will never forgive you.

...I hope not. I'm on a cop's salary here.

>> Look, I've become used to a certain standard of living. If you can't afford me, we need to figure this out now...

Next time I can pick you up...

>> Please, please, please. I can watch taxi cab confessions on YouTube. I don't need need the 4-D experience.

Headed down to the gate now. See you in a few.

>> <3 <3 <3

The only sound that's filled the cab for the last ten minutes has been little bursts of laughter as Gwen reads Dick's texts and furiously types out her responses, an excited smirk lingering on her lips.

She was almost there, and her heart was beating a million miles an hour. Her knees were bouncing. And as the headlights passed over the gate, she shoved her phone finally into her bag.

They payment for her cab had been conveniently arranged through the app she used to book it, so there wasn't anything left to do except to thank him and jump out, backpack over one shoulder, and straight into the arms of the man that was there with the umbrella waiting for her, hugging him tightly.

"Save me," she murmurs up at him, grinning as the rain pitter-patters on the umbrella and cascades off, around them.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Despite the reputation that Gotham City and it's protectors have managed to build for being a rather grim, humorless bunch, as is usually the case just about anywhere they tend to run the full gambit of personality types.

There is a reason for the stereotype of course. No figure in Gotham is more prominent then Batman after all and the Dark Knight lives up to the whole 'dark' part of his name. There isn't a whole lot of smiling when it comes to how he conducts himself. Not a whole lot of sunshine and rainbows.

And Dick? He might not be completely happy-go-lucky or anything. He takes what he does seriously. He has worked hard to become as good at it as he is. He has to. There's no super powers here. Just amazing natural talent and a whole heck of a lot of training.

But he also doesn't go in for that grim avenger mode, at least not most of the time. He's not completely immune to the Gotham tendancy to brood. He can stray that way every once in a while. But he's a bird, not a bat and he would rather enjoy the light then hide away in the dark and ruminate on all the things that have ever gone wrong in his life. He would rather get to know people, to make friends, to forge those special connections then to hold everyone else at arm's length.

So admittedly bantering back and forth with Gwen - even through the medium of text - comes a little easier for him then might be expected. It helps that he remembers her now, that they have just a little more history together then they did before she made her revelation, before she helped those memories flow back. While that history might be a little... mixed - he did walk away from the potential of a relationship with her years before they found themselves in a similar spot once more - knowing who she is, knowing more about her makes it a little easier to offer up those teasing remarks without fear of putting a wrong foot forward. The fear of killing this whole thing - whatever it might turn into - before it has even begun.

Though really, just what it is seems increasingly clear. She's coming to visit him in the middle of the night. And yes, given what they do keeping odd hours is pretty much a part of their lifestyle. They might not be ready to discuss it, or acknowledge it. Not yet at least. But they probably wouldn't be fooling anyone that was watching them. Anyone that truly knew them.

And chances are those same people would be glad for them. For the most part at least. What they do can be lonely enough, without having others in their life to share that, and everything else, with.

>> You got to figure at worst he would leave you by the side of the road. Or try to take you somewhere befitting your classy standards. But if he tries to drop you off at the Iceberg Lounge I suggest not going inside.

>> Deal. The Manor's a draw, there's no denying, but there's a pretty big city of there to experience too.

>> <3 <3 <3

As promised, when the car pulls up to the gate, when Gwen hops out of it the iron-wrought assemblage begins to slide open - much to the surprise of the driver perhaps - and the dark outline of Dick Grayson appears there, one hand holding up the umbrella to offer a degree of shelter from the cool, raining night, the other slipping around her almost at once to pull her close - the splattering rain above them a pretty good excuse.

"You don't strike me as the sort that needs much saving," he murmurs in turn, an involuntary grin spreading across his face at once. "But I can prolly whisk you out of the cool and damp, at least. The only real question is where do you want to start the tour? The Manor, or the Lakehouse?"

Gwen Stacy has posed:
You don't strike me as the sort that needs much saving.

That, itself, is enough to make her adore him -- to make her crave more of his presence in her life. That she can jump out of the clutches of a leering cabbie and into the rain, cling to him, and beg to be saved... and his answer is that. His instinct isn't to coddle her or try to comfort her. To treat her like some kind of origami made of tissue paper.

It's a breath of fresh air, even if it is in Gotham. He knows her, or at least he understands her. And it's just one more example of how she can let her guard down without worrying about setting the wrong tone or sending the wrong messages.

It makes her smile curl even more broadly, wicked humor glinting in her eyes. She liked that he knew that she didn't actually need saving, but that didn't mean she didn't like the idea of him saving her. Even if it was just from the rain.

"I want to see the mansion some day," she says softly. "I do. It's big and old and beautiful. And... I've never actually been in a mansion, before. But, I'm okay with just seeing the Lakehouse, tonight. If... that's okay with you."

She gave a wave (that was probably a little bitter) to the driver of the cab, which pulled away a few moments later, that driver surely shaking his head as he went. And then Gwen was left still clinging to Dick's midsection, staying close because he's warm and she's trying to make the umbrella easier to hold over both of them. (Yeah, that's why she's staying close).

Honestly, if Gwen hadn't been on such an anti-relationship kick recently, she might already have tried to identify what this was... or at least be more forward about it, herself. Yes, she hugged Dick every time she saw him, but she hugged her dad, too. And hell, she hugged Felicia last time she saw her. Hugging didn't mean she wanted to go buy matching pajamas.

Then again... she wasn't really hugging Dick, anymore. She just had her arms around him, her chin a little lifted so she could look up and see his face, ready to take his lead into the estate. And that... well... that she didn't do with anyone else. Of course, it's raining. So it could just be the rain keeping her close, right?

Maybe.

While she might be a hugger, nobody else gets that hopeful look in her eye. That quiet request for another kiss that she's not quite ready to expect or demand. Because as long as she doesn't expect it, it's not a relationship, right? Isn't that a law that's written down somewhere? She can still say she's taking a break from relationships, and as long as she doesn't expect a kiss, it's a true statement, right?

Who is she kidding?

No one.

No one, including Dick, could possibly look down into those eyes and see anything but the truth.

She's falling for him.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Look, Dick Grayson will probably be guilty of playing the white knight from time to time. It is pretty much ingrained in him and he is probably not ever going to rid himself of that.

But that doesn't mean that he isn't fully aware of who she is and what she is capable of. Having his missing memories filled in helps a lot on that score. He knows that he doesn't really have to safeguard her - at least physically - from threats. She's actually stronger, faster and more durable then he is. Which, perhaps surprisingly, doesn't really bother him in the least.

There are so many ways that letting him in on the truth could have gone wrong. It was always possible that the same reasons that made him walk away from her the first time, to turn his back on that attraction between them could have reared its ugly head. It is possible that he could have held her responsible for his stolen memories, for not making sure they were returned sooner. It could have put an end to everything before it started.

Instead it had just the opposite effect. It cleared away one potential roadblock. Yes, they both have their relationship issues that might still ultimately cause some sort of problem. She has not had the best of luck, and he is still getting over a long term relationship coming to an end. But he doesn't have to worry about the fact that he is lying to her, that he is concealing a big part of himself. He doesn't have to worry about the fact that bringing her into his orbit he is potentially exposing her to threats that she isn't capable of handling.

He can just be honest - with both her and himself. He likes her. He's attracted to her. He enjoys spending time with her. And while it might be new, increasingly he is falling down on the side of wanting to see where all of this goes.

Because yeah, maybe he is falling for her too.

There is an undeniable little thrill in the way she races across that intervening space between them, about the excitement etched on her features, the excitement apparent in her haste to reach him. Because it is an excitement mirrored in himself. So while the urge might be there to simply sweep her up into his arms and spin her around, he manages just a tiny bit more decorum then that and instead lifts that free hand to wiggle fingers at her driver, to let him know that he is definitely not needed anymore as he triggers the gate to slowly beginning to close once more with that electronic hum.

"I think that's a good call," Dick admits. Yes, everyone but Alfred will be out still and the elderly butler is good about being discrete and giving each of them their space when needed. But the fact is that all of this with Gwen is still new.

And the truth is, Dick still kinda wants to keep her all to himself. Just for a little bit longer.

"But one of these days I'll show you around and unleash the power of Alfred's chocolate chip cookies on you. Guaranteed to win me some big brownie points," he asserts with a little smile.

"But before we go any further..." he says, a playful little smile sliding over his features. Then his head is bowing towards her own slightly, lips dipping until they find hers. That arm around her tightens, instinctively drawing her closer, harder to him. Instead of a slight caress, those lips linger this time and it becomes a question of whether he ever intends to let that kiss break. Only the fact that he is holding that umbrella in one hand, that urge to bury fingers in her hair sabotages him and as their covering tilts slightly as he loses himself in that kiss, a few of those wet raindrops plop over them noticeably, making him hastily break that kiss with a sheepish grin.

"Just so you won't have to wonder when we were going to get that out of the way," he says lightly. Because yeah, it was a total public service.

Dick Grayson has posed:
His arm stays around her, holding her tight to him and he gestures to the path ahead, illuminated by sporadically placed little lanterns lining the path. "It's a little bit of a walk. Which conveniently means you had probably better stay close. I swear, I didn't plan it that way.

Clearly Dick Grayson doesn't control the weather. Though the grin on his face suggests that he could have asked for a better coincidence on this particular evening.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
That. Kiss.

That first, glorious, slow, deep kiss that completely takes Gwen's breath.

She doesn't care if it ever stops. She doesn't want it to stop. Her eyes sink closed, and she stretches, lengthening against him. Her arms snake instinctively over his shoulders, fingertips brushing the side of his neck and them slipping into his hair.

Way to create an expectation, Dick.

Because if there was any doubt about 'what this is,' that kiss wiped it away -- at least for the evening, if not beyond. Yes, they still had their own relationship issues to get past, but there wasn't really a chance of her getting out of this without getting hurt, anymore. Like vines reaching for the light, those tendrils of her feelings, even as she tried to prune them back, kept reaching for him, and and like her arms, like her feelings, those wrapped around him, pulled her closer, made her vulnerable to hurt in ways she didn't realize until it was too late...

...in ways she didn't appreciate until she started feeling those raindrops.

Because in that moment, she didn't care that it was raining. They could have been standing there, getting drenched. When he breaks that kiss and grins down at her, there's hunger in her eyes -- a want for more that has her flexing through her toes. And just for a moment, there's tension in her muscles like she might actually leap up, wrap her legs around him, get on a more level playing field, and claim another kiss for herself.

It's not like it would be difficult. It's certainly not like Dick couldn't support her weight. Have you even seen those arms?

But she doesn't. Who knows why? She's worried about getting lost in him here in the driveway? She's concerned about cameras and how that might look? She doesn't want their relationship to be about that? She doesn't want to push too far, too fast? Whatever the reason, Dick can see the moment it occurs to her as well as the moment it passes, settling for a more demure acceptance of that walk, under the umbrella, in the rain, tucked against him.

...I swear, I didn't plan it that way.

She meets that grin with her own, giving a little roll of one shoulder.

"That's too bad. A romantic walk in the rain through a beautiful estate at night? I would have given you mad props."

She still does, of course. Everything about him made her heart swell, from the way he was texting with her, to the way he met her with that umbrella, to the way he kissed her and holds her so close. She can't seem to stop smiling. Quite a difference from the angsty young woman who was fretting over everything, before.

But then she's settling in to walk with him, leaning her head over to rest against his shoulder for few steps -- until a sudden, sharp wince makes her cringe unexpectedly. But even then, her hand seems to snap to his on the opposite side of her waist as if anticipating that he might try to draw away and holding him in place.

'Not your fault,' her fingers over his seem to convey in that first instant, while she's adjusting her shoulder and letting out a soft breath.

"Sorry. Still not completely better," she sighs softly.

It's impossible to see any injuries, of course. That cardigan completely covered her arms. The shirt and shorts hid her torso underneath. There was just a small strip of stocking-clad thigh bare before her opaque, thigh-high socks covered up the rest of her legs, down to those boots. And chances are, this outfit was chosen with intention to balance 'cute punk he seems to like' with staying covered up so she didn't make a big deal about her scars and bruises.

Dick Grayson has posed:
It is the inevitable, unavoidable consequence of opening up one's heart. The possibility of being hurt. The only thing worse though? Never being willing to take that step at all.

Hurting her, getting hurt himself might be about the last thing that Dick wants. Afterall, they've already been down this road once before, after a fashion at least. Aborted almost before it began. Was that completely painless? Did that happen without leaving any impression at all? No matter how fleeting, sometimes they will leave impressions on one another's lives. And not all of those impressions will be for the best.

One can generally only be hurt when one cares and at this point Dick can't really conceive of even the possibility of not caring about Gwen. Why he could close the door on this four plus years ago with barely any hesitation and yet can't imagine not at least trying to pursue something with her today, he can't say. Even if he took the time to just look at where they were, where he was, he's not sure if he would be able to point to the one thing that somehow changes everything for them.

While he might do his best to keep things light, breaking that kiss does not exactly come easy. Those cool, wet droplets might be enough to make him realize that perhaps this is not the very best time or place to let him lose himself in her, but it is a much closer battle then it might appear on the surface. Another part of him doesn't care at all. Another part of him just wants to let that umbrella fall forgotten on the ground, to thread fingers through her hair and thoroughly plunder her mouth with his own until they are both left panting under the rainfall.

Does some of that get reflected in his own eyes, even if he manages to keep it out of his voice? Almost certainly. But increasingly that doesn't worry him. Maybe because he can see reflected in her own eyes that he isn't the only one who thinks that might be a fairly decent notion.

Tempting though it might be, the front gates of the Manor estates in the middle of an autumn rainstorm might not be the very best place for that. And besides, just because it is the first kiss of the evening, doesn't necessarily mean it has to be the last. Or even the most intense.

So he falls in with her, slips in against her side, wrapping an arm around her back to draw her a little nearer while he keeps that umbrella perched above them like a shield, deflecting that rain away, letting it patter rhythmically against that little roof above them and roll off to either side. While they could surely walk a little more quickly if they were not quite so closely entwined, despite the late hour Dick isn't exactly in a hurry.

"Yes, well, wait until next summer," he counters. Yes, a part of him is already anticipating that they will still very much be a thing almost a year from now. Myabe that's jsut natural. "The estate is particularly lovely at that time of year, with all the gardens in full bloom. Right now though? It lives up to the spooky season. The rain, and all the trees looming up all around?"

He grins fiercely once more. "Hopefully you're not afraid of the dark Miss Stacy," he teases. That somehow seems... unlikely.

The path ahead, periodically lit by those little ground lanterns does indeed break away from the main drive, winding it's way off into the woods and while even those trees that are not evergreens mostly retained their colorful foilage, there are enough that have nearly been stripped by powerful breezes off the nearby ocean to have dark branches that jut out like twisted limbs that make his point for him.

When she winces, Dick does indeed start to draw back, worried that he might have aggrevated something, though does not fight her when she holds him in place. "Sorry, I know how that goes," he says, a look of sympathy on his face. He would too. "Just... don't be a hero. Believe me, I have plenty of options, hot or cold, when we get to the Lakehouse. It might not cure all that ails you, but it should help," he promises.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"I'll look forward to next summer, then."

It's said with all warmth and sincerity, and how could it not be? How could she not be looking forward to it, when he says it with such conviction? And yes, a few moments ago, she might have chalked it up to being friends in a year -- which, of course they would be. They've been friends... or at least acquaintances... for four years (or so she thought). But after that kiss? Well, she probably has a few hopes about what next year will look like, at this point, too.

The question about being afraid of the dark gets a warm laugh.

"Are you kidding me? Have you seen my look?" She even open her cardigan a little. "Granted, I'm more punk than goth, but I still love Halloween. I'd like it _more_ if a bunch of idiots in costumes weren't trying to kill me on a daily basis, but this place is still amazing."

All they really need is a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder to complete the whole postcard picture of the quintessential haunted mansion.

But then there's that wince, and Gwen holding his hand in place to keep him from pulling away. Once he's settled and doesn't seem to be letting her go any time soon, she relaxes her grip a little, too, though her fingers... as she listens to him, her fingers idly thread though his. It's not the child-like innocence of just holding hands with your bestie while you walk down a crowded street. It's.. more intimate than that. An interweaving of her small, slender hand through his that joins them together, if just for that moment.

Don't be a hero.

She can't help looking up at him at that, her smile twisting in immediate, rueful irony.

"Don't be a hero?" she teases. "That's rich, Officer Grayson. Or should I call you Nightwing?"

But there's not a drop of malice in those words. Her eyes are still alight with that warm affection -- that acknowledgement of responsibility. She's smiling just as brightly, and she even gives his fingers a little squeeze.

"Tell you what... I don't get a lot of offers to help. So, why don't I show you the damage, you decide what you think is best, and I'll be the best patient I can be?"

Dick Grayson has posed:
It is definitely a little bit of a hike to get where they are going, though the evening is pleasantly cool and beneath the umbrella at least, huddled in close to one another it is reasonably dry as well.

The little lanterns embedded into the grass lining the pathway cast little pools of interspersed illumination across the ground, low enough that they don't totally wreck one's night vision and the rustle of the leaves in the wind, as the rain patters against them is oddly soothing in it's own way.

Of course he wouldn't expect her to be afraid of the dark. She would know better then most that it isn't the dark that one needs to be afraid of - it's the monsters that populate it. Still, Dick flashes a grin at her response. "I have seen your look. I believe I've made it plain that I'm pretty fond of your look as it so happens," he points out with a grin. "And I'm very much looking forward to getting you back to my place so I can get a better look at just what's under that jacket," he teases lightly.

"I suspect you'll make me regret not coming back a few minutes earlier so I could take longer to pick out my own clothes," he adds wryly.

As the minutes stretch out, it becomes clear that the Wayne Estate is pretty expansive. And that expansiveness offers up a degree of privacy. With trees looming up all around them, it would be impossible to actually guess at the fact that somewhere beyond them is a pretty sprawling mansion.

As much as Dick might be enjoying their walk, each little wince makes him glad that it is drawing to an end soon and up ahead the Lakehouse comes into view. The muted glow of lights shine through the glass walls that offer a panoramic view of both the lake the surrounding woods, dozens of little pinpricks of illumination casting that warm glow across the scene, rippling and reflected in the water with each drop of rain that falls.

"Not as impressive as the Manor admittedly, but it's hard to beat the view. Or the isolation," he admits with a smile.

"C'mon, lets get you inside and we'll take a look at your injuries. I'm not a doctor or anything but I am pretty good at dealing with cuts and bruises by this point. And I suspect that I don't heal quite as quickly as you," he acknowledges wryly, steering her up onto the deck that spreads out around the house on all sidesm the slight overhang of the roof adding a little more shelter from the weather.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"I... remember you saying that," Gwen admits coyly, still grinning up at him. At least she didn't say _I picked this outfit specifically because I thought you'd like it_, because having those words there in her smile were plenty telling enough.

...so I can get a better look at just what's under that jacket.

Laughter. Warm, delighted. "Yeah? You're not even going to buy me dinner, first?"

She doesn't want dinner. She didn't even want dinner that first night, four years ago. It's not exactly something she's 'proud of,' but Dick Grayson is one of the _very_ few men that she ever legitimately wanted to just jump in bed with on the first night. The attraction was _that_ strong.

And it still is.

She's been trying to play it cool -- to navigate his memory loss, to keep in mind that they had once just been friends, to give him various opportunities to tell her or show her that he wanted things to go back to the way they were. But when he says things like THAT? And when he kisses her like he did a minute ago? It's really, really, _really_ hard not to look at him at least a little like she wants to devour him...

She doesn't really seem to be watching where they're going all that closely. Maybe it's a Spiders can see in the dark thing. Or maybe it's a Spiders have an early-warning system so they don't have to watch where they're going thing. But really, it seems to be more of a not being able to take her eyes off of Dick for more than a couple of seconds at a time thing.

It's like she can't quite believe he's real -- or that this is really happening -- and if she looks away, reality might suddenly rearrange itself again, and then they'll be back to... before.

Wouldn't that be awful, if Dick suddenly blinked and asked her what she was doing there? If this time he forgot everything that had happened over the last few days and accused her of trying to get between him and Stephanie and...

Oof. Okay. That's a heart-rate spike. Think about something else.

...take longer to pick out my own clothes.

"You.. think I object to incredibly hot, well dressed men?" Gwen's smile is wry and playful, despite the occasional little wince that twinges along the way. "I mean, I guess you could have opted to greet me in a monogrammed bath robe. That might have set up some up front expectations... it certainly would have given the cabbie some validation. Of course, then I would have spent the rest of the evening calling you Mister Hefner. So. Pros and cons."

She's so relaxed compared to those first couple of times, seeing him again, being so nervous about how to explain to him what was going on. Now, she just... she seems to sink against him. To trust him. Resting her head against his shoulder for a little while before ascending up the steps of the deck.

"_This_ isn't impressive...?"

It hit her like a truck. She really had no idea how long they walked. She'd been so wrapped up on him that this was the first time she actually looked around -- at the glass-walled lake house, at the dark lake that she could only faintly make out, though she could hear the rain falling into.

Her apartment was... embarrassing, by contrast. Not just the size and the fact that a bullet had come through her window only a few days before (so, isolation wasn't really a thing). But... everything. And it wasn't like she didn't know. She knew. Some part of her acknowledged that this man lives a completely different lifestyle.

But... yikes.

"This is... amazing." She didn't need the mansion to sweep her off of her feet. "This is the kind of place you get to stay in for a weekend because you blew your entire savings on an AirBnB," she laughs.

And finally her attention is back on him again. Never fighting his lead, just watching everything around her, trying to take it all in, until she's smiling up at him again.

"And you're talking about replacing this with an apartment?"

Dick Grayson has posed:
They were not exactly showing off their default styles the first time they met. Or rather the first time they met... again. It still gets a little complex to sort out in his head at times, the memory of meeting her for the very first time twice now. But clearly she is not entirely at ease in the sort of formal wear that tends to be the preference at such events - no matter how amazing she might have looked. And while Dick might be much more familiar with the whol tuxedo look, that certainly is not his default mode. Given a choice, he prefers something a little more casual.

Which is ironic, considering just how much of his life he ends up spending in uniform as it were. Whether it is in his 'day' job of being a police officer or in his more noctural profession as a vigilante, neither look could exactly be described as casual. At least not by anyone who actually sports a pair of eyes.

It is both surprising and reassuring, just how easily all of this flows now. Now that the secret that hung between them, that knowledge that they had met before and magic had compelled him to forget has been banished. That it no longer hangs over their every interaction. It shouldn't be surprising, given that they have known each other for years, but whatever awkwardness could have lingered over the circumstances of their first meeting, even the circumstances around their second 'first' meeting, just seem to have evaporated.

So he laughs as she takes her turn to tease him, guiding her up those steps and through that door -- glass like the rest of the outer walls of the building, insuring a nearly unobstructed view regardless of where one stands. "Hey, if food will help I suspect that I can rustle up something that will appeal. I mean, I'm only a decent cook really, but fortuantely the kitchen is stocked with all sorts of easily reheated food made by quite the chef," he points out wryly.

Though it is probably not the thought of one of Alfred's meals that makes his adrenaline spike of course. That probably has a lot more to do with the thought of her and just what sort of thoughts she puts into his head.

While the glass house might not be anywhere near as large as the nearby Manor, it is not exactly a tiny hovel either, sprawling at one end of the small lake as it does, long and narrower, like an extended rectangle instead of a square. The muted lights reflected in the glass do have an almost rainbow-like affect, adding a swirl of color to an otherwise fairly minimalist design, heavy on the whites and blacks, though style has not entirely trumped function as the sofa looks comfy and the nearby fireplace not doubt will be incresingly compelling as the cool of winter creeps ever closer still.

"Lets just say that normally when I get back from patrol it is gym shorts and a hoodie, or maybe a hockey jersey that goes on. Not exactly the definition of well dressed, but comfy," he admits with a wry smile as he ushers her in, giving her a moment to look around without him hovering right over her.

Not that his gaze leaves her for even a moment mind.

"Suffice to say, I'm glad that I went to a little more trouble then that," he adds before arching a brow, flashing a little grin and holding out a hand in a silent offer to take her coat.

"It's not too bad right? If you're still living at home when you're thirty, this is definitely the sort of place that you'd want to be," he concedes, swinging his own gaze around, the understated luxury, the stunning views, the quiet isolation.

"But actually living in the city itself has it's advantages too. Especially given everything," he admits.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
There are a lot of assumptions to be made, but there are a lot of things that Gwen doesn't have any idea about. She, for instance, knows that Dick Grayson was Bruce Wayne's ward after his parents died. She also knows that Nightwing was Robin.

But she doesn't know that Bruce Wayne is Batman. She doesn't know that there's a Batcave. She doesn't know that this entire compound sits on top of probably one of the most advanced security systems in Earth.

All she really knows is that Robin struck out on his own in Bludhaven and became Nightwing -- she assumed to get some space from Batman's shadow, though he'd never said so explicitly. That was the stage of life she fist met him in. But after that first night, they'd rarely talked as deeply on life or their feelings. Some things she picked up along the way from beings around Titans Tower for a little while, but at some point, even that was part of her past. And she fell out of touch.

It hadn't been intentional, but they weren't in the right places in life to be close friends. Maybe in part because there was that attraction. At some point, he was engaged, and she had her own relationships in Zee, Eddie, and Ben. Now, though, there's a second chance to ask those questions -- the real ones, about why 'Nightwing,' why Bludhaven, why Gotham, why an apartment, why... her.

No. Not the last one. She's not quite that desperate for validation.

Hey, if food will help..

"Bribery, Richard?" Gwen asks archly. Of course, she asks that question right on the heels of accusing him of wanting to see her naked without even buying her dinner first. So, she's effectively put him in an inescapable situation. There is no longer a right answer, and she seems very amused by that.

The discussion about his clothes, though? The gym shorts and the hoodie? The hockey jersey, even? It has her stopping to look at him more fully. Up and down, those big, blue eyes sweeping him top to bottom and up again before she reaches up to casually sweep those long, asymmetrical bangs back behind one ear.

I'm glad that I went to a little more...

"I don't know. I think there's a chance you'd look good in... just about anything," she muses, heat coloring her cheeks as her hand moves from brushing at her hair to rubbing the back of her neck.

"I guess I don't really think of this as living at home? I mean, I guess if you're a billionaire. But, I also get that coming and going would be easier. That's most of the reason I don't live with my dad, anymore. We had a pretty major falling out when he found out, back home..." In her home dimension, she means. "I... I don't want this version to have to find out about me. I already made him forget his real daughter died, so I feel like I've done enough damage, you know? Bruce doesn't seem like the kind of guy that would approve if you sneaking out to punch bad guys."

It takes her a second to realize the hand he's holding out is asking for her coat and not her own hand, and she's half-way to reaching for it when she suddenly realizes and laughs. "Sorry."

She slips it easily off of her shoulders, letting it slide down her arms... and there's the damage. Part of it, anyway. She's been sliced four or five times on each arm. Deep gashes that would have been angry, but are closed and look like they've gone though about a week's worth of healing in a couple of days. Between the gashes are bruises. One big one over her left shoulder. Several more down the lengths of both arms.

It was not an easy fight. She went from Lady Bullseye trying to kill her (and hitting several walls HARD as she cut her web lines to shreds), to Shocker blowing her across a city street and into the back of a cab, then trying to bring a building down on her, and Juggernaut trying to destroy the entire block. There was lots of falling debris. Lots of hard impacts. It's... kind of a wonder she's upright, and those are just her arms.

Dick Grayson has posed:
It isn't as if there are no secrets left to share it seems.

Some of them are just small, logical leaps. It has always been the issue of compromising his identity of course, always the reason he had to take it as serious as the rest of them, to consider carefully before admitting to even close friends that he is Nightwing, that he was the original Robin.

Because one they have one piece of the puzzle it is hard not to put the rest of it together. Difficult not to make the leap that doing what he does, with the equipment he has access to takes both a great deal of money and access to some cutting edge technology. And who happens to be his adopted father? Oh right, Bruce Wayne who ticks both of those boxes.

It is a short leap from their to realize that if Bruce is kitting out his 'eldest' and there have been a succession of Robins, then he has probably been involved with them as well. And look at the young men - and women - to go through his life, that so conveniently line up with the succession of Robins that Batman has had. Would he really just gear them out and send them out into the night with some stranger? And hey, isn't he kinda of a... imposing figure for just being some playboy billionaire?

People usually get there, though with this blossoming between them like it is, he might ultimately have to push that along. Because for it to go all those places that Dick Grayson increasingly wants it to go, he has to be honest with her. To share it all. It's one of the reasons why her revealing their past actually made all of this easier, that it actually removed a significant barrier instead of sliding a new one into place.

And they will no doubt have more then enough barriers to deal with.

Her accustation of bribery brings that grin back to his face and he gives a self-depricating and entirely unashamed shrug at the accusation, starting to slink back towards her. "Look, I'm not above very much. You're in Gotham now. We're a ruthless lot, doing whatever we need to to get the job done," he points out archly, the corners of his mouth still crinkling as he leans in, sliding his cheek along hers, lips close to her ear. "Some goals are worht any price..."

Then he is leaning back with that ready grin, helping her slip that jacket off and revealing the very fetching outfit beneath, turning away just long enough to hang up that jacket before he is rejoining her once more. "I might take you up on that then, at least next time. I'll admit, after a night's patrol there is something very liberating in coming home and slipping out of some skintight costume and into an oversized hoodie," he admits wryly.

As he joins her once more, those eyes do a little more then oogle her now, instead seeking out all those little injuries - ones that would likely be far worse if she didn't heal quickly. He gives a little wince of sympathy and he runs hands over her arm, just hovering above her skin without actually touching it as if mapping out that array of injuries. The mostly healed, but not entirely, cuts. The bruises that vary from a sickly yellow to a purplish color to others that are almost entirely faded.

"This is from a couple of days ago?" he says with a slow shake of his head. "Well, we can definitely get you some ice in a bit. Maybe some heat if you're a little stiff and sore. I can almost guarantee that before I let you out of my sight you'll be feeling better," he promises with a smile, starting to lead her over towards that comfy 'F-shaped' couch that looks out over the water and the fireplace off to one side.

The mention of home, of her dad makes him a little more serious and he slips his hand into her own once more. "I remember," he says quietly, recalling her first night in this world again. "It's not quite the same for me, yeah, and if nothing else I have a whole lot more privacy. It's something to think about. Though it probably wouldn't be so much buying an apartment as an apartment building. That's what I did in Bludhaven, anyway."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Some goals are worth any price...

Those words threaten to melt her where she stands, her chin tilted up, her eyes closed as his cheek brushes against hers and an unmistakable shudder of anticipation runs down the length of her body.

"I.."

If this is an act... if this is just some excessively attractive and charismatic billionaire's adopted kid using all of his various talents to get what he wants... it's working. She obviously doesn't _think_ that's what's going on, or she would never have come from New York to see him. Not for him just to get his claws in her to satisfy some kind of conquest.

But that doesn't feel like what this is. It didn't feel like it on the balcony. It certainly didn't feel like it when he came all the way to New York and sat outside of her science building, waiting for her to get out of class. It didn't feel like it sitting in her apartment or eating ice cream. And it didn't feel like it when he was standing out in the rain, waiting for her, tonight.

There is a flicker of 'too good to be true,' though, when he leans back again -- when warmth is crawling all of her body like she's suddenly on fire -- and she can look into his eyes again.

Holy #$*. This is... really happening.

...and slipping out of some skintight costume...

Damnit. She's pretty sure he said that on purpose, because as her eyes flicker down to his chest and shoulders -- that shirt did almost as many wonderful things for him, if not more in its own way -- it's suddenly hard for her to think about anything else...

"You should be..."

Don't say naked.
Don't say naked.
Don't say naked.

"...comfortable."

Those eyes lift again, though, and a playful grin tugs at her lips. Would he be able to read her mind? Was it even that hard, given the look that's been in her eye ever since he kissed her said he wanted to see what was under that coat?

"Day before yesterday. I'll live. They're... all over. Mostly distraction seems to help."

Let _his_ eyes wander as he tries to figure out what 'all over' means. There's still so much of her covered up. Under her 'GEEK' t-shirt and high-waisted shorts? Under her sheer hose and thigh-high socks? Oh, she definitely did that on purpose. Turn about is fair play, after all.

...you'll be feeling better.

"If I tell you I'm already feeling better, I don't have to leave, do I?"

Her fingers thread between his as she follows him, though just as they reach that couch, there's a quick one-two step, where she places the two of her boot on the frame of the couch (Not the cushion! She does have some manners!), then uses that quick height boost to step.. into him.

It places her against him, looking down at him for once, and holding her seems... mostly effortless. If not just because of the differences in her weight and his strength, she also seems to sort of... stick to him. Her knees settle on either side of his waist, her arms rest on his shoulders, and she only gets about two or three inches of height advantage, but it's there... for however long it lasts. She is sort of along for the ride, at that point.

"You _would_ buy an entire building," she muses softly, her exasperation with the whole scale of money palpable. She checked her bank balance before she bought pizza. He.. bought apartment buildings. She had an eyebrow piercing and thrift store clothes. He wore expensive tuxedos and went to galas with rich people.

It didn't make any sense. But then... it didn't need to make any sense.

Not tonight.

So, she uses that height advantage to kiss him, this time, one hand lifting to brush across his cheek and up into his hair, with no interest in stopping any time soon.