19586/Post-Shoot Pick-Me-Up

Post-Shoot Pick-Me-Up
Date of Scene:	01 December 2024
Location:	Rooftop
Synopsis:	After Gwen's first modeling gig, Ghost-Spider meets up with Nightwing for some dumplings and crime-fighting. And the dumplings will have to wait.
Cast of Characters:	Gwen Stacy, Dick Grayson

---

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Gwen's first modeling shoot is... a lot.

She figures it's probably a miracle she didn't accidentally trip over her own feet or knock over one of the elaborate light setups. And, okay, no one outright said she was _bad_ at it -- there were even a few polite compliments thrown her way -- but it's painfully obvious she's not exactly in her element. Posing is different from dancing or drumming, and keeping her body rigidly perfect for the camera while trying not to smirk at the absurdity of it all? Harder than it looks.

Then, just when she starts to think she might actually combust from the nerves, Dick shows up.

She spots him from across the room, leaning casually near one of the studio walls like he's been there forever, his expression somewhere between amused and supportive. Her shoulders drop instantly, a knot of tension unraveling she hadn't even realized was there. During a break, she practically bounces over to him, threading her arms around his waist in a quick but grounding hug.

It's not a long visit -- just enough to steady her nerves and remind her that, hey, even if she does accidentally strike a pose that makes her look like a deranged action figure, she'll survive. And maybe even laugh about it later. She's grateful for that.

By the time the shoot wraps, Gwen is more than ready to be done. The stylists are cheerful, the photographer thanks her with a smile that seems mostly genuine, but all she wants is to swap the heels and borrowed clothes for her Ghost-Spider suit and get back to something that feels like _her_.

On her way out, she texts Dick:
GWEN (7:05 PM): Shoot's done. I need food before I die of a modeling-related meltdown. There's a rooftop garden above a dumpling stand on East 13th. Meet me there? I'll send you the location and grab the food.

The dumpling place is one of her favorites: a tiny, hole-in-the-wall spot with a takeout window and handwritten menus taped to the glass. The owners don't bat an eye when Ghost-Spider occasionally shows up to grab pork dumplings or scallion pancakes, and tonight is no different. Gwen picks up the order she placed on the way with the ease of familiarity, her teal Chuck Taylors barely making a sound as she turns on her heel and heads toward the rendezvous spot.

The spot itself is just as much a favorite as the dumplings. A small rooftop garden on the east side of Union Square, tucked away atop an old apartment building that hasn't yet been devoured by shiny high-rises. The garden is accessible by a narrow fire escape, which is perfect for her -- and, importantly, it's reachable for Nightwing, too, even if his skyscraper wall-crawling isn't quite on her level. What he lacks in stickiness, he more than makes up for in building-leaping acrobatics and agility.

When she gets there, she's already dressed for her second job of the night, her Ghost-Spider suit on full display. The garden's string lights hum softly, casting a warm glow across the wooden benches and planters filled with herbs and flowers that somehow cling to life despite winter moving in. The view stretches westward, the city skyline glowing against the night sky, and Gwen breathes it in like it's the first moment she's truly exhaled all day.

She perches on the ledge near the edge of the garden, the plastic takeout bag dangling from one hand as she keeps an eye out for a familiar shadow. Knowing Dick, he's probably already on his way, vaulting across rooftops like it's second nature.

This spot is one of her little treasures, a quiet place above the chaos where she doesn't have to be anything but herself. Sharing it with him tonight feels... right.

Dick Grayson has posed:
It is a little bit freeing to be sure. To know that he doesn't have work tonight.

Not that what he does as Nightwing doesn't take a lot of effort, that it doesn't do as much if not more good that his duties as an on-duty cop. But it is not quite the same thing. And in some ways the expectations are considerably different.

He's glad he chose to take up the badge, glad he decided to put on that uniform. But there is no denying that it is a little more fun to Nightwing. A little more fun to take to the rooftops. New York might not be his home, but there is still a familiarity to it all.

Even better of course is the fact that while in this particular uniform he can totally meet up with his girlfriend. He can work side by side with. Grab a bite to eat. Do a little patrolling. And generally not stick to any set routine or schedule beyond what works for the two of them. It has it's undeniable perks.

Unlike Bruce, he has not dated many models - in large part because his own relationships tend to be, you know, real, instead of nothing more then a cover to conceal his identity - which makes dropping by Gwen's photo shoot an interesting experience. More then anything else, he's glad that his presence seems to help her relax some, to maybe forget just how foreign or strange the experience is and enjoy it.

Even if just a little.

While he doesn't stick around for the entire shoot, by the time he leaves, it certainly seems as if she is a little more comfortable with the entire thing. Or at least willing just to submerge herself in the experience.

As for him, he doesn't bail on her lightly. He can certainly think of worse ways to pass a few hours then watching his beautiful girlfriend, but since he is in New York, it is a chance to drop by the auxillary Batcave that is kept there and restock anything he needs for the night's activities. And make sure everything is in order as well.

Of course Gwen made sure that he knew just where they were meeting and he is indeed already on his way by the time he gets her text, pausing just long enough in his race from rooftop to rooftop to fire off a quick reply.

DICK (7:07 PM): Hope you had fun in the end! I'll be there in just a few.

These little places might be few in number, but Dick is no stranger to them. Gotham has a few, where members of the Batclan can drop in and grab a ltitle pick-me-up mid patrol with no questions asked. Usually because of some intervention on their part in the past that has inspired a degree of remarkable loyalty. No reason it should be any different in New York. Even if the Spider's tend to take something of a beating in the local media.

It's probably a good thing that Gwen moved with him in Gotham, rather then him moving to New York City. If he ever meets J. Jonah Jameson, he might not be able to help himself from popping the man one in the face. And the chance of running into him is much less likely if he is an occasional visitor to the city at best.

Fortunately he doesn't keep her waiting too long, landing lightly on the rooftop a short distance away, the faint whirring of that jumpline retracting into the grapnel making a quiet hiss in the darkness as he pads out of the darkness in that black costume, the blue symbol running over his suit standing out starkly against all that black.

"This view is amazing," he says quietly, padding over and slipping an arm around her for just a moment. "And the food smells even better. I'm glad you suggested this."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Ghost-Spider leans slightly into him as his arm slides around her, her head tilting just enough to catch a glimpse of his expression under the faint glow of the rooftop garden's string lights. There's something about this moment -- the hum of the city below, the smell of fresh dumplings mingling with the cool evening air, and him, standing here with her in all his Nightwing glory -- that feels grounding.

Normal, even, in the strange way her life defines normal.

"Has anyone ever told you Nightwing is kinda hot?"

Those big, expressive eyelets of her mask flex into a playful grin. Because, yes, they most assuredly have. She has, even, the last time he got suited up as Nightwing. And the time before.

There's a lot of reasons Gwen's pretty happy to have moved to Gotham with him, but lowering the possibility of Jameson getting punched in the face isn't one of them. Sure, Nightwing doesn't need that kind of publicity, but man... it would be so satisfying to watch.

Gotham is kind of a fresh start for Gwen. Her dad -- her dad from _this_ dimension -- is here, and after a year of trying to live under the same roof with him, it became obvious that more distance was better where they were concerned. She still loves him like her father... because he is. Sort of. But between all of her various secrets and his over-abundance of concern, their relationship is strained to say the least.

She's hoping living up to his-Gwen's modeling contract helps smooth that over and restores some sense of normalcy for him. His-Gwen was doing the modeling thing to pay her way through college, so it was weird to him when she spontaneously started listening to punk rock and gave up on modeling entirely. Gwen wasn't even about to start trying to emulate that girl-next-door vibe that His-Gwen had down to a science, but baby steps, right?

"Figured you'd appreciate the view," she teases, nudging him lightly with her shoulder before stepping toward the ledge to set the takeout bag down on a wooden bench. She glances over her shoulder at him, her grin a mix of playful and warm. "Besides, I needed a win after today. And by 'win,' I mean carbs and you."

She settles onto the bench, unpacking the food with a dancer's precision -- deliberate movements, every action fluid.

"Thanks for dropping by earlier," she says, her tone softer now, almost an afterthought but definitely sincere. "I needed the breather. It's... weird. Standing still for that long while people poke at you and tell you to tilt your head three degrees like you're some kind of math problem. And do you know what they did? After all that time worrying that they were going to be disappointed by my look, they put pink highlights back in my hair right after you left."

She pauses, holding up a scallion pancake like it's Exhibit A in a court trial. "But! I survived. Didn't break anything, and I only looked ridiculous for, like, fifty percent of it, so... small victories."

Her pink-rimmed eyelets shifts slightly as she tilts her head to him again, and though he can't see expression the same way she can see his, there's no mistaking the way her body language softens when she's around him. "And now I get to eat dumplings with you and stare at the skyline instead of a camera lens. Pretty sure I'm winning now."

She breaks the pancake in half, offering him a piece like it's the most natural thing in the world. She pulls her mask up to just above her nose, waving her half around like a baton to gesture out the bag. "There's _lots_ more. So feel free to help yourself. I got a sample of almost everything for you to try, and they always throw in extra. I _love_ this place."

There's a pause, then, her visible lips quirking into a grin.

"Just... not as much as I love you."

Then she's taking a bite, dropping down to sit on the ledge of the building.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Just a couple of months ago the sun would still have very much been up and about and they would have been watching the sun set over the city instead. Watching people scurry about down below, completely oblivious to those watching over them.

It is definitely darker and cooler, but the view is just as sensational even if in a different way. And more important then any of that, more important then anything else at all perhaps is that he gets to spend it with her.

His own mask does little more then conceal his eyes, when the lenses are in place at least and the slightly different way he adjusts his hair shouldn't conceal his identity anywhere near as well as her full mask does.

But there is no real way to conceal the way he looks at her, the curve of his mouth when he flashes that grin her way in answer to her unseen one, only those expressive eyelets giving away her expression beneath that hood. "It might have come up a time or two," he admits. "Though I got to admit I'm pretty partial to Ghost-Spider myself," he points out with a wink, pulling her tight against him for a moment before letting her slip free.

Working together in costume should definitely be interesting. Worse comes to worst, they might be able to take down a few baddies with just their mutual admiration society alone.

'You look amazing'.
'Pow'.
Follow it up with a little PDA.
Oooof, down for the count.

They still might be very much in that honeymoon sort of phase of their relationship, when there is still so much to get used to, when everything about one another just seems perfect. In theory that would seem like it will ease eventually. At least some.

But it certainly hasn't yet.

And while their conflicting schedules have taken a little getting used to after that initial flurry of togetherness, even there they are finding little ways to make that work.

Tonight is a pretty good example of that. THey have the chance to both combine a night out on the city, some good food, some even better company, right along with a little patrolling. Do some eating, catch a mugger. Do a little flirting, foil a robbery. Then catching the Hyperloop back to Gotham to crash at their place.

Not a bad way to spend a few hours at all.

While her father might be having a little trouble getting used to the new and improved Gwen, that isn't something that Dick has to worry about. He never knew the original Gwen of this universe. There are no expectations there, no memories to deal with.

But really, he can't imagine she could have been any better.

Settling himself on the bench, that smile takes on a wicked tint and he makes a show of letting his gaze sweep over her before flickering back to the New York City skyline. "Oh, I most definitely am appreciating the view he teases," taking his half of the offered scallion pancake and taking a bite, a little sound of pleasure slipping from him in approve. "Mmmmm. And of course. I know how strange it can be starting a new job and it seemed a safe assumption that a friendly face might make it a little easier."

His brow lifts at the mention of the fact that they colored her hair, that slow smile blooming on his face. "Oh really? A whole new you, hmmm? We might have to call the patrol early just so I can meet this new Gwen Stacy," he says. Then he laughs and leans over, stealing a quick kiss as she rolls up that mask.

"You won't get any argument from me, that's for sure. This is already waaaay better then most of my normal patrols," he admits, leaning over and beginning to rifle through the bag to see what he might want to try next.

"You're pretty good company. I might have to keep you around," he teases.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Gwen laughs, a quick, breathy sound that slips out before she can stop it. Her mask's pink-rimmed eyelets flex into a look that's far too pleased, and if he could see under it, he'd know exactly what he already suspects -- she's biting her lip to keep from grinning too wide. "Appreciating the view, huh? Pretty sure that's a line, Nightwing. Gotta say, though, you deliver it well."

She takes a slow, deliberate bite of her scallion pancake, as if she's savoring her next retort. Before she can, though, he leans over, stealing a quick kiss as her mask rolls up, and her breath catches for just a second. But then she's leaning into it, her hand brushing lightly against his shoulder for balance, and her lips curve into a soft smile against his. When she pulls back, there's no hiding the faint blush dusting her cheeks. "You're lucky you're cute," she murmurs, her voice teasing but a little softer now.

She's about to follow up, maybe something about how dessert could wait because this view is already perfect, but before she can finish the thought, a familiar _ping_ chimes from her wrist. Gwen groans lightly, letting her forehead drop for a second before lifting her arm to check the source. The holographic display flickers to life above her wrist, casting a faint blue light on her mask as she skims the alert.

"Four blocks over, in an alley," she says, her tone shifting into something more focused. The display flashes a detailed map of the area, a red dot blinking over a convenience store. "Looks like... armed robbery?" She tilts the display toward him so he can see, and her mask's eyelets shift into something that feels like a smirk. "Does this happen to you, too? I swear the birds in this city eat better than I do. Mostly because they tend to get what I'm intending to come back for before I get back to it."

She's already moving before she finishes speaking, rolling her mask fully back into place and standing in one fluid motion. The takeout bag gets tucked safely into a corner of the bench -- because priorities -- and she stretches briefly before stepping toward the ledge. There's a shift in her now, an electric energy that hums in the air around her as if she's flipped a switch.

"Race you there," she says over her shoulder, her voice carrying a playful challenge. She crouches low, fingers brushing the edge of the ledge as she peers toward the next rooftop, calculating the quickest route to the scene.

She doesn't wait for an answer, not entirely. One foot presses off the ledge, testing her stance, and she twists just enough to flash him a grin he can probably feel more than see. "Let's make it interesting. Loser makes breakfast tomorrow. Deal?"

Before she leaps, though, she glances back, her tone softening for just a moment. "Don't let me win," she says, her voice teasing but layered with a kind of trust. "It's way more fun when you don't."

And then she's off, launching herself into the air with practiced ease, teal Chucks flashing for just a second before she disappears into the shadows, her laughter trailing faintly behind her.

Dick Grayson has posed:
He certainly isn't above flattery, there is no denying that. But it helps considerably given just about anything he might chose to say about her sterling qualities is pretty much true.

"Just because it's a line, doesn't make it any less sincere. You're definitely going to put me to the test. Just how well I can focus on all the baddies when you're right here to oogle instead," he retorts with a grin, managing to extract a couple of dumplings and pop them into his mouth with a certain satisfaction.

Which is probably good, because there is a better then average chance that might be the end of their meal. Oh, there will always be picking up fastfood on the way back to the Lakehouse when they eventually make their way back to New York tonight. But the chances of them making it back here tonight? Lets just say Nightwing wouldn't want to put any money on it. And he has a fair bit of money to spare.

He doesn't groan when that ping sounds from her wrist, though a faint, almost enigmatic smile slides over his expression. This might be a different city, but this is still familiar territory for him. Spiders and Bats, it would seem that they have this much in common. Though they are a little less likely to be eating on the job in the first place, either because Alfred insures that they are well fed before going out, or maybe a simple matter of metabolism.

"Duty calls," he agrees, slowly rising to his feet, plucking a napkin from the bag and cleaning his hands quickly, squinting and glancing around as she packs away the bag as well as she can. "I'd say the cold might be a bigger threat then the birds, but I imagine the pigeons of New York are at least as voracious as the ones in Gotham, so I'm willing to bet that we might be out of luck one way or another," he conceeds wryly.

It's unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected. Very much part of the life they have chosen to lead and while he regrets that he didn't get to sample all of her favorites, there is a pretty good chance this isn't the last time they'll pass this way. There will be other opportunities.

And besides, there is a part of him that is rather looking forward to getting a little more time in, working side by side with her in costume.While their abilities might be different, their styles are rather complimentarily in many respects. There is a challenge and an excitement in learning all the ins and outs of this part of their relationship too.

"I think you might have a little bit of an advantage," Dick retorts wryly, flashing a grin with her as he follows towards the ledge. "But never let it be said that Nightwing shrinks from a challenge," he adds with a grin.

"Besides, you know how much I enjoy breakfast with you. So no matter which one of us gets there first, I have a feeling I'll still win," he points out playfully.

Then he too is leaping into the night, the quiet hiss of released compressed hair sounding and the thunk of titanium prongs embedding into masonry as that grapnel finds it's purchase, letting Nightwing soar onward.