19728/Gwen's Holiday... Meltdown

Gwen's Holiday... Meltdown
Date of Scene:	21 December 2024
Location:	Lake House - Wayne Estate
Synopsis:	Dick gets a call from Alfred about the music coming from the Lakehouse and comes back from work early to find Gwen buried under a mountain of crumpled scrap paper full of formulas, music blaring, looking like she hasn't eaten or slept in days.
Cast of Characters:	Gwen Stacy, Dick Grayson

---

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Background Track: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbtW0vToBT4

At least the lake house isn't immediately adjacent to the manor.

If she were asked, Gwen probably wouldn't be able to explain how the music got so loud that it was literally vibrating the glass walls. Or where she got so much notebook paper that she was virtually buried under mountains of hand-scrawled notes, some of them balled up, some just haphazardly tossed aside. Or where she got so many textbooks.

No... that's a lie. She got the textbooks from the library. She definitely couldn't afford that many scientific textbooks. She may not be paying NYC rent prices anymore, but she is still repaying her father for paying the early termination penalties on her lease. That's still going to hurt for a while.

o/~
Yeeeeaahhhhhh, I got this feelin' in my veins
Yeeeaahhhhhhh, a helpless feeling mixed with pain
What's the meaning?
I just can't believe
That you're not really with me
I just can't believe
I wonder if you'll miss me
Heyyyyyyyy, goooooodbyye
I wish you stayed here
I wish you were hereeeee
o/~

The house literally thrums with the energy of 'Goodbye' by 'Army of Anyone.'

It's probably a little... surprising, honestly. This is a new side to Gwen, who in the time Dick has known her, has been pretty... well... even keeled probably isn't the best description.

But, predictable?

Things have been following a path, and Gwen's life for the last month has pretty much revolved around Dick Grayson, school, and work. In that order. Thanksgiving with her father had gone better than Gwen could have hoped. Maybe even better than Dick had expected, and he was the one reassuring Gwen it would be fine. It didn't start off 'fine,' but by the end, George Stacy actually seemed to have a begrudging respect for the man his daughter had so spontaneously moved in with. He even seemed to approve of her choice.

That's a pretty big deal for Gwen. No matter what she says about this dimensions George Stacy not being her real father -- and she's not wrong -- he still loves her. He still does all the things a father is supposed to do. He's still there for her in ways that her real father stopped being a long time ago, when he found out she was Ghost-Spider.

That wouldn't happen again. She wouldn't let it happen again. She couldn't survive the look of utter disappointment and betrayal a second time.

So... what is it, then? What has prompted... this? This possibly cocaine-fueled study session amid what sounds like a live rock concert?

That's hard to say.

She's been a little strange ever since Thanksgiving. Hopeful. Cheerful. Even optimistic. She's been looking forward to Christmas, talking about buying presents to put under their tree (no peeking!), and wanting to reach out to people to wish them a Merry Christmas. She just... didn't say which people.

The last couple of days for Gwen have been hard, and she's been gone more in the last 48 hours than she has been since she moved in. Oh, she still slept here. At least, she did the last time she slept. But, in this exact moment, it doesn't look like she's slept very recently. The bags under her eyes are heavy enough to leave darkened circles. And yet, she still sits on the couch, hunched over with a pen in her hand and her laptop open beside her, looking between the screen and the formula she's jotting down.

Scribble, scribble, scribble.

Then she changes a few things on the screen and... runs a simulation.

Then a big red box pops up.

There's a scream from her that's muffled by the music. Then she rips the notes off of the page, crumples the page, and throws it.

Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

Dick Grayson has posed:
The Wayne estate is big. Like really big.

It is not the sort of grounds you can cross in a minute or two. It's not even the kind of ground that you can cross in twenty or thirty minutes, at least not at something less then a run. There are hills and forests, there is a lake, and cliffs overlooking the ocean. It would be a slight exaggeration to call it its own township.

But not as much as one as you would think.

It is, fair to say, nothing like the modern day McMansions that populate the most exclusive neighborhoods. So there is a goodly amount of space between Wayne Manor and the Lakehouse. There is a small forest that separates them and so much of the time one would barely be aware of the other structure. You can't see the Manor from the Lakehouse or vice versa. It is not a short walk to get there, even if one could more or less take a straight line through the trees.

But the Lakehouse is also on, well, the lake. It is not a particularly large body of water, but it is a wide open expanse. And sound travels particularly well over water.

Suffice to say that the ever escalating sound of music that appears to be on repeat has not gone entirely unnoticed by the residents of the Manor. Or at least one of them. Alfred has already contacted Dick with some small amount of concern. Not over the volume, if he hadn't been airing out one of the rooms he would never have heard anything. It is not enough to be a bother. But the elderly gentleman felt it was unusual so just wanted to see what was up.

So Dick is already aware that something might be going on before he ever gets home. Rushing home, just to see why Gwen is apparently trying to create a live rock concert in the confines of the glass home that they have come to share is difficult for someone working a shift for the GCPD. But after several texts and a two attempted phone calls went unanswered - and likely unheard judging by the sound coming from the house as he pulls up - he got his partner to cover for him and bailed on the rest of the late afternoon patrol.

Stepping through the door of the building, he doesn't even try to call out to her, just grimaces a little at the volume and when he walks into the main room, when he spots her there seated at the couch with her pile of books and notepad, frantically scribbling away and seemingly not even hearing the sheer noise around her, that worry only grows.

It grows even worse when she crumples up the latest page she's working on and seems to toss her head back with a scream, one that is completely drowned out by the song. But one that is still so very palpable, still so completely unmissable.

In a flash Dick is across the span of the room, quite literally hurdling one of the chairs as if it isn't even there. He barely pauses by the stereo to turn it off, plunging the house into silence that, in it's own way, might be almost as disorienting as the sheer volume of music was.

But then he is at her side, dropping to a knee beside her. He gently extracts that pen from her hand, almost as if concerned it might get used as a weapon - not so much on him as on herself - and lays it aside before he takes both of her hands in his own, giving them a tight squeeze as his eyes search her face, the concern etched out there on his expression.

"What's wrong Gwen? What's going on? Talk to me?" he implores quietly.

He doesn't even consider the possibility that maybe nothing is wrong, that maybe this is how she likes to work.

He's pretty sure that his assumption is not wrong however.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
EARLIER...

7:43PM, the night before...

Gwen sits at a table in the library on ESU's main campus, surrounded by small towers of genetics textbooks and the laptop she always carries in her bag. She has a few of the textbooks open, and she's typing furiously when a text message comes in from Dick, just checking on her day, reminding her he's thinking about her.

Staring at her phone, it's the first time since that evening on the balcony when he kissed her that she actually got a lump in her throat from anything other than the weight of her attraction to him. He's so kind. So understanding. So perfect in so many ways.

And she's not.

At best, she's a mess. At worst, she's an imposter in this entire freaking timeline. It's not only that she ruins every single relationship she touches, which would be bad enough on its own. It's that she leaves the other person worse off than when she found them. Her dad is out there, somewhere, alone and blaming himself. Peter is dead. Ben is... is...

She can't even stop to let herself think about it. She cannot watch Ben fade away in her arms the same way Peter did because she was too blind to see what was really going on. She won't let that happen.

>> Hey. I'm fine. Just pulling a late night doing some research. Don't wait up.

'I love you.'

...She deletes the words instead of sending them.

Instead of going home to be with him, she's staying in New York to make up for lost time doing the kind of research into her ex-boyfriend's 'condition' that she should have been doing when they were together.

Is it a betrayal? Is it cheating? What would Dick say if she told him the whole truth -- that she reached out to Ben, talked to him, had a meal with him, even met him for coffee the next morning, and ever since she's felt like the worst girlfriend in the world? To Ben. To Dick.

She hasn't told Ben about Dick. She can't bring herself to rub it in with everything else he has going on.

She hasn't told Dick about Ben, either... about their past or their present. Why? Because that's just who she is. She keeps secrets that she's afraid will hurt people. She couldn't tell Dick about his memory being affected until it was almost too late to salvage even a friendship, much less a relationship. And instead of sitting down to have a rational, mature conversation about her relationship history, she's opted not to say anything. Not about Eddie. Not about Ben.

But that's what happened with Ben, too. Instead of talking about their lives, about what it's like for him to be a clone, about the struggles he faces... they just pretended it wasn't happening. They pretended they were just a 'normal' couple. At least, they pretended until the relationship imploded.

Would Dick understand why she was doing what she's doing if she told him? Maybe. Probably. Does she deserve that kind of understanding? Is it 'right' for her to be sitting here trying to help Ben instead of going home and talking to Dick about all the things she's never told him? All the things she's never asked him? All the things that suddenly feel like heavy anchors she's dragging through every minute that passes?

Gwen Stacy has posed:
4:33AM...

Gwen still isn't home, but a text from Dick when he gets up to start getting ready for work is responded to just a few seconds after he seconds it.

>> Still on campus. The library closed at 2AM, so I had to move to one of the 24 hour labs. Unless something comes up, I'll be home by the end of your shift.


9:25AM...

Gwen sits against the window on the Hyperloop, her backpack and two separate canvas bags sitting at her feet, weighed down with textbooks and empty notepads. She rests her forehead against the glass, staring out at the scenery that streaks past.

It's not a long ride from NYC to Gotham. It wouldn't be long enough -- hasn't been long enough -- to get lost in her own thoughts, her own worries, her own insecurities... except that she's already been festering in them. Trying not to dwell, she focuses on trying to think of solutions to Ben's cellular degeneration, numbers and formulas racing through her mind...

11:05AM...

She knows she should get some sleep, but she can't. There are too many possible solutions, and if she doesn't get them out on paper, she might lose them.

So, she sets an alarm for 4PM.

As long as she stops by 4PM, she'll have time to get cleaned up and get a little rest before Dick gets home.

NOW ? 5:27PM

Even with Spider strength, the aerodynamics of a balled up piece of scrap paper aren't very impressive to behold. It thunks lightly against wall and tumbles down into the rest of the pile.

The 'silent' scream probably looks agonized, but the sound is simply absorbed into the cacophony, her hands fisting into her hair. Then, to top it all off, the music stops, and the sudden silence is deafening.

"WHAT THE F -- !!!"

Before she can even finish the word, Dick is beside her, still in his uniform, on one knee, taking her hands, and the sight is...

...the sight is...

...overwhelming.

Her ears are still ringing from the loss of the music and the sudden rush of anger that makes her own pulse deafening, but her blue eyes are watching his lips move. They're tracing the lines of worry on his face, the imploring look in his eyes.

It's like waking up from a dream. She doesn't understand. He's not supposed to be here. Her alarm hasn't gone off. Her mind is spinning, but she's so sleep deprived, so exhausted from trying permutation after permutation that she struggles to clutch onto an explanation. They buzz around like flies in her mind, taunting her.

What's wrong?... What's WRONG?

What's RIGHT?

She's living in luxury while Ben is falling apart, and she did nothing.. NOTHING up this point to help him. She abandoned him when he started struggling because she was such a horrible girlfriend that she didn't even know. Now he has no one, and she has...

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Tears well in her lower lids as she stares at Dick, but Gwen's jaw flexes, refusing to let them spill over. Her fingers curl around his. Seconds tick past after that question, the pain and the exhaustion clear in her face, but she struggles to find the words.

He wasn't supposed to be home early. She was supposed to have time to get a shower, to maybe grab a nap. Why was he home early? It's not even...

Her gaze lifts to the clock on the wall and widen. It's still early for him to be home, but what happened to her alarm?! She was supposed to stop an hour and a half ago...

Her lips part when her eyes shift back to him, trying to figure out what words to say, but it's like wading through waist-deep mud. Her brain, much less her body, is so... so tired.

"What?" she finally manages, starting to uncurl her stiff legs from the position she's been in for hours. "I... guess I got carried away. It's early. Why are you home?"

As if the answer might be somewhere in the house, she look around, yet all she finds is a sea of crumpled pieces of paper. Which, little does she know, is very much part of the reason he's home. Her expression falls.

"Crap... I'm sorry. I was supposed to have all of this cleaned up before you got back..."

And as if drawn by invisible marionette strings, she starts to stand. Presumably to start cleaning.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Dick Grayson knows a little bit about manic behavior. He knows a little bit about sleep deprivation and the toll that it can take on a person. He knows something about what stress can do to a person at it's absolute worst.

Upon occasion he has suffered from all of those things. Upon occasion he has been guilty of pushing himself too hard on a case, of letting things build up until they just kind of explode. But more then that, he has seen this sort of thing in others. The Bat 'Family' is already an unusual assemblage, certainly made up of highly skilled, highly capable people. But they do tend to push themselves pretty hard.

And no one pushes themselves harder then Bruce. For all his seeming control, all his seeming discipline, there aren't many that feel the weight of their every failure as much as the family patriarch does either.

So these are all the sorts of things that he has seen before. He recognizes the symptoms. Despite whatever front Gwen might try to put on the situation, he can see the exhaustion so clearly reflected in her eyes, he can see how it plagues her.

He doesn't know the source of course. He can't really. There are things that they haven't talked about. How could they? What they have might be incredibly intense, it might have brought them together, made them move in together after barely weeks of having their acquaintance renewed. They might have spent every moment possible since then together, when other obligations aren't pulling them in different directions. But there is only so much ground that can be covered.

Some things will just go unsaid.

It's not that he isn't interested in knowing her better, in learning and understanding more about her past. Though in some ways she has less then most. Not in memory of course, but in the physical manifestation to share them. This isn't her world. Her family isn't her family, at least on one level. The photos that fill her father's apartment are not actually of her. They are, in point of fact, a sort of reminder that she doesn't belong. At least not entirely.

And Dick can't imagine what that's like.

Of course she has had, well, closing in on five years to make her own memories her in this world. To get involved in other people's lives and have them get involved in hers. Of course she has ties. Of course she has things to share. And Dick will happily listen, to learn about her, and share his own experiences in turn.

It just won't really change how he feels about her, how he views her. Who she was might have shaped who she happens to be now, but it is not the sum total of her. And who she is now is what matters as far as Dick Grayson is concerned.

And who she is right at the moment is someone who is clearly going through a lot. Someone who is clearing facing something and struggling with it. He can see her confusion in how he can be here, see her confusion on what time it is, how she could so lose track of where she is and what she's doing. That it might have something to do with her ex doesn't even occur to Dick. But it wouldn't trouble him if it did.

All that matters right now to him is that she quite clearly is in pain. She is struggling.

As she gets to her feet, as she tries to start cleaning up the mess of notes and books scattered about, the crumpled pages thrown aside in frustration, he reaches out once more, hands falling on her shoulders for the moment to bring her up short, to stop her from cleaning up, from apologizing.

"You don't need to apologize. Just leave it for now. It'll keep," he assures her quietly, one arm slipping around her, starting to steer her deeper into the house. Maybe towards the kitchen, intent on getting food - or at least tea - into her. Maybe right to bedroom to make sure she sleeps some before she simply collapses from exhaustion. He knows that she has greater then human endurance.

But even she can only take so much and quite clearly she's near to her breaking point.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
It feels awkward and she hates it, this guilt she's carrying around -- guilt about everything that's ever happened. But also guilt that she doesn't know how to tell him about Ben. Guilt that she doesn't trust it won't all fall apart. Fear that the moment it isn't all sunshine and roses it will all fall apart.

Fear that if she explains everything, he'll look at her like her father once looked at Ghost-Spider, and she'll turn to ash and blow away.

But she's so tired. And he's so... warm. Safe.

Home. He's... home.

She hadn't really put up a fight when he took her shoulders to stop her, turning to look at him, apology still firmly in her eyes. She knows she's not, but that feeling of being a guest in his house had come rushing back in to fill the space. She was being messy and disrespectful. She should have had it clean. She should have been paying more attention...

But then his arm comes around her, and she sinks into his side, turning her face into his chest and closing her eyes. It doesn't matter that he's in his uniform, that he still has his gear on. She still fits. She still moves with him, her lithe, dancer's form effortless to steer and guide through the house.

"I'm a horrible person," she whispers. And somehow, it doesn't seem like she's talking about making a mess.

She draws in a deep breath and blows it out slowly, one arm looping back around him in turn as she leeeaans a little more against him on their way to... wherever. She doesn't seem to care. Her eyes are still closed. She's certainly not adding any steering input.

"I have so much I need to tell you. So much has happened, and I don't even know where to start."

A soft, mirthless laugh bubbles up past her lips.

"But I can't tell you without betraying someone's trust... more than just one. People I care about. People that may never trust me again, if I do. That's the irony of the thing. I've never been able to be open and honest. I can't even talk to the man I love about the people closest to me... so what am I supposed to do?"

Dick Grayson has posed:
In some ways, in almost all ways, the hardest part of all of this is to see her suffering and not really knowing the reason why.

To be sure Gwen is able to talk in some generalities. Clearly all of this has something to do with someone or someones that she's close to, and whatever it is she has apparently made promises - or feels like there is one implied - not to discuss it.

So for a moment Dick just holds her to him, cradles her close against him, doing his best to insure that she isn't pressed against any of his kit. Though in all honesty he doubts that she would notice at the moment. Maybe she would even prefer it. Maybe she would find that it serves some sort of penance to have his gear jabbing against her uncomfortably.

Any progress towards the back of the Lakehouse is stalled for the moment as he just holds her there in the middle of the room, the view of the lake ignored, the small mountain of textbooks and notepads ignored. Just her in the circle of his arms as he makes quiet, soothing sounds.

A part of him feels like he should just scoop her up into his arms, to carry her back to the bedroom and tuck her in. Sit beside her and stroke her hair until she drifts off.

But he has a feeling that the sheer stress of the moment might keep sleep at bay, that no matter how exhausted she is, she just might be worked up enough that sleep won't find her. Or if it does, it will be unsettled, disturbing, and bring little rest or relief.

That seems to decide him and when he lets her go, when he just keeps that one arm draped around her back, he steers her down the hall towards the kitchen. Maybe he can calm her, at least enough so that she can rest. It seems the best alternative. For now.

"You're not a horrible person he says quietly, leaning over to brush a kiss across her forehead. "You're about the furthest thing from. Because if you were, whatever has you so upset wouldn't be bothering you at all. Clearly you care, and people who care are never horrible," he asserts quietly, guiding her into the kitchen, over to the island counter and up onto one of the stools there before turning aside, moving to get the kettle going, to get water boiling.

It's a rule. Hot beverages for people who are struggling.

"You don't have to tell me anything until you feel like you can. If you have a trust you have to keep, that's okay. I understand. Just so long as you know that I'm here to listen to whatever you can share. Whatever you absolutely have to get out," he asserts quietly. "Because clearly you need to get some of it out, Gwen. You're struggling, that much is obvious. And if whatever this about, whoever this about cares about you even half as much as you so clearly clear about them and their issues, they would be agreeing with me," he says quietly but firmly.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Gwen wants to scoff. She wants to swat away his assurance that she isn't horrible like so many flies in the middle of a summer heat wave.

But she can't. She can't try to convince the man she loves that she's horrible, because she knows on some level that.. he's right. She cares. Deeply. And maybe she's just really bad at her implementation of caring. Or maybe... maybe being a disappointment isn't the same as being horrible.

She sags against him.

She sags when he stands there and holds her, gripping him back in a tight squeeze, and she sags when he starts walking again, until he's deposited her onto that stool and, instead of sitting upright, she leans forward onto the counter and folds her arms under her head.

"I can't even ask them!" she protests about them agreeing with him, leaning up just enough to throw one hand helplessly into the air in frustration. "What am I supposed to tell them? That I want to air all of their dirty laundry to my boyfriend who also, by the way, happens to have a secret identity?!"

Her forehead settles down into her hand, elbow on the counter, fingers slipping into her blonde and pink tresses.

It's eating at her. It's festering. And in Dick's presence, it's starting to burn like she's holding a red hot coal that she's struggling to hold.

"It's stupid. I've had one girlfriend and three boyfriends in the last five years... which probably isn't that great of a track record. But I don't talk about that, partially because I'm afraid it's really not a great track record, partially because I don't know how you're even supposed to have that conversation, partially because there are secrets involved, and partially because I... I don't even know what you'd think of me if I told you what really happened. And I don't know if I -- "

Her voice cracks. Her eyes shift downwards. She tries to close them, to lock in the tears, but she's too slow.. or the tears are too heavy. They roll down her cheeks, and her other hand joins the first in her hair, elbows beside each other on the counter top, holding herself up.

"I can't lose you, too." It's barely a whisper, her voice so brittle, her eyes still closed.

Not.. don't want to. Can't.

Dick Grayson has posed:
What he wants to do is just wrap her up in his arms, wants to hold her close and kiss her eyelids shut. He wants to stifle her objections that she's horrible, to stroke away the fears and insecurities and pain that has clearly taken a toll on her for the past day or more. He wants to make her smile, to make it okay.

But it feels like it would just be plastering over whatever it is that's troubling her. That it would be an itty-bitty band-aid on a very deep and serious wound. Entirely inadequate for the task. A half measure at best.

It's the same reason he didn't escort her straight to bed. Yes, she needs sleep. But she needs a deep sleep, a restful sleep, and he isn't sure she's capable of that right now. So for the moment, other measures will just have to suffice.

Which is why he waits for the water in the kettle to boil. Why he stands on the opposite side of that island counter from her. He's been here before, usually on the other side of the counter, back in the Manor. Venting to Alfred, getting out whatever he needs to, to his grandfather figure.

He moves to stand opposite her, slides his hands out over the counter to find her own, to envelope them in his and squeeze them tightly.

"We live complicated lives Gwen," he says quietly. "I get that. There's things that I haven't shared with you even though I trust you implicitly and have no desire to keep anything from you. Because not all the secrets are mine, not all the confidences are just mine to tell. I wouldn't ask you to break faith with those that trust you," he points out quietly.

He laces fingers through her own, gaze seeking out hers for a moment as he leans out a little across the island now. "If you can't share anything, don't. And don't think for a moment I'll think less of you because you can't, or because anything you might have done in your life," he asserts. "If you can share some of it and leave out key details, names, then do that," he adds, suggesting one possible out. "But you have to stop letting it eat away at you, no matter what. Stop beating yourself up. Whatever it is, you don't deserve this," he says, voice still soft and gentle, but no less definitive for that fact.

"You can't lose me. I'm not sure you could even get rid of me if you wanted to," he says with a half smile, lifting up one of her hands, brushing his lips across her knuckles before letting it slip free, turning as the kettle sounds behind him. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you. You're stuck with me Gwen Stacy. Come what may, you're mine and I'm yours," he says firmly, beginning to gather cups and tea.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
'I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you. You're stuck with me Gwen Stacy. Come what may, you're mine and I'm yours.'

I'm not going anywhere.

And neither are you.

It's... such a powerful sentiment. He had her rapt attention ever since he reached across the counter for her, and of course she lowered her hands into his, set them gratefully in his larger palms, squeezed when his fingers closed around them and touched her small wrists. But it wasn't until he spoke those words that all of those walls she was trying to stand up just... collapsed.

It's so assertive that it feels like a command as much as a statement of fact -- that she belongs to him, and whatever she may be thinking, he's making up her mind for her. She's not leaving. So calm. So absolutely certain of his place in her life.

It's exactly what she needs. And just as he turns around with cups in his hands, she's there, crashing into his front -- so fast and utterly silent in her movements that she couldn't possibly have crossed that distance. But she did, in the blink of an eye. Her arms go around him again, her blonde temple buried against his collarbone.

"I love you," she whispers. "I may never deserve you, but I love you... more than you can know."

The concern. The patience. The understanding. The tenderness.

It's almost more than she can bear, and yet she squeezes him and it seems to lighten the weight just a little. Enough for her to breath. Enough for her to get control of the tears and fight through some of that exhaustion. Enough to... to think -- rationally -- if just for a few minutes.

"I don't know where to start.. so.. I'm just going to start at the beginning," she says. "It'll make sense, eventually. I hope. I don't know. Maybe."

Finally, she slips away from him again, gives him the chance to keep making tea as she walks (at normal people speed) back around to that stool and slides back up onto it again.

"I... always wanted to be in a band. So, my dad got me a drum set when I was eleven. I never had a lot of friends, but I thought a band would help me feel like part of something."

She takes in a breath and blows it out slowly.

"My mom died of cancer when I was thirteen, and things with my dad..."

She shrugs, her voice trailing off for a moment as her eyes slip down to where she fidgets with her fingernails.

"He did the best he could. It hit us both hard. Things got worse between us the next year when I got bitten by the spider that gave me my powers. I didn't know how to tell him. I.. didn't know how to tell anyone. I was only fourteen, and suddenly it felt like I was.. invincible. Like I could see things before they happened, you know? Walk up walls. Stick to ceilings. My dad was always talking responsibility and his job and how, if he didn't do it, someone else would have to... and... I kind of felt like, if I had these powers, I had a responsibility to use them for good."

She cringes.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"Unfortunately, I couldn't tell him that. He didn't know. And, but the time I worked up the courage to say anything even close to, 'Hey dad.. guess what? I've got superpowers,' I... had already made the news. And he was talking about how bad vigilantes are. How they're just criminals themselves, not answerable to anyone."

Another deep breath. Another long sigh.

"I... couldn't tell anyone. Not my dad. Not my best friend. Peter was..."

Her eyes close, and for a few seconds, she goes absolutely silent.

"Peter was so smart. He was there for me when no one else was," she continues softly, her voice cracking. "And I was there for him." Another tear slides down her cheek. "But I kept it a secret from him, so... he didn't really know me. And, I... didn't really know him."

Her jaw works, clenching and unclenching.

"My dad eventually found out anyway. I.. I stopped a guy from killing him, but it wasn't enough. He had me at gunpoint, and... there wasn't anything else I could do. I took off my mask. He tried to arrest me. And after that, we..."

She shakes her head, apparently unable to find the words to describe the look of disappointment in his eyes. Unable to articulate how the one man who was supposed to love her unconditionally turned his back on her. So, after a few seconds, she just continues without them.

"After graduation, there was a party. I'd been fighting this... giant lizard... off and on for a couple of years, and he showed up. And we were fighting. And.."

She shakes her head, lowering her face back into her hands, her voice growing shaky.

"There was an accident. He just kept coming, and.."

More tears. Her voice breaks as the crying starts in earnest.

"I didn't want him to die. I didn't know it was Peter. I didn't know he knew about me. I didn't know he was trying to give himself powers. I wasn't there for him. He died in my arms... because of me. Because I wasn't paying attention. Because I failed him."

Her fingers curl once more into her hair.

"And the police showed up.. and my dad was there.. and I didn't know what else to do. So I ran. And they chased me. I didn't know where to go. Somehow, I ended up in OsCorp... and..."

Another deep breath.

"...and then you found me."

Dick Grayson has posed:
For a moment she seems to snap out of that drifting despair. For a moment, some of that worry he feels for her lightens just a little - clearly she still needs to talk about it all, clearly needs to get some of that weight off her chest before it smothers her - but at least it feels like she might get there.

At the very least she might be able to unburden herself enough so that she will at least be able to get some rest. Sleep might not be quite magical in its healing abilities, but it can go a long way to at least helping that she feels human again, instead of this little bundle of failings that she has wrapped herself in, that she has somehow convinced herself reflects the truth of her.

He might not be able - or at least not willing - to force her to talk to him, to force her to let go of some of the burden that she's carrying, but he can at least provide the space for her to do so. He can encourage her to do so. Make it easier to have it slip free.

When she practically hurls himself across the counter, even Dick, with his almost superhuman reflexes, even he is a little taken aback. But that doesn't keep his arms from going around her in turn almost at once, wrapping her up close to him, drawing her in against his chest.

The breath he lets out is audible, the relief in it palpable and he holds her tightly, fingers slipping up to play gently through her hair, stroking and soothing. "I love you too Gwen. So incredibly much," he assures her gently, tilting his head just enough to brush lips across her cheek before letting his own nestle against hers. Content to just be there for her, as long as she needs him.

He is reluctant to slip away from her now, even when the kettle sounds. Reluctant to break that close contact, reluctant to let her be anywhere but in the circle of his arms. And while he certainly hopes, certainly believes that his presence alone might help her work through some of this, might help her recover at least a small portion of her equilibrium, he suspects that not a lot of food or drink has passed her lips since... whatever it is that is troubling her went down.

This might be a good first step. Getting back some sense of normalcy matters too, and when she begins to gently untangle from him, he lingers for just a moment, making sure that she is alright, brushing another kiss across her forehead before slipping over to pour that hot water, to add that tea to the mix, giving it a moment to steep.

He positions himself at the opposite counter so he remains half facing her, half facing the mugs beside him so he can easily swing his gaze back and forth. To make sure that she knows that he is listening. as she launches into what she needs to say.

And what she apparently needs to say is very much wrapped up in her life before she arrived in this world. Just a hint of what it was like. To find herself without a mother at a young age. To have to go through acquiring superpowers on her own, with no one to talk to. Having the one person who should accept her, should love he no matter what turn his back on her, to let that relationship fall apart entirely.

The isolation. The loneliness. And then to find out that her best friend had known all along, that it was that knowledge that had ruined his life, that knowledge that had ultimately cost him his life. And left her truly, completely alone.

Right before she ended up here. Right before she came into his life for the first time. Hurt, and alone, and vulnerable. He might not have been ready to be there for her back then.

But he is now.

So Dick listens. Listens without interrupting her. Listens without questioning her. Listens without judging her. He just listens, and lets her say what she needs to, finally turning back to the counter, bringing over that mug and setting it down, sliding it across the island to her.

"And then I found you," he agrees quietly, breaking that silence at last, reaching across the island once more to lay claim to her free hand, gripping it tightly in his own.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"Thank you," Gwen murmurs when she slides that mug of tea closer, cradling it in one hand while Dick cradles -- grips -- the other. She squeezes him back, just letting the streaks of tears sit on her cheeks, undisturbed. Her nose is pink. Her eyes are red, and they still have those dark bags under them.

She's still so tired, but she's determined, now. Determined to get it all out. Determined to let Dick completely into her world. Damn the consequences.

"Before I tell you the rest, please understand that... I need to be able to talk to you. I don't just need someone to talk to. I need you to talk to, and I can't unless I tell you... everything. Okay? I don't expect you to suddenly tell me everything.. that's not what this is about."

There's a pause for understanding before she goes on.

"Peter and I... we have a kind of... symmetry. In my dimension, I was Spider-Woman, and he died in my arms. In this dimension, Gwen died in his arms..."

Maybe if she didn't say it out loud, that made it better? She gives it a second, that look on her face... heavy. Significant.

"Sometimes, I wonder if Gwen Stacy and Peter Parker are destined to love each other in every dimension... but only for a little while, before it ends badly."

There's a sad little tick of a smile before she lifts the cup of tea to her lips and takes her first sip, eyes lowering to the cup as she sets it back down slowly.

"Peter and I are... friends." Another little tick of a sad smile. "Sort of. When we talk. It's hard... for both of us. We're not... super close, but we know we'd be there for each other, you know?"

For a moment, her eyes lift back to him, searching, like his eyes might hold the answers for how to even continue in a way that makes sense.

"When Zee... fixed... everything, so that no one remembered Gwen dying.. even Peter forgot. For a little while. Until I told him. And that was one of the hardest conversations I've ever had to have. I had to watch him remember and know exactly how it felt. But everybody thought that Peter and I were together... because Peter and Gwen had been together. And, a bunch of people -- including my dad -- kind of freaked out when I woke up from a coma and started dating a girl. I guess... Gwen didn't like girls? At least, not that she advertised."

There's a little shrug, then.

"Anyway... lots of things happened in there. Zee and I broke up. Later, I started dating a guy named Eddie Brock. We're still friends. Sort of. Just before you and I started dating, I promised I would go to a concert with. You are, obviously, invited."

She smiles thinly, fingernail gently tapping the handle of her mug.

"Eddie and I broke up. Then Peter got sucked into another dimension."

She moistens her lips, her hand shifting, fingers slipping through his -- interlacing together as if to bind them, afraid he might somehow slip away.

"I... don't even know how to explain the rest. I've only learned some of it since yesterday. So... here goes. Spider-Man was cloned. Twice... that I know of. When Peter vanished, Ben started pretending to be Peter. We... didn't tell anyone. As far as everyone else knew, Spider-Man never left. Ben has Peter's memories. His powers. Everything. For a while, he thought he was Peter and that Peter was the clone. But that's..."

She shakes her head.

"The point is, Peter... Ben, I mean... and I sort of stuck together during that entire thing. And, we... ended up together. My dad and his Aunt May -- Peter's Aunt May -- were thrilled we were... back together."

Sigh.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"And I get how weird and creepy this all sounds. Because Peter, but not Peter. And definitely not my Peter.. and I'm not Peter's Gwen and..."

She shakes her head, trying to push through the fog of discomfort.

"Peter made it back. Ben went back to being Ben... though I didn't really make a big deal about it. I never told my dad, and I generally just tried to avoid talking about it. What was I going to say? That I started dating Peter's twin? Or just keep calling Ben Peter in front of him? It's wasn't... It wasn't easy. And about six months ago, we broke up. He had pulled away. It had gotten even weirder. He wouldn't talk to me. I assumed it was because of how hard it was to be with me, but we never really... it just sort of ended."

Once more, her fingers squeeze Dick's hand.

"Two days ago, I reached out to Ben. To wish him a Merry Christmas and tell him I hoped we could be friends. He texted right back and said he wanted to meet up. So, we did."

She takes another sip of her tea, licking her lips.

"Ever since he was... born? He's apparently suffered a kind of... cellular degeneration. I had no idea. I guess, about six months ago, he started losing control of his powers and having black-outs. He said he was afraid of what he was doing, so... he stayed away from me."

And there's the shadow that comes back over Gwen's eyes. The darkness. The agony that almost masquerades as anger.

Her lips open, then close again... scared to say the words out loud. Scared to say the words to Dick.

But they need to come out. They need to be heard.

"I left him," she says, her eyes boring into Dick's, the pain as clear as the color in them. "I left him... alone... when he needed someone the most. When my best friend -- my boyfriend -- was suffering, I was too busy to notice. Too busy not talking to him. Too afraid to ask him the hard questions. Too busy not being open and honest. And now it's six months later. For six months, I could have been working on it. I could have been trying to find a way to help him."

Another tear slides down her cheek.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Of course he already had some idea just how difficult the transition from her own world to this one was. He had a feel for certain things. While she shared a few of them, while they connected, even bonded over the fact that he was the first one to find her in this dimension after the cross-over, things weren't quite the same after that first night.

It was most definitely an opportunity lost, one that he can't help but regret in some ways. They could have entered each others lives sooner, could have been what they are now that much earlier in life.

Of course, he couldn't be who he is now without the events of the past four plus years, nor would she be the same person. Sometimes it is necessary to go through certain things, to endure certain things to find yourself in the right place to accept others, to open yourself up to others.

Still, as she begins to go into some greater detail about some of her struggles, some of the things that she just can't help wondering about like her potential ties to Peter, that they are always destined to be in a special relationship with one another and yet always leave the other hurt and lost in the aftermath.

It is a bleak sort of thought to be sure.

But he can perhaps better understand then most. The notion of other realities is not a completely foreign thing to him. He might not be out of place, not out of his world, his reality, but he has dealt with those sorts of things on occasions.

Still, it largely requires himself trying to put himself into her shoes as she details the difficulty that goes with seeing one of the people who meant the most of you, who died in your arms, but who is very much alive and well in this world. Familiar... but not. He nods a little, when she makes it clear how important it is for her to share all of this, for him to understand.

And as she continues, Dick perhaps gets a somewhat better notion of why all of this is troubling her. Why she needs to share all of this right now. Why the idea of them sharing more - sharing better - is so clearly at top of mind for his beautiful blonde girlfriend.

Even as he listens, even that that mind that has been shaped by the World's Greatest Detective mulls over everything she's sharing, Dick doesn't let go of her hand. There is a temptation that now that he has got her to drink something, he try and take the next step. That he gets her to eat something too. That he tries and restores another layer of normalcy to her.

But that would also mean pulling away, and right now more then normalcy what she might need most is his full and undivided attention. As she fills in some of the holes that naturally came up as they drifted apart in the aftermath of her arrival. As she explains just what happened once he, and just about everyone else, forgot that she wasn't the Gwen Stacy of this world. Forgot that she might have some terribly unique struggles that she was going through that only a handful slowly got to remember as she shared the truth.

On one hand he doesn't worry about her dating history. They all have a history. What Dick is concerned with is the future that they are making with one another here and now. But as she goes through that history, from Zatanna to Eddie to Ben - Peter's clone apparently - he begins to understand a little better why it is so important to her. Why it was so important to go back to the beginning - at least Ghost-Spider/Spider-Woman's beginning. To try and make him see and understand.

This is the world they live in. Where people can be cloned. Where the clone takes over the original's life, even with the best of intentions. Where she got a version of her best friend back, one who's heart maybe didn't ache in quite the same way every time he sees her.

Dick Grayson has posed:
HIs fingers lace through her own as she gets to the heart of the matter. To what has her falling apart. Has her listening to music at a volume that could define. What has their living room cluttered with textbooks of biochemistry and genetics. Has the trashbin - and the floor - overflowing with discarded sheets of paper.

Why she thinks she failed. Why she thinks she's horrible.

His fingers lace through hers, squeeze around them and he leans out over the island counter towards her before he gives up that idea. Before he just circles around it entirely. He lets go of her hand, but only so he can slip up behind where she is perched on that stool and wrap arms around her, to draw her back against his chest.

"I know why you feel that way. I might feel the same way in your shoes," he agrees quietly. He leans over, he kisses away that tear that runs down the side of her cheek. "I know it feels like you let him down. But when you listed out some of the things that you can do, you didn't once say that you can read minds. That you are any better then the rest of us at understanding what someone is going through if they don't choose to share what they're going through.

"I'm sorry about Ben," he says quietly, sincerely, those arms tightening around her as if he very well might never let her go. "But you didn't make him keep these things from you. You didn't cause any of his problems. You're the one person that he probably should have looked to first. And he didn't. And that's not a crime, it's even understandable. But you can't hold yourself responsible," he insists.

"What's your first reaction when you do find out? It's to try and help him. You're doing what you can Gwen. It's one of the reasons you're so amazing," Dick continues softly. "But you can't tear yourself down in the process. Mistakes might have been made, but it doesn't sound like they were made by you. And now you're doing what you can to try and fix them," he points out, turning that stool around slowly so he can face her, so he can lean forward and wipe away a few more of those tears and kiss her softly.

"But you're not going to be able to help anyone if you don't take care of yourself too," he says reasonably, hands on either side of her, just holding her.

Dick Grayson has posed:
"You're going to finish that tea. We're going to get you something to eat because you need it. Then I'm going to take you and put you in bed. And I just might kiss you, and hold you until you fall asleep."

And that, is apparently that.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
It's not that Gwen expected Dick to react badly. It's that she was worried that she wouldn't be able to accept -- to handle -- the sheer amount of love, understanding, and support she knew she would get from him.

The three things she didn't feet like she deserved.

Twice, she let some form of Peter Parker into her heart and claimed to care about him. Both times, she was oblivious to what he was going through. The first time, her ignorance had killed him. The second time... was still to be determined. Even aside from her own father making her feel like she was a monster, how could she possibly deserve love or understanding after that?

Yet, when Dick comes around the counter and wraps his arms around her, she sink into him. She luxuriates in the firmness of his chest, the thickness of his arms... his warmth. She could bathe in this feeling, breathe it in like oxygen. Better than oxygen. It's... intoxicating.

Her hand comes up to cling to him as her eyes slip closed, feeling the rumble of his chest when he speaks all the way down into her bones and letting it resonate through her like a bass drum. She doesn't deserve it, but it soaks into her very soul, and her fingers curl tighter on his arm.

When his lips dip against her cheek to kiss away her tear, her chin tilts up, her face lifting to him like a flower towards the sun. Her sun. Her warmth. Her light. Her life. Her anchor. He is... everything.

The stool rotates, and she stretches up to receive that kiss, even as those big, blue eyes gaze up at him.

'But you're not going to be able to help anyone if you don't take care of yourself too.'

She's lost. Not quite hopeless, but distraught. Confused. Seeking his help, his love, but unsure what to do with it. She doesn't know how to react... what to do. The argument is already there in her expression, sitting on the tip of her tongue. She can't stop. She can't take a break. With every minute that passes...

'You're going to finish that tea. We're going to get you something to eat because you need it. Then I'm going to take you and put you in bed. And I just might kiss you, and hold you until you fall asleep.'

It's so... definitive.

Breath that she didn't even realize she was holding rushes past her lips, making her shoulders sag. It's not just that she knows he's right. She's... grateful. Grateful for the direction. Grateful for his support. Grateful for an evening that sounds like something out of a fairytale compared to the last couple of days.

She shakes her head ever so slightly. Not in disagreement, but in disbelief and wonder. It's never been like this.

In all of the years since her mother died, no matter how many people she helped or how hard she struggled, no one really took care of her. No one stayed through her secrets, her struggles, her emotional needs.

No one has ever been there when she really needed them. Not to reassure her everything was going to be okay. Not to promise her that they'd love her unconditionally.

No one besides Dick.

Nearly five years ago, he was the only thing that stood between her and utter hopelessness, but today... today, he holds such an important place in her life and in her heart that reality itself might shatter without him.

"I love you," she breathes, unable and unwilling to try to look away from his eyes, her hands sliding up to touch his jaw and the side of his neck. "I'm sorry." Not a general apology. There's conviction in her eyes. "I don't know how you knew, but I'm sorry you had to come home early. I'm sorry I... freaked out. I'm sorry there's so much."

Dick Grayson has posed:
The truth is that he isn't telling her anything that she doesn't already know for herself. On some level she no doubt knows that she couldn't help someone who wasn't ready to let her in, wasn't ready to share the truth with her, wasn't in a place where he felt comfortable asking her for help, admitting that he was scared and worried about what was going on.

Just like she surely understands that if she passes out due to hunger and exhaustion she can't research the problem, she can't dig through textbooks looking for inspiration. The body can only be pushed so far. More, while it is capable of some truly startling things when under pressure, unrelenting pressure doesn't tend to make people turn into diamonds.

It tends to make them break.

And if she breaks, there will be one less person out there looking to help Ben. He won't get better because she is determined to do something, anything for the perceived failing of giving up on him too soon. For not being able to read his mind.

For not knowing that there was something wrong, just like there was something wrong with the Peter of her world.

There might be a fine line, in Dick instructing her what she's going to do next. To overriding her concerns, her need to help and insisting that she takes a break. But it is coming from a good place in this case. It isn't hard to see that Gwen is on the edge right now, in this moment and Dick has no intention of letting her fall. Not when he can catch her.

When you love someone it isn't easy - sometimes it isn't even possible - to just... stand aside.

Part of it is that he has some idea of what she is going through. Not her specific situation. But that feeling of helplessness. That feeling that he didn't do enough to change things, to save the people that mattered.

He watched his parents die, right in front of him, a seeming accident that was anything but. He watched them plunge to their deaths while he survived. While he stood helplessly on that platform, unable to defy gravity, unable to soar out and catch them.

When Bruce took him in, he could see the rage building in him. The hurt. The anger. And he gave him an outlet. He gave him the release valve that he needed. That was a fine line too, taking a child and putting him into the line of fire. But it was what Dick needed. It prevented him from walking down the same, dark path that Bruce ended up going down. It prevented him from becoming another Batman. It prevented him from becoming something even worse.

So while Bruce gave him the outlet, it was Alfred that gave him something even more important.

He gave him a home again.

Gwen doesn't need vengeance right now. Maybe that will come. Maybe there is someone out there who is responsible, someone that they can punch for answers. But what she needs right now is someone who cares. Someone who will listen. Someone who, if they can't just kiss it better, will at least do everything they can to make the situation a little more bearable.

Dick is willing to do that. Dick is going to do that.

It's a fine line. By rights he should make a proper meal for her. But it is a battle between what she needs most, sustenance and rest. So he holds her tightly a moment longer, he goes right on feathering those kisses across her cheeks, her eyelids, her lips, and buries a hand in her hair to hold her close.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. It's a lot. I mean, it's practically mind boggling even without what you just learned," he says quietly. "We'll get you something to eat and we'll take you to bed. And hopefully things will look a bit more manageable tomorrow," he says with a smile, fingers trailing across her cheek.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Then, finally, reluctantly he lets her slip free of that embrace. He goes back across the kitchen, starting to put together something quick and easy. "Actually, it was the music," he offers up in explanation, a brief smile touching his lips. "Alfred was airing out one of the spare bedrooms and he could hear it with the windows open, just barely. But he knew it was a little strange so he gave me a call. When I couldn't get through to you, of course I was going to come and check on you," he says, piling up a plate with fruit, cheese and cold meat.

"I love you Gwen. I'll always be there for you."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
There's a lot to be said for trust. When it's missing from your life, you can be in a stadium full of people, yet still be utterly alone. But if you can find it within yourself to give someone a piece of your soul, to make yourself vulnerable, to believe that they will always have your best interests at heart... magical things can happen.

Great devastation is possible, too, but there are things that Dick can say and do that would provoke scornful laughter at anyone else who tried.

'Being told what to do? Gwen?! Please...'

Yet, from Dick, it seems to relax her and sharpen the rest of her day into something clearer focus than she's had in hours. Days, maybe. How long has it been since she's eaten, anyway? Since... well... since before she met Ben for coffee. Pizza with Ben and Peter, maybe? A couple of days, at this point?

That trust she has in him assures her that he's not trying to hurt her, manipulate her, or control her. Like holding up a light in the dark, he's trying to help her by giving her direction. A path to walk. Priorities unclouded by panic and anguish.

There was a time not that long ago that she would have been lost to this, forced to find her own way out of the dark. But now she turns her face up into those kisses, closing her eyes as they brush against her lids, taking in a deep breath and stretching up to capture his mouth briefly with hers.

She may not be used to being taken care of in this way, but she isn't going to argue with it.

"Thank you," she whispers, managing a soft, affectionate smile.

But then he's pulling away, and though that sense of emptiness and darkness tries to creep in around the edges, she turns back to the counter and cups her tea like she's holding on to a reference point -- an anchor to this time, this place, this dimension.

The music...

"Oh my God," she blurts out, covering her mouth, her eyes wider. "I didn't realize..."

'When I couldn't get through to you...'

It takes her a couple of seconds for that to really sink in. She blinks a couple of times, then whips her head around to look back at the couch. Her phone is still sitting where she left it... on the arm of the couch, forgotten.

Her hand comes up. Thwip A webline shoots out of her sleeve, snagging it and jerking it back into her palm. Thumb scroll. Thumb scroll.

Her expression falls. Missed calls. Missed texts. Her hand comes back up to her forehead, and she closes her eyes.

What if it had been important? What if Dick had needed her? What if -- ?

She lets out a slow groan and collapses back onto the counter, folding her arms to rest her forehead against them.

"You can't love me," she moans dramatically, voice muffled against her arms. "I am the worst girlfriend in the entire world. You'd be better off with a dog."

Maybe.. maybe there's just a little self-deprecating humor that creeps back into her voice, but there's also an abundance of unspoken apology. She could just keep saying she's sorry over and over and over and over again, but even she seems to realize that the number of things she feels the need to apologize for has already reached unsustainable numbers. And so she just seems to lay there in agony, perhaps hoping the earth will open up and swallow her.

Alfred, of all people, called Dick to tell him his girlfriend was having a mental breakdown.

The earth opening up and swallowing her would be a mercy.

Dick Grayson has posed:
That she can find a moment of lightness at all, to let at least a little levity creep into that apology is reassuring. It gives Dick reason to believe that his words have managed to reach her, that the threat of crippling despair has at the very least been diverted for the time being. That yes, maybe she will be able to eat a bit, to relax a bit, and to sleep a bit.

All without him having to bodily throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to bed.

Not that he might not do it anyway of course, but she's much less likely to fight him over it. Which is a good thing all things considered, given that she is significantly stronger then him. He's no slouch or anything, but there is no proportional strength of a spider thing going on there.

The platter of fruit, cheese and cold cuts is set down in front of her as Dick once more joins the exquisite blonde on this side of the island counter, loosely draping an arm around her shoulders - no longer clinging to her, no longer trying to keep that heartache away by force of will alone. Just reminding her that he is here with her. That he is there if she needs him. That he cares. Sometimes just knowing that there is someone out there who can be counted to be there when needed makes the biggest difference of all.

It's not hard to see that flash of embarrassment, that it was Alfred of all people that alerted him to the fact that she might be having an issue. Though it is almost certain that the elderly gentleman wouldn't have put it anywhere near that particular fashion.

And despite her discomfort, Dick flashes a brief smile her way, leaning over to brush a kiss against the side of her neck lightly. "It's not that bad. I told him that you were into music, that you've done the whole drum thing before. Maybe he thought you were just rehearsing something. Really, really, loudly," he suggests.

He might want to stop helping on this point. He might, but clearly he decides not to, the corners of his mouth curling up a little.

"Hey, look on the bright side. Of all the things that he could have heard coming from this house, carrying out over the late, a little loud music is probably the best case scenario," he teases gently, pressing another quick kiss to her cheek before reaching back across the counter to retrieve his own mug of tea, taking a lingering sip.

He might not need the fluids like she does, but his afternoon has been just a little nerve-wracking. And while he doesn't blame her for any of it, she's not the only one that can likely benefit from a little decompression under the circumstances.

"Remind me to introduce you to Ace," he says with a slow smile. "I mean, he's a good boy and I'm pretty fond of dogs on the whole, but I can safely say that given the choice between cuddling up with him or cuddling up with you, I'm going to take you every single time," he notes wryly.

"Just don't ask about the cow. I'm not entirely sure how to explain that."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
It's the light click of the plate being set on the granite countertop that has Gwen lifting her head again, though the look in her eye seems somehow to be pleading for it to have been the rap of Death's scythe instead of a delicious looking platter of food.

Dick's arm around her back, though, goes a long way to lifting the darkness in that expression. Just that simple touch as her leaning against him, settling into the crook of his arm like she could live there forever. Being wrapped up, squeezed, held on to... it's what she needs, sometimes. But right now, just his presence, steadfast and rock solid, does absolute wonders for her mood.

...Plus, the way he kisses her neck doesn't hurt, either. It sends a ripple of pleasure down her spine that tugs a little smile onto her lips despite her recent efforts to will the Grim Reaper into existence.

"That... makes me feel a little better. Thank you," she says softly, reaching to make herself a little sandwich of meat and cheese and fruit. All together. Because she apparently she hasn't eaten in days, she has the tastebuds of a fourteen-year-old boy, and it's going to be delicious. Caviar would almost certainly be wasted on her.

Luckily, she doesn't quite get the little sandwich to her lips, because there's a choking bark of laughter that suddenly fills the room, her cheeks flaring bright red.

"That's it. From now on, we're only having sex in the cave," she announces, waving her sandwich dismissively before popping it into her mouth. And if she knew better, she would very much be hoping that Dick didn't take this moment to announce how many other people could hear them in the cave. She hasn't thought about it... clearly. And she definitely doesn't want to know that Dick's ex-fiancee is one of them.

The mention of Ace has her cutting her blue eyes suspiciously over at him while she's chewing the too-big-for-her-mouth bite she shoved past her lips anyway, covering her mouth with her fingers.

In fairness, she opened herself up to being directly compared to being replaced by a dog, but at least she came out the victor. It makes her eyes shine a little more brightly.

But then her eyebrows shoot up.

"Eres a hrow?"

Because apparently she can't say 'cow' with her mouth full.

At least she's still covering her mouth while she's talking through partially chewed food -- like a lady.

Dick Grayson has posed:
No Grim Reaper here. Just a plate full of food. And a very determined boyfriend who has no intentions of letting her slip back into a black mood. At least not until after she has had a chance to eat, decompress and get some rest.

After that, well, he's realistic. Gwen can't walk away from this, that much is clear. And really, Dick wouldn't expect her to. Nothing he has heard from her about the situation, or the circumstances that surround it in any way feel like they are her fault. Nothing feels like she should take on the weight of it, feel like she is responsible for it.

But if she can help, well of course she's going to do that. She would do that for a perfect stranger, how could she not do that for someone that she loves? Dick will certainly be there to support her, every step of the way as well.

He just won't allow her to tear herself down in the process. That's not an option either.

So if he can make her laugh, if he can banish some of that bleak mood that hangs over her, of course he's going to do that. Even if it means teasing her.

Though in fairness Dick would probably rather not think about Alfred overhearing some of what goes on behind these glass walls either.

He's probably not very likely to point out the potential problems of limiting their amorous activities to the cavern complex that runs beneath the grounds of the Wayne Estate either. He definitely doesn't want to point out that Bruce and most of the others make regular use of the main Batcave that is nestled beneath the Manor. That just like sound travels pretty well over open water, it does much the same in the echoes throughout the cave.

They haven't spent a great deal of time down there, beyond quickly suiting up while heading out on patrol together, grabbing one of the Batcycle's or the Nightbird to cover more ground - and to get into the city a little quicker. It might get just a little awkward the first time some distant sound from the main cave reaches them and he has to explain that it is not entirely inconceivably that any number of the others - including his ex - may have heard some of what goes on in the auxiliary cave beneath the Lakehouse.

Still the corners of his mouth quirk upwards ever so slightly, little laugh lines at the fringe of his eyes crinkling. "We'll see how long that resolve lasts," he offers back in a counter argument. Judging by the look in his eyes, he definitely has a few plans to put her declaration to the test.

It would seem that Dick speaks fluent food-in-the-mouth, perhaps no surprise given just how many 'siblings' he has in the Bat Family, most of them younger then himself. "There's a cow," he agrees with a solemn nod. "The current Robin is... an interesting guy. Not exactly the warmest member the family," he says drily. "But with a real soft spot for animals."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
This.

This is one of the many, many reasons she loves Dick so much. It's also one of the many things she will simply never be able to fully explain to her dad to help him make sense of the depth of her feelings. She found out years ago that even when her entire existence is shattered, he has the power to bring her back from the brink. No matter how bad things get, as long as she has him, he can make her feel like everything will be okay.

He doesn't even have to make that promise. No one can honestly make that promise. But he makes her feel it, anyway.

She's still chewing when he makes that remark about her resolve, though, and her eyes flash back to him, narrowed with a sheepish smile like he's just yanked on her ponytail.

...And she doesn't hate it.

Of course, that's an easy gauntlet for him to throw at her feet. Their chemistry is electric. She can feel it arcing, even now, when she's going on two days without sleep, almost no food, a heaping pile of guilt still sitting on her chest, and a brand new mountain of problems to solve she didn't even realize she had run away from. Judging by the way her eyes dip briefly down to his shoulders, the chances of that resolve lasting even one night -- especially now that the seed of interest has been freshly planted in her mind -- were pretty slim.

The tea and platter are delicious. His presence is always reassuring. A warm bed and a good night's sleep sound like heaven. But what she really needs is a chance to work out her frustrations, and lacking her usual drum set, she's apparently going to have to get creative with her outlets...

Finally, she finishes chewing, though she's already making herself another little sandwich.

"So there's one, singular cow? Doesn't it get lonely? Don't you need like... two cows, so they can socialize?"

It's hard to tell if she's joking, but that familiar light is back in those blue eyes, warm and absolutely infatuated with the man beside her. Apparently, some warm tea, food, and affection -- as he predicted -- are just what she needed.

"At some point, I should really make a point to... I don't know. Meet the rest of the... Bat-people? Batgirl showed up on that bridge, and I... I have to admit, I wasn't exactly sure she was going to know whose side I was on." That may be a little bit of an exaggeration, considering she rode in on the back of Dick's motorcycle, but still.

She pops another bite into her mouth, closing her mouth as she chews and setting her head on his shoulder as a slow, content sigh blows out through her nose.

"Awnk ou."

At least she finally got around to thanking him for making her food.

Dick Grayson has posed:
He has a solid grounding in the sciences. A general sort of knowledge that makes him fluent in everything, but not really an expert in anything. And where he does specialize it tends to be more in criminology and the various techniques and principles that help with crime scene management and detection. While the Bat Family might occasionally resort to hacking into records from the medical examiner or the GCPD, more often then not they run their own tests.

Dick is fully capable of that sort of thing. He is fully capable of talking things out with her, at least on a high level.

What he won't be able to do is to get down into the weeds with her. He is not an expert in genetics. The inspiration for a solution to the problem she's wrestling with isn't going to come from him.

So his help will be more like moments such as this. In recognizing that she needs to be taken aside, that she needs rest, or food or a distraction before the sheer pressure of it all overwhelms her. His contribution will be in the support that he can give her, instead of providing an answer.

But then she doesn't need him to provide the answers, not in this. This is more her sphere. It is the sort of thing that she is going to school for, the sort of science that she has the mind for. Dick gets that. He is perfectly okay in taking that step back in this. the little glimpse into the history she has took him through helped make it clear just how important all of this is to her. That it isn't just a chance to save a life of someone she cares about.

But to make up for the one that she couldn't save.

It's going to happen now though. Not this afternoon or tonight. Maybe she'll be able to find the solution tomorrow, after some rest. Maybe it will take days, or weeks, or months. But Dick has no doubt that she will find it. She has no doubt that she will succeed.

And he will be there every step of the way to catch her at moments like this.

He doesn't offer up those sorts of reassuring words, no promises that she will get through this. He has her fed, now he is going to keep her distracted, he's going to insure that she rests. "That's a pretty good point really. You would think that there should be more then one so it didn't get lonely. But if you suggest that out loud around Robin and he takes that as an excuse to increase the menagerie..." he says playfully.

Then he smiles as she thanks him, giving his head a little shake. "You're welcome," he says gently. "Now, lets get you into bed."

He does not promise, however, that sleep will be immediately forthcoming.

There are a lot of ways to rest and relax afterall.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
'...and he takes that as an excuse to increase the menagerie...'

"What?!" Gwen blurts out, tone entirely innocent, after a hard swallow of her, once again, too large bite. Like a baby bird choking down a meal too fast.

She was starving.

"With great power comes great responsibility," she insists, reaching to grab her mug of tea again and bring it up in front of her. "I'm pretty sure that means Robin is supposed to be adopting and raising a bunch of cows."

There's a beat, the mug almost to her lips.

"Cattle."

There's another beat.

"Does anyone outside of a western ever say cattle? Am I the only one that looks at a picture of a farm and thinks, 'That's a bunch of cows?' Cattle sounds... clinical."

It's during this rant, however, that there's an insistence made that it's time for bed. Which... yeah. We've reached the level of over-tired Gwen that's moved past being manic and moved straight into zany thoughts that could go literally anywhere.

She takes a large sip of her tea. Enough to warm her through and through, to let the scent fill her nose one last time, and then she sets the mug aside, turning to face Dick, to slide her arms up over his neck as she pulls herself close.

"You keep trying to rush me to bed. Are you in such a hurry to test my resolve?" she practically purrs, a playful grin tugging at one corner of her mouth, though there's nothing anchoring her to that stool. She's already given up on staying in the kitchen any longer.

The tissue paper of a threat to stick to keeping things in the cave seems to flutter gently behind her eyes. Despite the fatigue and the emotions that are still so fresh and raw, or perhaps because of them, there's hopefulness in her eyes.

It's not the kind of raw attraction that sometimes flares in her gaze when she's overwhelmed by him. This is something deeper -- a search for connection and vulnerability, a chance to truly lay herself bare and wrap herself up in him. She doesn't need to remind herself why she loves him. He's already done that today, a thousand times over. What she needs, now, is a chance to revel in it.

There are, in fact, a lot of ways to rest and relax.

And Dick seems to know exactly what she needs.