20013/Sunday Morning Bruises

Sunday Morning Bruises
Date of Scene:	04 February 2025
Location:	Lake House - Wayne Estate
Synopsis:	Sunday morning, Gwen and Dick both wake up with bruises from their respective heroic activities, but it doesn't keep them from heading down into the cave and getting a sparring session in, only to be interrupted by Peter Porker aka Spider-Pig.
Cast of Characters:	Gwen Stacy, Dick Grayson

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Gwen Stacy has posed:
The sleet starts sometime before dawn, steady against the roof, threading through the trees beyond the lake. Gwen registers it dimly, a soft backdrop to the warmth of blankets and the slow ache in her ribs.

Gotham was quiet last night. Gotham is never quiet.

She drifts in and out for a while, heavy-limbed and warm, until the absence of another body in the bed pulls her fully awake.

The kitchen lights are on. Dick's already up. Of course he is.

Gwen pushes herself upright, wincing when her muscles protest, and pads out barefoot. The air is cool, filled with the scent of coffee, something low playing from the speakers tucked unobtrusively away.

"You're up early," she mutters, voice rough from sleep.

She pulls herself onto the counter, bare legs brushing his side where he stands beside her -- close enough to touch -- and reaches to take his coffee cup out of his hands. It's a gentle gesture, a request, as if she fully expects him to share.

She's wearing one of his t-shirts, overly large on her. It slips partially off of one shoulder, revealing the purplish-blue bruise covering most of it. It barely slows her down, but it's there, and it'll be gone soon enough -- replaced with a mark somewhere else, no doubt. You don't get to live the lifestyle they do and have perfect, unmarred skinned all the time.

Dick Grayson has posed:
The weather outside might not quite qualify for the 'frightful' category, but it's not particularly welcoming either and while it is entirely in one's head, entirely psychological, peering through those glass walls that look out over the grey and wind-tossed lake, it's hard not to feel a little nip in the air.

He is not quite the stickler for routine that Bruce might be. He is capable of taking the odd morning to sleep in. To take the occasional day - and even night - off. But he still tends to default to a pretty set schedule. He still tends to wake up fairly early. Tends to get a work out in. And tends to make sure that coffee is freshly brewed by the time she's awake.

Upon occasion Dick even manages to time it virtually perfectly, handing her that first mug even as she hops up onto the counter, that shirt doing little to hide her long legs. Or the traces of that bruise either.

She heals quickly. More quickly even then him certainly, but the dark haired man still winces slightly, leaning in to brush lips against her cheek as he hands that mug over. Then they dip, more careful, more gentle as they graze that purplish bruise marring her skin there.

"Believe you me, I would much rather still be in bed with you," he murmurs wryly, sliding back into place, casually leaning against that island counter at her side, his gaze flickering out to the unappealing day beyond. "And I still might before all's said and done.

"I suppose it depends a little what you all have on the agenda for today," he says with a smile before his gaze dips to her shoulder once more, that expression fading. "And what you feel up to. I know you heal fast, but that's still pretty painful looking."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Gwen's eyes slip closed, her cheek tilting -- presenting gleefully -- as Dick leans in to give her that kiss. And when he dips even lower to brush his lips over her shoulder, she lets out a soft sigh of relief.

"I don't hate the sound of that."

Her eyes flash with amusement over the rim of his cup -- their cup, now -- as she downs a sip that's really more like a swig of coffee. They follow his gaze when it lingers on her shoulder, though, and she gives a little shake of her head.

It moves her hair, which was steadily getting longer, the longer they lived together. It's almost long enough to reach down to the slender black choker she wears around her neck, the silver, heart-shaped ring dangling against the hollow of her throat.

"Are you kidding me? Have you seen the guy who kisses them to make me feel better? I go out and get these things on purpose, now."

Her smile curls wickedly, but she takes one more drink of coffee and then offers the cup back, dipping her toes to brush against his thigh.

"Actually, I was kind of hoping you might take me down into the cave again today. You and I are looooong overdue for a sparring match, and it's not like you have to worry about bruising me. I feel like I'm already the punchline to some 'what's black and blue all over' joke."

Dick Grayson has posed:
Despite himself, that retort draws a burst of laughter from Dick, his expression twisting wryly as he lifts a hand, letting it slip over to play through the fringes of her hair lightly.

"The law of unintended consequences. Definitely not what I had in mind when I promised to kiss all your boo boos better," he teases lightly, leaning over and planting a soft kiss against the side of her neck, just above where that choker encircles her neck.

The fact of the matter is that what they do is hard. It's dangerous. And it doesn't matter how much training he has, or how incredible her reflexes and early warning system might be. It's impossible not to pick up an assortment of cuts, bruises, sprains and strains.

While it might be inevitable, that doesn't have to mean that he particularly likes to see it happen to her.

"I'd promise that I won't be kissing them better anymore, but we both know that's a big ol' lie, so I guess I'll just have to find another way to keep you in one piece for me," he says wryly, leaning over and tilting his head in a silent appeal for a sip of their now shared coffee.

Spinning, he comes to a stop in front of her, hands braced on the counter to either side of her. "We can definitely do that. I got a little bit of a workout in before you got up, but I definitely wouldn't mind limbering up a little more," he says before the corners of his mouth twerk upwards ever so slightly. "And you are most certainly my favorite partner for that."

Then he winks at her playfully. "I even promise to take it easy on you," he teases lightly. Like that's necessary.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
That laughter... it's like a balm for her soul. It reaches inside her and grips her heart in a way she never thought possible before meeting him. There are so many things she loves about him, too many to list, but his laughter, his smile, the light in his eyes that accompanies it? That's pretty high on the list.

Once more, her eyes slip closed when he leans in, and her smile grows and grows until it hurts her cheeks. Her head lolls to one side just as his lips meet her neck, and she lets out a soft purr of contentment as warmth spreads through her.

"Hey! No take backs," Gwen protests, her own laughter bubbling up when he rescinds his offer, but at least he doesn't follow through. Still, her eyes narrow warily.

When he spins over in front of her, when his hands find the counter top near her hips, she parts her knees to welcome him closer. And like a flower stretching into the sun, her back arches -- not away, but towards him. With him.

"Wait. Are we talking about going back to bed or going down into the cave?" There's another glint of amusement, another tug of a grin at her lips, and at his promise to go easy? Another bubble of playful laughter. "I wish I could make the same promise..."

Instead of giving him his sip of coffee, she takes another drink from the mug, herself. Then she stretches up, reaching for his cheek, and in an instant, their mouths are one. Warm coffee explodes into the kiss even as her fingers slip around to the back of his neck, pulling her up against him, her thighs locking into his hips.

Dick Grayson has posed:
They just fit together so damn well.

It's practically instinctive at this point. The way they inherently respond to one another, the way that they make each other feel. Like the best sort of feedback loop in the world, with his laughter feeding her smile, which feeds back into his own positive energy.

Gotham can be a pretty dark and grim place most of the time. Having Gwen here helps to make it a little bit brighter.

Even on cold and dreary days like this one outside. Whether he is out on patrol as a GCPD officer, or doing so with even greater vigilance as Nightwing, he'll be just a little warmer because even if she's not there, he'll still be carrying her around in his heart.

When his request for some of that coffee is denied, it looks like Dick is almost on the verge of protesting. At least until she leans in and presses her lips to his own, that warm surge shared and those fingers in her hair curl, holding her in place for a moment before he draws back.

"You're playing with fire their, Stacy," he teases lightly. "You better watch it, or you'll be the only mug I'll take my coffee in going forward," he points out before another low laugh slips from him, hands finding her hips once more, lifting her from that counter-top perch and setting her down in front of him.

Again his eyes dance with mischief and mirth at her question, winking playfully in her direction. "You know, I'm not sure anymore. Given that one is on the way to another, I guess we'll see if we hit the detour," he says lightly before stealing another quick kiss.

"Okay, unless you need some sustenance - or maybe warmer clothes given that there is probably a chill in the air down there," he says, eyes dropping pointedly to her bare legs before flashing that grin her way once more. "I guess we had better be off."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
...or you'll be the only mug I'll take my coffee in going forward.

"Promises, promises," Gwen singsongs, that smile on her lips lingering as she's lifted and set down so easily. It doesn't matter how long she's been a Spider or how tall the highest building she's ever leapt off of is, the feeling of Dick picking her up by her hips and setting her down where he wants her will never get old.

...I guess we'll see if we hit the detour.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Grayson," Gwen chides back, stretching up on her toes to return that brush of lips with a sly smile of her own. She sets the coffee cup back on the counter on her way back around the counter, headed towards the bedroom.

"And as much fun as it would be to watch you try to focus on fighting me like this, I'll think I'll put on my suit."

She casts a playful glance over her shoulder at him, pulling the hem of his t-shirt tighter around the backs of her thighs, which does... interesting things to the shape of it. It's obviously just to make the point about her ability to distract him, though, as she scampers forward a moment later to make sure he doesn't convince her to take that detour... it would be far easier than she'd openly admit.

"Don't go down there without me!" she calls back, already disappearing into the bedroom and heading for her closet.

Yes, she has a closet. A whole closet. One that's almost the size of her old bedroom. It's crazy.

"Half the fun is riding down on the lift with you!"

Besides, she doesn't know how to trigger the damn thing without him. It's one of those 'need to know' things she's never needed to know.

Dick Grayson has posed:
"But threatening you with a good time is one of my very favorite things to do," Dick counters lightly. "Though if it helps at all if there is one thing better is not just to threaten, but follow through," he points out with an amused smile.

As she points out that it might be a little difficult to fight her dressed as she is, the dark haired man presses his lips together in consideration, arching a brow before tilting his head to one side in apparent agreement, turning to follow her back towards their bedroom.

"You might have a point," he admits, his eyes very deliberately glued to her legs and where they disappear up beneath that shirt. "Though I guess I could always strip down to my boxers to try and compete," he points out. Which might have intriguing possibilities. "Though I think that the chilly air down there might end up flattering you a little more then me," he points out drily.

"So yeah, maybe changing into uniforms is for the best. Lets hear it for well insulated Nomex," he says with a grin as he follows her into the bedroom.

While the Lakehouse might not be anywhere near as impressive as the Manor itself, nor boast anything close to its various luxurious accompaniments, it is not devoid to some pretty nice touches. Especially for someone not used to them. And the closet space would most definitely have to be one of those things that qualify.

But then, given that one of those same closets is what provides the access to the Cave below - at least from up in the Lakehouse proper - it has to have a certain size to make that practical. Either way, Dick shows no particular rush, stepping into his closet and starting to limber up casually, going through a series of stretches while he waits for her.

See? He can behave when he has to. No efforts to lure her astray. At least not yet.

By the time she joins him, he lifts a hand her way, wiggling a finger at her in unspoken invitation to join him in the center of that closest so they can begin their descent, that grin firmly etched in place once more.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
...the chilly air down there might end up flattering you a little more then me.

Laughter bubbles up again from the direction of Gwen's closet.

"Somehow, I doubt it would be a problem for very long," she calls back.

The art of changing quickly is one that Ghost-Spider has honed to near perfection over the last... well... almost a decade, now. The fact that she's able to do it in the privacy of her own closet and starting with nothing more than one of Dick's t-shirts in the way? Well, he doesn't have time for a lot of stretching.

She's still tugging her gloves into place, but everything else is set. Her white hood is lying against her nape, her mask presumably tucked into it, since she's not wearing it. Her teal ballet shoes are in place and tied around her ankles.

It's always a thrill to get to go into the cave.

It really doesn't happen all that often. They go out on patrol together sometimes, but it's still not a nightly thing. Between Gwen's schedule in New York and Dick's schedule with GCPD, they're lucky to get one-on-one time, much less an abundance of costumed time -- especially costumed time that starts off with that intention.

More than once, Gwen has had to take the quick-change route while they were already out and about. Which is fine with her. She doesn't exactly have a cave to get ready in, in New York.

But Nightwing's cave is novel to her. And incredibly cool, literally and figuratively. So, every time she gets to visit, she's always excited to find something she didn't see before. Maybe it's a feature on one of his old costumes. Maybe it's something about the lab setup or the car or the cave itself. There's just so much down there.

And then, of course, there's the lift ride.

Her favorite part.

Come on!! It's a secret lift that goes down into a giant freaking cave filled with toys that she gets to ride with her boyfriend! How was that ever not going to be her favorite part?!

So when she spots that beckoning finger, she's practically dancing in those ballet shoes up to his front, slipping right up against him and looping one arm casually around his waist as she tilts her head up to smile at him.

"Have I ever told you how cool my boyfriend is? I mean, I'm not usually one to brag, but in his case... I mean... it's kinda hard not to."

Dick Grayson has posed:
It is pretty freaking cool, he would definitely agree. The inner kid in Dick still grins like an idiot every time he goes down into the Cave, whether it is on a hidden elevator like this, or driving through a holographically sealed hole in a cliff. Or really any of the other countless ways that there are out there to get into the various Caves scattered throughout the city.

And beyond for that matter.

Maybe one day he'll have the occasion to take her through one of the hidden entrances in the Manor proper. The one that can only be opened by playing the correct sequences of notes on the grand piano that sits close by to reveal the hidden entrance and the elevator beyond. Or maybe the grandfather clock where you have to manually manipulate the hour and minute hands to just the right configuration before it will slide aside to reveal the winding stone staircase beyond.

Secret doors and passages. It definitely appeals to kids. Or, you know, to those who are young at heart like themselves perhaps.

This particular trip would have to be one of his favorites though. At least when it is one that he gets to take with her.

Just how quickly she can get changed is always a surprise, so to be sure the dark haired man won't get through his full warm up routine. Still, it helps to get in just a few stretches, to make sure that he's feeling a little more limber when she appears, when she crosses that expanse and throws herself into his arms.

His own costume is a little bit more complex, though it also offers some additional protection. It's a fine line though. His isn't nearly as formidable as Batman's in turn, a little more sleek, a little less armored all to give him greater freedom of movement, to make use of his strengths of agility and speed.

They are strengths that they definitely share though.

That lopsided grin slides over his face as an arm wraps around Gwen in return, pulling her close to him. Not that he is deliberately trying to distract her when he triggers the elevator or anything. It just tends to work out that way.

"You're not going to hear me complain," Dick admits wryly as the lift begins to sink downward into the darkness and while the safety rails might start to slide up out of the floor almost immediately, while no one could be more safe then her on this particular ride given her ability to stick to surfaces, he still slides hands slowly up over that costume, over her, keeping her close and monopolizing far less space then they really need to on the platform.

"I think more then a few would be pretty envious about being in my shoes too, so it works out pretty well for the both of us, I think," he points out reasonably.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
He's not going to hear her complain about the arm that sweeps up around her, either. Where it comes to Dick Grayson, whether she needs to be held misses the point entirely.

Of course, she does purse her lips at his next words, a mischievous, reproachful flash of humor in her eyes. She would complain about being verbally check-mated, and while she might ordinarily protest the thought of anyone being envious of him, she can't very well argue without contradicting his main point.

It does seem to be working out pretty well for both of them.

"I love you," she murmurs, so busy gazing up at him that she misses the first few seconds of the ride.

The fact that he doesn't just put up with her? That this man cares about her as deeply and sincerely as he does? It still catches her off guard, sometimes, in all the best ways.

She leans in, touching her temple to his chest and giving his middle a squeeze, watching the rest of the ride from the comfort of that embrace. She doesn't release him until it reaches bottom and those rails lower again, walking backwards with effortless grace.

"So... are we setting ground rules while you get all suited up? Webs and eskrima sticks? Hand to hand? Winner makes breakfast and loser does the dishes?"

She's rattling it all off while she walks backwards, shrugging casually as she goes.

Dick Grayson has posed:
As the lift descends into the darkness of the Cave, the facility below them begins to spring to life, lights coming up to push away the shadows and the gloom of the place.

Power lights beam down over each of the 'platforms', the distinct areas of this part of the Cave complex, illuminating the computer area, illuminating the Nightbird and the Batcycles stored here. The lights beam down over that hall of costumes, over the lab, the medical facility and the training area. Little pools of illumination with thicker shadows laying between.

The light and the dark - rather appropriate for the Bat Family. More so for Nightwing. He's always asserted that Robins need the light at little more then the Bats.

As the lift touches down, as those safety rails sink back down into the ground giving them free access, he starts over to retrieve his costume, to retrieve any of his other gear necessary, moving through the dark and the light with an equal degree of comfort.

"Depends on what you wanted to start with," he allows easily, gesturing towards the mats laid out nearby on the cavern floor creating a suitable sparing circle. "We can keep it simple, focus on the workout," he allows.

Then he motions beyond that area to what looks like an elaborate obstacle course, a mockup of a city setup with walls and platforms, multiple levels and various other obstructions. Not so different then they might find actually out in Gotham itself. "Or we can play a little game of cat and mouse. Webs and weapons. Something a little less workout and a little more practical," he says.

"As for stakes..." he says, arching a brow her way as he retrieves his uniform. "Winner picks how we spend the rest of the morning?" he suggests with a sly grin.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
There are still so many exciting parts of this cave still left to explore.

When Gwen first came down here, some part of her imagined dragging Dick down that lift on a nearly nightly basis and spending hours forcing him to tell her all about his costumes, using the lab and the computers, learning to ride the Batcycles, sparring to keep sharp and learn how to fight together. But, as is so often the case, life keeps getting in the way. More often than not, she's simply been thrown into the middle of the action with no chance of preparation.

What else is new?

But now that she's actually presented with the choice of how to spend her first sparring session with Dick -- on the mats or playing chase through his city mockup? That's actually kind of a hard decision. She's never had any formal martial arts training. She's fast and strong and she's had ten years of experience fighting dirty, but Dick has many more years of actual technique and practice.

So, chances are better than not that he can take her in a straight up fight. At least with webs, she'd have the benefit of being able to fight on familiar footing, from a distance. Or... so she hopes. She's seen a few of his tricks in the wild, too, and some of them are more than a match for her webs.

How good is he, really?

And why is she just now getting nervous about this?

Well, showing him that just won't do, so she reaches up to the nape of her neck while he's headed over to his costume, pulling her mask down over her face. It's time to put Gwen away and let Ghost-Spider have some fun.

"Suit yourself," she agrees readily, those pink-rimmed eyes smiling confidently. "Just remember, after I tell you what you're wearing, that you've got the legs to pull it off."

She rolls backwards, flipping into a series of back handsprings that have her landing lightly in the middle of the sparring circle, her hood neatly in place. Her posture is so long and lean, feet standing neatly in third position.

"Let's see what you can do without your sticks, Nightwing."

Dick Grayson has posed:
In many ways they are similar in style and approach. Both of them tend to rely on speed and agility, in being where their foes least expect it.

But their approaches are very different. She has phenomenal agility and reflexes and a danger sense that is pretty hard to beat.

He has an undeniable natural grace too, but it is supplemented by years of formal training. In gymnastics, in performance and in martial arts. Between his parents training him to be an acrobat and Bruce's training when he was growing up, just that would make him a pretty imposing physical specimen. But part of being one of the Bats is the fact that he has had many trainers. He has worked with some of the most gifted combat specialists in the world, in a host of field.

He's not just trained in one martial arts style. He's trained in a dozen. All of which he can combine. Then throw in his gymnastics background as well. And over two decades of actual time in the field?

It's should be an interesting contest to be sure.

So he only smiles at her taunting, pausing for a moment to look her over pointedly. "Mmmm. Well, I think you'll look pretty spectacular in what I'll be having you wear too," he promises before winking her way and turning to disappear momentarily, slipping into his uniform.

The host of equipment - those escrima sticks, the various batarangs and oddly shaped throwing knives, the gases and capsules and explosives - they all get left behind.

It takes him a little longer to get suited up then her, but soon enough he reemerges from the little changing area, that black body suit with the blue bird-like emblem that almost glows gracing his form. The mask is in place as well, even if he doesn't need to hide his identity here, and his dark hair is a little more tousled then it might be normally.

Padding over towards those waiting mats with light steps, he once again goes through a quick set of stretches that show off his limber form before straightening once more, bouncing slowly from foot to foot, in constant motion already now that the time has come to actually spring into action.

"This should be fun," Nightwing says with a grin.

Then he's flowing towards her, his motions like water.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Hey, Gwen's got ten years of fighting the Bodega Bandit!

That's... almost the same!

...Right?

Yeah, no. It's not even close.

All she really has going for her as an advantage in this match is the ability to dodge bullets, and that's saying something! It's pretty nice when you can walk into any fight confident that you're basically Neo from The Matrix, complete with the ability to get thrown through a brick wall and get up again.

But there were a lot of scrapes Gwen only survived through quick thinking and a lot of creative uses of her webs and natural stickiness. She has phenomenal agility and reflexes, but she thrives on mobility. If her opponent can't get to her -- or she can put enough distance between them to see their attacks coming -- they can't hit her, and when you're talking about bullets, that's pretty important.

A sparring circle doesn't really allow for that kind of mobility.

'Out of bounds' is a thing.

There aren't any walls. No ceiling. She can't rip up a chunk of counter top or grab a manhole cover and use it as a shield (or projectile).

What's worse, that danger sense she has isn't infallible. It gives her a very good idea of when she's about to get hit and helps her with reaction time, but she's been clobbered by being too slow before. A lot of times, actually. And dodging someone like Nightwing at point blank range?

Fun, he says...

So, Gwen does the only thing she can do...

She lowers herself into a deep crouch. One leg stretches out to the side, the fingertips of one gloved hand rest on the floor in front of her, the other hand stretched to the side, and she goes deathly still.

A spider.

Waiting to strike.

Dick Grayson has posed:
He's not quite his mentor.

The Dark Knight is meticulous in almost everything he does. In the way he observes. In the way that he categorizes and the way that he records.

The files on the Bat-computer are filled with copious amounts of notes and insights in regards to his many foes. A detailed history of their actions, of everything that could be gathered about their formative years. Psychological profiles and analysis. Everything imaginable to get in the heads of the enemy. To anticipate them. To counter them.

But it's not just his enemies.

His files are just as extensive when it comes to his friends and allies. As is the analysis in detailing what would be necessary to take them down if the need ever came up. No one is entirely immune on that score. No one is entirely excluded.

Including, as Dick is well aware, himself.

Somewhere, buried in the data stored away on the Bat-computer is the means to take down every single member of this family too, including their psychological weaknesses. Somewhere, buried in that file system is a record of Dick's weaknesses too. How his father would take him out, if the need arouse.

That's not something that is always easy to come to terms with for everyone. It's definitely something that has been known to cause discomfort, unease and even mistrust amongst those that find it out. Certainly it isn't a step that Dick himself would be comfortable taking against his friends. Against the people he cares about, the people he loves.

But he has that same keen observational sense. That same ability to judge and evaluate, and a mind trained to take that info, to sort it and store it away to be put to use.

So as Ghost-Spider crouches down, as she readies herself, Nightwing doesn't waste any time. She is barely in that crouch before he is racing forward, so very light on his feet. Right up to the moment that he leaves his feet, leaping towards her in a sudden burst of speed.

It is, in all likelihood, more of a test then an earnest attempt to strike home. A way to see how she reacts, to get a feel for what her reflexes are capable on in this specific sort of setting, when some of her customary advantages are taken away and the contest becomes about sheer physical ability and training technique over clever ploys and toys.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Someone like Nightwing can surely sense the moment that those squiggles of alarm appear over her head -- the faint widening of her eyelets at the exact moment he moved, the shift of her weight without the customary reaction time of most foes.

Does Gwen know there's a file on her in there, too?

Probably not at this point. She's not exactly privy to the breadth and depth of information at the Batfam has on anyone and everyone they've ever encountered who might be a potential opponent one day. It would make sense, of course. It would also make sense that most of those details -- including her major weaknesses and how to most effectively take her down -- were all entered by the man she trusts most in the world.

It would also make sense that her file was going to grow a lot after this morning, with special attention paid to certain tactics like isolating her in an environment she can't use as an escape route or as an improvised weapon, and close the distance so she doesn't have time to react.

That'll be an interesting conversation to have later.

What are you up to, honey?
Not much. Just adding notes to your file so Batman doesn't have to work that hard to kill you.

Just wait until Dick finds out about ethyl chloride.

She's not used to sparring, and when he leaps, every fiber of her being makes her want to reach for her webs. He might even notice the way her arm moves, ready to track him, ready to nab one of his limbs, slide under him, flip him over, wrap him up... it's instinct.

The problem is, she may not always have her webs. Some amount of sparring is about learning new techniques to adapt to your opponent, but some amount of it is learning what you're already capable of. Gwen has rarely tested the latter when it wasn't literally life or death. This sensation is... new.

So, she holds herself back from using her webs, and instead, she leaps.

It shouldn't be possible.

Twenty feet up, well above Dick's head, the white and black costume blurs into a series of spins and flips, the teal of her shoes streaking color through the air just before she comes back down on the pad where he'd been standing before.

There's no vertical out of bounds as long as she doesn't try to like.. stick to the ceiling of the cave, right? And that's wayyyyyyy up there, in the dark, where the bats are hanging out. Chances are, she doesn't want to do that, anyway.

"Strike one," she taunts as she rights herself, one hand on her hip, the other waving vaguely off to the side. "Are you a baseball guy? You seem like you'd be a baseball guy..."

Dick Grayson has posed:
Fortunately, Nightwing doesn't really approve of the whole 'keeping files on our friends, just in case' thing.

It is one of the many ways that he is a little different then his mentor, how he views the world a little differently then the Dark Knight. He fully understands the files on the Joker, on Mr. Freeze and Ra's al Ghul and all of the rest of them.

But he's not going to sell out his friends. Not going to write down all the weaknesses of the Titans. And he certainly isn't going to do it about Gwen. He can't really do anything about the fact that the Dark Knight is going to keep those records, those assessments.

But he doesn't have to participate at least.

And while he might not be keeping a physical record of all of her strengths and all of her weaknesses, that doesn't mean he doesn't do it mentally. It doesn't even have anything to do with understanding how to beat her. That's not really the way that he thinks.

But learning what she can do, and where she might need back up? That's just practical to take note of with anyone that he works with.

He might not be as ruthless as his mentor. Might not be quite the same sort of tactical genius. But in his own way he is an even more effective leader.

He knows all the practicalities of course. Knows she's fast, knows she's agile. He understand that she has a sense that warns her of danger, that lets her react with shocking speed to threats, though the specifics of that whole ability might be a little more vague. He knows of her other gifts, her webs and ability to cling, those things that won't come into play in this session per se.

Still, there are things to learn. Things like just how high one that Gwen can actually jump.

It's an impressive sight to be sure, but Nightwing does not appear to be particularly daunted by it even if he can't hope to replicate it. Certainly not without one of the many 'toys' that the Bat clan tends to be known by.

And while it can surely be a tremendous asset at times, while she has the agility to make it even more useful, there are still limits to jumping about. Ones that he understands because he can labor under the same issues when he chooses to go all acrobatic.

Physics is a bitch. And given that they don't fly, without a means to effect themselves while in midair - like her webs or his jumplines - they're pretty much at the mercy of gravity. They can go up, but they will come down to. And they will come down in a pretty predictable fashion.

Which is why he is waiting for her descent, a thrust kick already lashing out to greet her. "Baseball's okay," he agrees with a grin. "I do like a good Knights game now and then," he says, referencing the local team. "But I'm more of a hockey fan. Give me the Blades any day."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Okay. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Yes, most of the time she can use her webs to zip back down before her opponent even has a chance to turn around, but she thought it would at least buy her a couple seconds...

Holy crap, he's fas --

OOF!

As previously mentioned, one weakness of Gwen's Spider-Sense is always going to be the speed of her attacks in closed spaces. It's an early warning system that borders on precognition, but it doesn't stop time or actually make her clairvoyant.

That much is obvious when she ends up hitting the mat squarely on her shoulder-blades and rolling to come up into another crouch, pink-rimmed eyes narrowing. There's a soft little cough. She's not hurt. She just got the wind knocked out of her -- twice. Once when his foot hit her chest, once when she hit the ground.

"Sorry," she says, "my hockey pun repertoire is lacking. Dad's a Mets fan. But I'd say it's time to stop pucking around, anyway."

Yeah... that's groan-worthy. But then she's on the offensive.

She's fast, but once again, in this arena, she lacks both formal training and her go-to, dirty-fighting tricks. She has a tendency to telegraph what she's about to do. Probably because she's spending so much time thinking about it in advance, though maybe also because he knows her so well. The way she moves. The way she thinks.

She's also aiming to take his legs out from under him, rather than throwing any punches or kicks towards that oh-so-perfect face of his. Still, if she can get him on his butt, she might just have the advantage of strength to keep him down.

Dick Grayson has posed:
The pun is definitely groan-worthy. And he should know. There was a period of time when the Boy Wonder's puns drove Batman's Rogue's Gallery wild with distaste and anger. There are more then a few of them that would rather shut him up then get revenge on Batman for some of those past quips.

But Nightwing only grins. If anyone can appreciate a pun - even a bad one - it would be him, and he doesn't seem to lose focus for even a moment.

"Like I said, we'll see about changing that if we both find ourselves free and at lose ends one night when there's a home game going on," he promises lightly.

He seems to be undeterred about finding himself on the defensive and while his approach might shift, while he might focus on angling her attacks away, letting them roll off upraised arms, or dodging aside her strikes at his legs with quick footwork, the fundamental mentality doesn't seem to shift in the least.

She is faster then him. Not ridiculously so, but by a noteable amount. And the advantage in strength is clear enough as well. But he's used to both. He's trained against speedsters and Amazons. He's used to working at a physical disadvantage, in binding his time until he can turn disadvantage back around.

So he gives ground, retreating from her advantage, weighing those strikes that might be just a little telegraphed. It's the advantage of training. He doesn't need to think about what he's going to do next. It comes in an instant.

But for now he seems intent on weighing her attack, back-peddling in a controlled sort of circle that lopes about the mat, expanding slowly to give him more space without ever quite falling 'out of bounds' as it were.

"I guess I could always make that my victory prize," he note before slyly adding, "But there's so many other things I'd rather have you do too."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Sure. Maybe he's fought speedsters and Amazons.

Maybe he's even trained with Superman!

But has he fought rampaging guys in tank-suits built to look like rhinoceroses?... rhinocerii?

Has he fought old bald guys with fifty-foot wingspans or crazy guys with creepy expressions who can't stop laughing?

...Okay, yeah, the last one is easy. BUT ON A FLYING SKATEBOARD?!

Spider-Man's -- or rather, Spider-Woman's -- rogues gallery promotes a certain set of highly adaptable skills that have less to do with anything that looks like trained technique and more to do with figuring out how to counter whatever bat-shit (pardon the pun) crazy thing they've come up with this time while simultaneously minimizing as much damage and saving as many lives as possible.

Rarely is it ever as simple as punching them in the face.

...but God is it ever satisfying when it is.

Unlike sparring with Dick, whom Gwen has zero interest punching in the face. She does, however, have a very vested interest in winning, because as much as she expects to enjoy whatever Dick has in mind for her just as much as he will, there's one teensy problem with just accepting her fate.

She's competitive.

At no time will Dick ever feel like she's letting him win. Because she's not. Her own pride won't let her take a fall or pretend to be helpless. Not like this. Not with bragging rights on the line, if nothing else.

"You're threatening me with taking me to a hockey game?" she muses, those eyelets smiling as she keeps up the assault. It's relentless. She doesn't tire easily, but her style is more 'really fast ballerina trying to land a hit' than 'a martial artist who has also studied dance.'

Take away Dick, and it might almost look like she was dancing.

"Definitely save your victory lap for something I wouldn't be excited to do, or at least as excited to do."

Dick Grayson has posed:
Certainly they each have their own share of challenging confrontations. Their own, unique styles built up over a not inconsiderably amount of time - especially considering their relative ages.

She's not out of grad school yet and can lay claim to a decade's worth of experience with her Spider-Abilities.

And he has only barely touched his thirties and has twenty-two years of experience as a crimefighter under his belt. Even more as an acrobat.

They are not exactly the proto-typical example of grizzled veterans to be sure. And given that neither one of them is exactly afraid of enjoying themselves while doing what they do, they certainly don't act like it.

"Hey, this isn't all about threats," Nightwing counters mildly, that confident grin still very much in evidence on his features as he continues to focus on repulsing her attacks over making his own, those feet seeming to be in constant motion, bouncing on the firm padding underfoot that hides away the unfinished stone of the cavern floor.

"I think you can pretty much count on the fact that you're going to enjoy whatever I decide is the proper result of my winnings," he promises, spinning aside as he dodges her latest gambit.

Anyone who watched them might almost wonder if they were watching a fight, or a ballet, given how gracefully they move, how they rarely seem to put a foot out of place. And some of that is fair. It is a performance. No matter how competitive they might be, they're not really trying to hurt one another afterall.

But they are trying to win.

Dick might not be as competitive as she is, but he has been trained by the Batman. He believes in going all out. Anything less is a disservice to himself and to her.

So that defensive posture abruptly shifts, and as she closes in on him he abruptly stops retreating. Instead he steps in closer, narrowing that distance between them rapidly as he takes his own turn to drop low, his leg sweeping out towards her own.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
He's screwing with her.

Oh, he's fighting. He's certainly not letting her win. But after knocking her on her ass with one kick, he'd been on the defensive ever since. Which meant her speed and strength made up for a lot, or...

"SHI -- "

WHAM.

Her Spider-Sense barely had time to alert her before Dick's entire posture changed, the world went sideways, and once more she hit the mat. This time fully on her back. Hard.

"Ugghh..."

Her shoulder was already throbbing. She'd already had the wind knocked out of her once (technically twice.. now three times). And this time, she hit the back of her head.

"Shut up," she barks after a moment, tone clearly agitated -- not at all the happy-go-lucky banter of a moment ago. "No one asked you!"

Barely a second passes before, still on her back, she raises her hand to gesture to Dick. Her head lolls to the side, looking over her left shoulder.

At... nothing.

Except she's definitely looking at something.

"You think you can do better?! Have at 'em. He's basically a freaking ninja, and you're a pig. How do you think that's going to go?"

Dick Grayson has posed:
Screwing with her is harsh.

They have worked together before certainly, and have done so with a little more frequency since she came to live with him in Gotham.

But in many respects the partnership between Nightwing and Ghost-Spider is fairly new. He has seen her in action to be sure, but he hasn't had the chance to spar with her before. It makes a difference and learning tendencies, learning to spot patterns is part of what makes him effective.

So while he might have had openings earlier to press the attack, staying on the defensive, getting a feel for her preferences benefits him in the long run.

So yeah. Now screwing with her. Just getting a feel for how she fights. At least in this more limited setting when she can't bring the full range of her abilities to bear on the situation.

Still, when he strikes he doesn't hold back, finding again that her danger sense is not perfect. Is not infallible, though he wonders if it would be perhaps a little more difficult to get past if the stakes were for real. If it wasn't him going after her, but a legitimate threat, someone intent on harming her.

Either way, he does indeed manage to sweep her feet out from beneath her, sending her tumbling to the mat. And while he maintains that guard stance, ready for her to spring back up, when she doesn't, when she seems to get unusually agitated he eyes her for a moment.

"Gwen?" he asks quietly, looking in the same direction that she is curiously. Some ploy? Or did he accidentally crack her head pretty good?

"You okay?" he asks, stepping forward to offer her a hand.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Okay. That's fair.

Though, if she's being honest, if she'd had the upper hand, she might have screwed with him... just a little. Just to play with him and see what he did when he got frustrated.

But, she doesn't have the upper hand.

In fact, there's probably a list of things that Dick realizes he can teach her, by now, to help keep her safe when her web-shooters have failed and she's stuck in tight quarters.

Would it be different if she were actually fighting for her life?

Probably.

Then again, she's not really used to fighting for 'pretend.' This has been her first real sparring match with someone who could match her and wasn't intent on murdering her in... maybe ever?

So, maybe she's holding back too much. Not at all to let him win, but too afraid to hurt him on accident.

Which, of course, leaves her off guard, hitting her head, and talking to a knee-high cartoon pig in a Spider-Man costume who only she can see.

A fact she seems to forget until Nightwing is saying her name, and her attention is pulled back to him, those eyelets widening slightly in surprise.

"Hi!" she says brightly, reaching up to take his hand and pull herself back to her feet. She's light, graceful as ever, though there's just a light narrowing of her eyelets, like she's trying to block out a sound or fight off a headache.

"Yep! Sorry. Fit as fiddle."

She reaches up, jerking off her mask and shaking back the hood, as if to prove the point by smiling at him.

"I've told you about Peter... right?"

She clears her throat, her smile turning a little more lopsided.. a little more hopeful and overly innocent.

"Peter... Porker?"

Dick Grayson has posed:
It is another area where experience can't help but make a difference.

Dick Grayson has been sparing with others almost from the very start of his career. Batman is very much a believer in constant training, long and hard hours. Indeed, Dick had to do so excessively before he was allowed to take up his costume and actually take to the streets. Something he was very motivated to do at the time.

Nothing has changed since then. He has had a number of teachers that have continued to flesh out the skills that Bruce taught him. Some of the finest martial artists in the world.

And of course Nightwing hasn't just been the recipient of training. He has also provided it. To the Robin's that followed him of course. But to the Titans as well. Even those with significantly greater powers then him.

Because having skills to fall back on, to supplement powers is never a bad idea. Sometimes powers fail. Sometimes you run into someone who is just more powerful and at that point skill just might tip the day in your favor. It's a valuable lesson, even if it is not always an easy one to learn.

So will he offer to train Gwen some? That seems almost to be a given. He is pretty invested in making sure that she seems safe. And just as much in insuring that she has the chance to become the best version of herself that she can hope to be. Both are more likely if he lends a hand.

Then maybe she will get the chance to mess with him.

Though she's likely to find it difficult to truly frustrating him. It's one of the lessons he's taken to heart. Frustration can drive you to be sure. But in the heat of combat? It's more likely to make you do something stupid. Do something that gets you hurt or worse.

He usually has a way to have fun, even in a fight - though circumstances can dictate that too.

Still, he helps her up, looking her over with just a little concern, especially after she whips off that mask and he gets a look at her eyes.

He is only slightly reassured when she asks her question, arching a brow her way and pursing his lips as if tasting something a little sour.

"Peter... Porker?" he asks slowly. "No, I don't think that has come up before.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"He's..."

How to explain it?

Gwen's smile thins a little, and instead of pulling away from Dick or growing self-conscious and distant, she steps into him. The concern is comforting, and even more than explaining, she has an urge to reassure him -- that a fall onto the mat is nothing compared to the abuse she's used to taking.

Sometimes she just... has an extra friend.

So, she leans up, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, letting her gloved hand linger near the blue symbol across his chest.

"He's.. a pig.. that I see.. sometimes."

Her nose crinkles like she's smelling something bad.

"Okay, yeah, that sounds dumber out loud than I expected it to. I just.. sometimes I hit my head a little too hard.. and then I have Spider-Pig hanging out with me for a while. It's fine. It's been happening for years."

She sighs, then, and looks off to the side again. Down towards their feet.

"Nobody cares about your secret identity, Peter. Your secret was that I've never even told anyone else that you exist. That's the bigger deal, here."

Pause.

"Dick and I are getting married one day. What was I supposed to do? Surprise him on our wedding night?!"

Gwen's eyes widen, and she points.

"That's not funny. Can you please go away? We're kind of having a moment..."

But then her eyes are back on Dick, bright blue and full of apology.

"Sorry. Did you want to keep going? Or should we declare you the victor? You nailed me twice, and I could barely a lay a finger on you."

Dick Grayson has posed:
He's... not entirely sure if she's having him on. Or if maybe he has accidentally given her a concussion.

Then again, it is entirely possible that not only does she see a pig that no one else can see, said pig is actually there and real.

It is not completely out of the realm of possibility afterall. She's from an entirely separate universe, a different dimension. Her former girlfriend made all of reality forget about her existence, that she was ever anything but the Gwen Stacy of this reality despite her having died.

Given all that, how far-fetched is it really to consider that she might actually have an invisible pig-friend by the name of... Peter Porker.

Okay, that last one is tough to swallow.

But if Gwen is teasing him, or having him on, she's doing a remarkably good job of hiding that fact. For the life of him, Dick can't see that she is anything less then serious. So the very least he can do under the circumstances is give her the benefit of the doubt.

"Okay," he says quietly, slipping an arm around her for just a moment before offering her a half smile. "I just hope he isn't always hanging around with you where I can't see. That could be awkward," he says wryly before giving a quiet laugh.

"As to whether or not we keep going, that's kinda up to you. I mean, the point isn't just to win, but to practice. So if you've had your fill for this morning then we can wrap it up, and if you haven't, then we can keep right on going. Or switching things up for that matter," he says.

Then he flashes a grin her way and leans in to steal a quick kiss. "There aren't really any rules when it comes to training," he says before making a face. "At least not when I'm involved."

Bruce might disagree with him.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
...That could be awkward.

"No!" Gwen insists with a little laugh of her own, her eyebrows shooting up. "Trust me. I would have told you before now."

Is Spider-Pig 'real?' Or is he a figment of her imagination?

Is he a product of that dimensional vortex she got sucked into? A window into another dimension that lingers inside her own mind?

If Gwen's the only one that can see him or interact with him, does the answer to that question really... matter? Probably only for someone interested in doing an MRI to figure out if she has a brain tumor or some similar method of determining her sanity.

She leans up onto her toes to return that kiss, but she can't seem to help smiling a little more when he pulls that face.

"Then I'll make sure you're always involved," she muses, eyes sparkling with warm mirth. "You know how well I tolerate rules."

She bites her lip, that punkish, mischievous quality on full display -- from the eyebrow piercing to the pink highlights to the choker that peeks out above the neckline of her costume.

"Maybe wrap it up for today. It usually takes me a little time to get rid of Porker once he's decided to show himself, and you're... kind of a force to be reckoned with, even without a distraction. I have to give it to you, Grayson. I've seen you fight, but I had no idea how good you really are. This has been... eye-opening."

Her eyebrows bump suggestively a couple of times, that grin tugging a little more firmly to one side.

"And, if I'm being honest, kinda hot.."

Dick Grayson has posed:
Maybe they can compare and contrast Spider-Ham and Bat-Mite sometime. It's hard to say which one is really all that more difficult to believe in. A spider-themed Pig her from... well, who knows where or an imp from the fifth dimension obsessed with all things Batman.

Nightwing has good reason not to insist that they immediately head to Leslie Thompkins free clinic and get her checked out for a concussion or something worse.

The line of Dick's mouth twists in wry amusement he dips his head in apparent relief. "Well then, consider me reassured," he says lightly.

Then a teasing glint slips into his eye. "Though maybe I should see if I can't find a way to have a chat with this Porker character, just showing up whenever he pleases and hanging around you while no one else can see. Sounds like a pretty suspicious stalker to me," he says, clucking his tongue lightly before flashing her a grin once more.

At the very least, it would appear that Nightwing has no issues with bringing their little impromptu training session to a close. They've both got something important out of it, both learned a little about the other's abilities it would seem. And maybe had a little bit of fun along the way.

The grin curls a little more when she mentions her tolerance for rules and he dips his head towards her. "You do have a point. And since I won, looks like I'll be setting them for a bit so I guess you're out of luck," he points out before pursing his lips, an impish light dancing through his eyes. "Or are in luck," he adds lightly.

"It is, huh? Well then, that's pretty good incentive to make sure we have the time to do it a little more often," he admits slyly, nudging her shoulder lightly. "Though I can't argue with you. Definitely a fan of your costume," he teases.

"Okay, we better hit the showers. We still have a very busy morning ahead of us..." he points out.

He's definitely going to see to that.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
...Sounds like a pretty suspicious stalker to me.

Gwen's eyes narrow, just like he might expect her mask eyelets to. "You didn't just..."

But then she goes mostly quiet, half-groaning, half-laughing and hanging her head, forehead rest against his the breastplate of his costume.

"He's not going to take it back, Peter, and he kinda has a point," she murmurs without lifting her head, throwing her hands up slightly to her sides in utter resignation.

"HE. CAN'T. HEAR. YOU," she enunciates, too loudly, finally crouching like she was getting face to face with a child and raising her hands like she wanted to strangle the pig. "Oh. My. God! Why are you this way?! UGH. Look, I'll make you a deal. If you scram, next time I'm on patrol, I'll stop and get you a corn dog. Deal?"

Yes. The pig like hot dogs. And corn dogs.

And as long as you don't think too much about what they're made of, it's not creepy.

You probably also shouldn't think too hard about what happens to the corn dog after she buys it, if Spider-Pig can't interact with the real world.

"Thank you."

Ahem.

Back to her feet again, Gwen turns and straightens her costume, smiling cheerfully up at Dick.

...Only to have him mention the rules are his to set, since he won. And that smile falters, just a little, into something a little more shy, a little more wicked, a little more nervous.

"...Hopefully more the latter," she points out, eyes sparkling.

The costume comment has her laughing, though, and rolling her eyes.

"Next time I talk to Janet, I'll tell her you approve of her alternate dimension's designs." Thank God for JVD. Though explaining who she was and who designed her costume the first time she found her in this dimension was... sort of an ordeal.

Showers.

"Right! Shower..." she says softly, eyes shifting briefly to the side as more than a hint of mischief creeps into her expression. "You should probably carry me. I'm feeling a little weak from all that exercise..."

'All that exercise,' she says. She hadn't even started breathing hard, yet.

But the next thing Dick knows, Gwen is leaping up into him, hooking her knees onto his sides, looping her arms around his shoulders, and kissing him like she fully expects him to navigate back upstairs without having to stop.