20282/Something Lighthearted

Something Lighthearted
Date of Scene:	20 March 2025
Location:	Lake House - Wayne Estate
Synopsis:	During a rare quiet night at home, Gwen tells Dick about Kat getting shot in front of her and confronts him about Barbara's secret identity.
Cast of Characters:	Gwen Stacy, Dick Grayson

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Gwen Stacy has posed:
It's Monday evening in the Lake House. Gwen's on the couch in just a pair of shorts, some cozy thigh-high cable knit socks, and a big, baggy, black sweatshirt that has a bright blue 'Nightwing' logo across the front.

Spider-Man has his own branding. Batman surely does too. Nightwing apparently has a fan club of his own... either that or she just ordered it custom.

Either way, she has her hair tied up in a cute little ponytail. It's finally gotten long enough for that. She has her laptop in her lap, a notebook open next to her, and "Again" by Fetty Wap's playing from hidden speaker... not loudly. Just enough for ambiance.

Between her teeth while she types? A #2 pencil.

Dick Grayson has posed:
Fortunately for them both Dick has already completed his shift for the day and while night might have fallen over Gotham City and their home by the lake it will be hours until he takes to the streets and rooftops once more, this time in a very different uniform.

The shower would have clicked off a few minutes ago and sure enough he emerges from the back, a pair of grey gym shorts almost reaching down to his knees while a dark blue unadorned t-shirt hugs his torso, fingers smoothing back the still not quite dry hair atop his head.

Pausing in the doorway as he steps into the main room, his eyes are immediately drawn to Gwen and a warm smile slides over his expression, his gaze lingering before he finally starts back over towards the sofa.

"What are you working on?" he asks lightly. "Nothing I hope that I can't interupt," he adds teasingly.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Just the sound of him entering the room is enough to make Gwen smile around the pencil between her teeth, but she reaches up to slip it out before she tries to speak.

"A paper Dr. Warren and I are working on togeth..."

When Gwen's eyes lift and find Dick, her voice trails off like a record player suddenly losing power.

Blink. Blink.

"...Hi."

A blush touches her cheeks as her fingers absently touch the slender choker around her throat. Not a tug of discomfort. A stroke of something thoughtful.

"You're hot. You can interrupt me anytime."

She's already setting the laptop off to the side.

Dick Grayson has posed:
That is more then enough to bring a smile to Dick's features.

Of course almost anything Gwen does brings a smile to his face. It is one of the things that has drawn him to her, almost from the very beginning.. She just brings out a light in him. And given how dark and grim what they do can get - especially in Gotham - he prizes that more then he could ever say.

As she breaks off abruptly, as she plays with that choker, the grin on his face only broadens that little more and he sinks down onto the sofa beside her, making himself comfy in those deep cushions.

He doesn't even hesitate to simply reach over, to pluck her up from her place and settle her onto his lap. Just like that's where she belongs.

Because it is where she belongs, at least as far as he is concerned.

"Well then, consider yourself interrupted. Dr. Warren and your paper will just have to wait," he says lightly, burying his face against the side of her neck, breathing in deep of her scent.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Laughter, warm and rich, bubbles up when Dick plops right beside her. But that laugher quickly turns into a brief squeal of delight when she's lifted bodily and set in her rightful place.

Her legs tuck a little closer as she settles against his chest, one arm slipping around his rib cage, hand tracing along his back. Her nose lifts, brushing against his jaw, and her smile curls broadly.

"I'm sure he'll understand," she chuckles, voice lower, richer, as she inhales the freshly showered scent of him -- his soap, his shampoo... just... him. It's intoxicating.

"You smell nice," she murmurs, placing little kisses along his throat. "I wish I'd taken a break and showered with you, now.. even though I'd already had one."

Dick Grayson has posed:
The Lakehouse is cozy enough. Even with the weather still being distinctly chilly outside, there is no lack of warmth within.

But it is so much better with her curled up against him. With his arms around her. With the weight of her on his lap, and the warmth of her body so evident against his own. The feel of her skin under his lips, even just the scent of her.

"I would certainly hope so. Everyone should appreciate that I need my Gwen time," Dick asserts firmly, that smile still teasing at the corners of his mouth as it brushes lightly across her flesh.

The last brings that smile to life once more and he lifts his head, leaning his forehead against her own, one hand coming up to sooth fingers through the fringes of her hair. "You're always welcome, you know that," he asserts, his lips curling a little more. "Though it might be no bad thing that you didn't. We'd probably still very much be in there right now," he points out mildly.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"I don't know that that would be such a bad thing," Gwen murmurs, one corner of her lips ticking up a little higher as she leans against him, forehead to forehead, nose to nose.

Her breath is warm and minty against his mouth. It mingles with her normal scent -- the notes of lavender, orange blossom, and just a hint of musky leather. Like everything else about her, distinctly feminine, with just an edge of something... more. Something rebellious.

She lifts her hand to his, where it plays in the fringes of her hair, and she tilts her head, guiding his fingers up to the elastic that keeps the messy bun in place.

An offer, not a command. She doesn't need to keep her hair up, if she's not hunched over her screen.

"Are you hungry? Tired? Do you want to watch a movie? I can turn the music off.."

Eager to please? Mostly eager to spend time with him in whatever form that takes.

Dick Grayson has posed:
It is an offer that Dick doesn't hesitate to take her up on, those stroking fingers finding that elaastic, carefully untangling it and pulling it free to be set aside so that he can more thoroughly bury those fingers in the softness of her hair.

Almost immediately his face is back, buried in the crook of her neck, seeming very much to drink in the scent of her, letting it soothe him, his own very much mingled up in soap and shampoo, fresh and clean for the moment.

"You make a pretty good point," he concedes wryly, a low laugh slipping from him, that faintly wicked note lingering there, buried beneath the warm amusement.

"As for what I want..." he murmurs, lips pursing for just a moment, barely holding back a hint of a grin.

Then his fingers find that heart at that collar, hooking their as they are prone to do to reel her in for a quick kiss, tasting that hint of mint there before leaning back.

"We can watch a movie, or listen to music, or chat, or just cuddle. The important thing is that you're staying put for the immediate future, so unless you've developed mysterious telekinetic Spider-powers I think food is out for the moment," he says lightly, arms tightening around her.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
They don't have a lot of time for these moments, for a lot of different reasons. Work. School. Extracurriculars. Sometimes, it feels like there's not enough time to just be... them.

A soft sound of pleasure slips past Gwen's lips when Dick removes the elastic and replaces tension on her scalp with his own fingers combing through those blonde lengths.

Her eyes close, even as his nose dips back in against her neck, and all at once, a very noticeable shiver runs down the entire length of her body -- like something inside her suddenly waking up, lifting her head in interest, and shaking off sleep.

Heat blossoms the way it always does when her breath catches like that, when his laugh rumbles all the way down inside her and his words, what I want... hang in the air like a promise to undo her.

God.

By the time he's hooking her collar, she's already putty in his hands, her back arching as her head tilts to meet his lips, a loooooong breath sucked in through her nose before a little whimper escapes when he pulls away again.

But they really don't have very many moments like this, and as the list of possibilities is presented, she can't help smiling.

"They're almost telekinetic.."

She can snag a can of soda from across the room, she means, with a soft chuckle.

"But not that precise."

The tightening of his arms is magic, and she lets out that long breath she'd taken as a heavy exhale, letting her head loll over to his shoulder again.

"Chatting sounds nice. I feel like..." She shrugs one shoulder against him gently. "I feel like we're always so busy.. and... you know..."

Every time they get a chance to talk, she doesn't want to ruin it with anything heavy. Like asking him more about his parents, or the circus, or growing up in the mansion or... any of a million other things that could lead to sadness. It wasn't like she talked a lot about her old life, either, for the same reason.

Dick Grayson has posed:
It helps considerably that Dick doesn't live in the tragedies of his past.

Unlike Bruce, who is in some ways is still that young boy standing in that alley, watching the blood puddle around his parents, Dick has gone to terms with so much of his past, so much of the tragedy in his life. It is a part of him, but it doesn't dominate him.

It isn't who he is.

He would much rather exist in the now. The now is pretty damn good. The now makes him somewhat ridiculously happy.

The now is pretty damn great, both in general, in the state of his life, and this specific moment, curled up on the couch with the woman he loves and nowhere he needs to be and nothing he needs to do for hours. What more could a guy want?

"Close only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades. So unless those web-shooters can make and serve a meal on their own, we're staying right here for the foreseeable future," he counters lightly, once more planting a string of kisses along her neck, his lips tracing just above that band that encircles it so very enticingly.

He does finally, grudgingly, lift his head, casting that smile her way, fingers slipping back up into her hair to stroke and soothe, to massage at the back of her scalp gently, not unlike the way he might have washed her hair had she joined him in the shower.

Next time.

"I do know. And you are not wrong," he agrees. "Lets just do that."

It's all good to Dick right now. The important thing is that he can do it curled up with her like this.

Gwen Stacy has posed:
Maybe Gwen could relate to Bruce more than she realized. She watched cancer claim her mother, a failed attempt to 'be special, like her' claim her best friend, and close-minded contempt claim her father.

She's suffered loss. A lot of loss. A whole dimension worth of loss. But those... those stand out, still. And while she doesn't go perch next to Gus -- the gargoyle -- like a glum version of this dimension's Peter Parker, she does have some trauma. As she was reminded the other day...

"My dad... tried to arrest me. Again." She tries to sound casual about it -- like she didn't spend the next ten minutes having a panic attack on a rooftop a few blocks away -- but the edge is there.

Eyes closed, she rubs her head against his fingers.

"When I was meeting Kat for dinner. She got shot..."

She watched Katsumi die. Right in front of her.

"...before I could..."

How long has she been carrying this around? Days? A week?

"...she's okay, though... turns out."

She lets out a dry little huff of a laugh.

"You'd probably like her."

Dick Grayson has posed:
That Gwen still has trauma that she needs to work through doesn't phase Dick in the least.

Just because he is in a good place right now, doesn't mean he expects her to precisely match him. That she can't still have her issues that she's working through, can't have those demons that haunt her at times.

All it means is that he wants to be there for her. To help her work through that pain when she needs it. And to to give her something else to focus on when she doesn't.

"Gwen," he says gently, those arms tightening around her, drawing her in against his chest and curling fingers in her hair. "You should have said something."

Watching other people get hurt, watching them suffer is never easy. He hates it too. It's part of why he does what he does, both as a cop and a vigilante.

But that she had to have those reminders of her father from the other dimension, those reminders of how her relationship with him went so very wrong? That feels like it's that much worse.

"I'm sure I will meet her. And I'm glad she's okay," he says gently, dipping his head to catch her eyes. "But how are you doing with all of this?"

Gwen Stacy has posed:
"Pfffft."

Which is the most Gwen response ever. Which is why she brought it up, right? So she could show how okay she is with it?

She totally didn't bring it up because it's been bothering her and she hasn't wanted to say anything, because despite how wonderful and patient and kind and loving Dick is, she hasn't wanted to ruin one of their moments together.

It's definitely the first thing... Ahem.

And yet, even as his arms and fingers both tighten, Gwen relaxes even more, letting her muscles go weak, her body go slack, her breath exhale out against his t-shirt.

Then his head dips, and her eyes lift on instinct, and... it's all there.

At least, to Dick it would be.

Maybe no one else would see it -- the fear. The anticipation of reliving that moment again, the look of anguish in his eyes as he realized the menace he'd been pursuing for so long was his own daughter. And he was going to try to arrest her, anyway.

"I'm fine."

The second most Gwen answer. She doesn't like talking about her feelings. Even with Dick.

"I just... I wanted you to know. You know. In case it became relevant, at some point."

She dips in, nuzzling against his jaw.

"I actually wanted to ask you... about Barbara..."

Her lips quirk into a little smile.

"So.. obviously she's Batgirl. Or.. one of them. Have you two known each other a long a time?"

Dick Grayson has posed:
He is familiar with the need some people have to avoid confronting painful moments, to avoid discussing them.

Look at who he grew up with. Bruce practically invented that.

But Dick isn't inclined to press. Sometimes things need to be dealt with in their own time. In their own way. And even with her, with how much he loves her and wants the best for her, at the end of the day that is something that only Gwen can determine. Only she knows when it's right.

But as she tilts her head, as she meets his gaze for just a moment, he sees that flicker of fear there, that buried pain that is always there, hidden away when she talks about her father - whether in this dimension or her original one.

"It doesn't have to end the same way again, Gwen," he says gently, leaning in, claiming her lips once more and letting that kiss linger for the moment.

He doesn't offer anything else, doesn't push any further for her to talk about her father, or how it affected her watching a friend nearly die. He just cuddles her close and rocks her against him, sharing the warmth of his body with her, his presence, the circle of his arms around her.

Nothing might have been settled, but he is still a little reassured when she leans in, when she makes that wry observation.

He's done a good job of keeping secrets. He is resolved not to share hers with his family, nor there's with hers. But he's not going to lie either. Especially not to her.

"She is," he concedes. "And we have. I've known her since she first became Batgirl. More than fifteen years now."

Gwen Stacy has posed:
It doesn't have to end the same way again, Gwen.

Gwen's eyes dip closed when he leans in to kiss her, her hand coming up to rest gently on his cheek, savoring it -- savoring him. Because if her past has taught her anything at all, it's that every single moment matters. No matter how small in seems in the grand scheme of things. Every kiss, every touch, is important.

"I know."

Her voice is small, somewhere between defensive and resigned.

She does know it will be different. When George Stacy finds out that Ghost-Spider is from another dimension and has spent the last five years impersonating his dead daughter? It's going to be so, so much worse.

Thankfully, they've moved on to Batgirl, though, and Gwen's smile has returned, seeming to enjoy the gentle movements of being held in Dick's lap, swaying, talking, touching, breathing.

"Soooo... I'm going to guess she didn't really need my help climbing on chairs," she muses, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "She's nice."

A beat passes, then, as Gwen's expression grows a little more dire.

"... I didn't mean to make an insensitive joke! It just sort of..."

A beat passes.

"Was she really in a wheelchair?"

Dick Grayson has posed:
For all that Dick Grayson is a Gotham City resident, he tends to default to being on the hopeful side of things.

Growing up in Gotham, it would be easily to become fatalistic. Sometimes it seems that the one thing that the city produces better and more of then anywhere else is tragedy and heartbreak.

It is a simple fact that Metropolis or New York seems to churn out more powerful villains to terrorize the local population from time to time. But no one produces madmen quite like Gotham. No one produces menaces that don't just take lives, but leave the survivors so profoundly psychological scars.

And yes, of the two of them, he is the one who immediately believes that she might find this version of George Stacy different. More accepting. Willing to embrace Ghost-Spider.

Of course she knows her father far, far better then he ever could. Maybe that skepticism is only fair. So he too drops the matter. For now.

"She probably didn't," Dick agrees wryly. Though maybe she should have made a point to fall off if she wanted to keep the ol' secret identity," he adds with a faint smirk.

Then he nods, flashing her a sympathetic look. "She really was. But I can almost promise you she didn't take anything you said personally."