2742/Tacit Permission

Tacit Permission
Date of Scene:	02 August 2020
Location:	Batcave
Synopsis:	Bruce and Tim have some discussions about Tim's new team... and a couple of other things.
Cast of Characters:	Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne

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Tim Drake has posed:
The red and black motorcycle used as a primary vehicle by Red Robin zips into the Batcave, coming to a stop at its usual parking place when he's around. Red Robin pulls off his helmet, hooking it to the seat as he slides off the bike, eyes concealed by the whites of the HUD in his mask. He snags a small, wrapped package from the 'saddlebags' of the bike, making his way over towards his usual perch at the Batcomputer to run some additional analysis closer to home.

Not seeing Hood's larger, more aggressive looking motorcycle, or Dick's car, or Damian's... anything... he figures he has the cave to himself. Which is good. He's not really in the mood to be social with his brothers. His mouth is drawn in a flat line, like it usually is when he's lost in thought or focused on something.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Well, the Batmobile proper is parked on its' usual platform, looking freshly washed and the basic maintenance performed daily already having been completed. But that's probably not a shock. Truth be told, it's actually not hard to miss Bruce seated at the Batcomputer, as the high-backed chair hides him from certain angles. He's still in costume, but with the cowl pulled back off his face. A sure sign that it was a busy night, as even with the Batmobile-maintenance he'd usually have headed upstairs to get a couple hours of sleep by now.

"So...did you manage to recruit J'onn's protege?"

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim stifles a groan, but pops the domino mask off his face. "Yeah-- seems like it." So his suspicions are definitely right: Bruce did send Dick to look in on Tim's apparently not-as-secret-as-he-thought project. "The whole telepath thing would have been nice to know," he points out, as he settles into his seat one spot over from Bruce on the right. He pops out the sample tray and drops a single, yellow and blue swirled tablet with a black Bat symbol on it into the tray, then pushes it in. His fingers fly over the keyboard as he sets up the analysis here.

Tim looks fairly exhausted himself-- a day in New York City, a drive back to Jersey, then an evening in with Rose and as soon as that was done, out on patrol... then here. He hasn't slept in almost 48 hours, and it shows. There's a part of him considering going upstairs and collapsing into his bed in the manor, but he wants to get this done first.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"J'onn asked for confidentiality on some matters. Of course, if you'd mentioned it to me I could have warned you." Bruce's tone is not testy, however, simply matter-of-fact as he swivels in the chair to face in the direction of Tim and his work. The Bat-Computer's platform has a view of much of the cave.

"Another sample of the drug?" Bruce queries as he watches, idly reaching a hand over to mirror whatever readouts Tim gets on one of the many screens in easy reach.

But he doesn't stop with just the one question, "So...you, Conner, Bart Allen, Miss Sandsmark, M'Gann, Miss Beacon and...Rose Wilson. Anyone else I might want to know about?"

Tim Drake has posed:
There is an almost imperceptible stiffening of Tim's shoulders as Bruce lists off Tim's new 'teammates', which is only moreso when he mentions Rose. It's a few moments of silence as Tim considers his reply... which isn't odd. Tim is the most thoughtful and least impulsive of Bruce's 'children'. Usually.

"Yes. This is a sample Jay got ahold of a week ago. The labs at the Roost keep giving me inconclusive results. They may be tied into the Bat computer, but I'm checking here anyway to see if my equipment might be off." His focus doesn't leave the screen for a few moments as the readings scroll across it. But even the Bat computer is having some trouble... the 'Analysis In Progress' bar is still slowly filling. Tim frowns.

When he sees this is going to take longer than he was hoping it might, he turns towards Bruce. "And... that's almost everyone. There's a girl I ran into in New York. She gave me an assist with some muggers who thought I was an easy mark." He doesn't need to point out that a need for that assistance was likely unnecessary, which means she stepped in on her own, seeing someone in need of help. "Her name is Laura Kinney." There's a slight frown. He doesn't offer any more information likely because he doesn't have it. And it being Tim... that likely means because there isn't much to be found. "So you know about Beacon? I was hoping to get her in hand before she showed up on your radar." He is meticulously avoiding mentioning Rose.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"I've been considering how to approach Miss Beacon for some time now. Admittedly my initial instinct was to dissuade her from her...excursions. I don't have the time for a protege that requires a full measure of training right now." How fortunate that Damian came pre-packaged with most of the skillset already? "But this might be an acceptable alternative. I can certainly see the utility of her abilities, if what I've gleaned of them is correct." There's a brief pause, "You have fabrication capability at your hideout? I would suggest getting her fitted for a proper uniform sooner rather than later. Nothing beyond basic protection, comms, and monitoring for now, of course."

Batman cants his head now, curiously, "Laura Kinney. Not a name I'm familiar with." Contrary to popular belief he doesn't know EVERYTHING, and Laura's life has been largely lived below the radar, when not being actively concealed by rogue agents. Though he might be more alarmed if he heard "X-23."

Bruce's conversation shifts track back to the other topic at hand when he looks to the screen, frowning ever-so-slightly. "I don't think it's your equipment, Tim."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim's gaze flits back to the screen, and he curses slightly. The same as at the Roost: 45% MDMA, 55% Inconclusive. "No... doesn't look like it. I don't like this at all. Even when Isley or Crane come up with new toxins, we at least get SOMETHING... not this." He actually rises to his feet, leaning on the desktop closer to the screen, as if he can will it to show something more. "I've compared this to the raw powder from the Falcone-Joker trade, though. THAT at least came up with a match. So why are these roughly half this new drug? What even IS it?" He looks frustrated.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Given the apparent effects on both human and metahuman physiology, I think we have good grounds to surmise it's some kind of catalyst to enhance the effects of whatever it's compounded with. The problem I'm seeing is that the reaction is outsized beyond what should be possible through conventional chemical mechanisms." He studies the screen, then flicks a glance towards Tim, "In short, I'm not certain that this is fabricated entirely through mundane means. I might suggest looking towards AIM and similar organizations for an origin. Falcone certainly didn't come up with this on his own, and while Crane or Isley or several of our other foes may have the know-how...it doesn't seem to suit their style."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim sinks back into his chair. He doesn't look very surprised at all by Bruce's analysis... it was fairly close to his own fears. "Yeah. That's... what I had thought it might be. This is not something that should be on the streets at all." He sighs, a quiet puff of air, before he pops the sample out of the computer and back into the tiny case he had brought it over in. "You want this one to keep here? I have... several others, if need." He looks towards Bruce with slight embarrassment. "But you knowing how... effective... it is means Conner's 'dad' talked to you, didn't he." It's more of a flat observation than a question.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"He waited a few days." Bruce comments, his tone still mild, but the implication that Clark gave Tim and the others time to come clean themselves hangs heavy in the air nonetheless.
"I want to be clear, Tim. I didn't tacitly approve of what you're doing with the belief that it would be an entirely smooth ride. I may...question...some of your decisions, but this is /your/ team, and even Dick is there in an advisory capacity more than anything else."

He adds, "So your decisions are your own, and so long as you and your friends don't put Gotham at risk by your actions or presence...I won't interfere beyond occasional material aid if you need it, at least not without your explicit request."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim is quiet for a bit. "...thanks." He gives a half-grin over towards Bruce. "For having faith in me." He places the case on the desk. "And that's effectively why I thought Dick suddenly had an interest in what I was up to. He usually has his hands full and then some with the Titans."

He sighs a bit. "I didn't intend for anyone to get... altered. I feel like I walked us into some ambush Crane set up, and it was sloppy. It won't happen again."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"We all stumble sometimes. We learn from it and move on." Bruce is silent a moment, before the ghost of a smile touches his face, "I will admit that I /might/ wish I could have seen Superman's face, though."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim snorts, but his expression is good-natured. "I mean, kind of mortifying to have Superman show up in your living room, when everyone's hungover and even Rose was too drunk to wake--" he cuts himself off. "It was... I'd rather not have that experience again. But Conner needed it. I've been trying to push him to talk to Superman for a long time. We've //known// he's Superman's clone. Son. Thing. I just want to help figure out who his mom is, but..." Tim shrugs. "One thing at a time. One piece at a time. He gets to have a Dad now." He grins a bit. "Maybe that'll rein him in some." Conner is Tim's best friend, true, but Tim is not remotely unaware of his failings.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Maybe." Bruce affirms, growing a bit more solemn. "But speaking of fathers..."

There's a pause, but not really enough for interjection before Bruce continues, "Slade Wilson is one of the most dangerous men alive. I...can't tell you what to do in this case without making a hypocrite of myself...and if anything, I can...understand where some of your hopes may lie, and sympathize." The look is grim now, though, "In short, while I fully support the idea of tempering Miss Wilson into a force for good, I cannot stress enough how careful you need to be. And..." There's a grimace, as unpleasant memories flit through his mind "The particular method you seem to be taking hasn't been one I've had a great deal of success with in the past."

Tim Drake has posed:
Well, that turns Tim about the same color as the costume he is wearing. "Ah. Uh. Yeah." Normally articulate and precise in his words, Tim's effectively stammering. "It's not like that, it's not... I'm not... just to..." His eyes actually glance over to the wooden box Dick had put in place a couple months back near the meeting table... the one with a cartoonishly drawn picture of Damian on it and the words 'use these or get this' above the picture.

It's filled with condoms.

Dick has a terrible sense of humor.

He straightens himself up, and draws a slow breath in through his nose. "She's a good person... just broken. Whatever her Dad did to her... I haven't asked for details. I guess she'll tell me when she thinks it's right, but until then, I'm just guessing." Probably some fairly educated ones. "Deathstroke is on my radar. I... would say I'm staying off his, but that ship has sailed." He grimaces, thinking of the ruined date the other night. "He knows Tim Drake is dating his daughter. But I don't think it really will matter. Tim is no one in his world, just a spoiled rich kid, right?"

He sets his jaw. "She isn't her father. And I know if she's given a chance..."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"I wasn't either, Tim." Bruce sort-of completes Tim's thought for him on that first bit. There's a flicker of a frown as his eyes trace the path of Tim's gaze towards that box. Alfred has removed it more than once, whether by Bruce's urging or on his own initiative yet it seems to keep popping up.

"I'll just say I hope you have more success than I did. And settle for you keeping her from leaving a trail of bodies in her wake." He adds, "And this reminds me..." And also provides a good way to steer the conversation away from this awkwardly honest moment.

"I'm sure you've already considered that I would prefer your group keep any actual operations away from Gotham if and whenever possible. So to that end I'm working with Lucius on arranging suitable transport for you all. It may be a few weeks out, however."

Tim Drake has posed:
"Huh." Tim looks pleased with that. "...thank you. Again." He glances towards his bike, then towards the door leading into the manor. "...I think I'm going to go pass out for a couple of hours," he admits. "It's been a long couple of days."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Of course." Bruce replies to Tim, and without another word turns back to the computer, cueing up whatever casefile he was working on earlier. While the conversation that just passed is hardly forgotten, he shifts between priorities quickly and easily. Just another day in the Batcave, apparently.