2891/Ignoring Injuries

Ignoring Injuries
Date of Scene:	12 August 2020
Location:	The Robin's Roost - Chelsea
Synopsis:	Phoebe talks Tim into being healed, and Rose is a great girlfriend (but don't tell her that, she'd deny it).
Cast of Characters:	Tim Drake, Phoebe Beacon, Rose Wilson

---

Tim Drake has posed:
The injuries Red Robin has sustained at the hands of the Talon the week before were slowly healing. They had prevented him from joining the ill-fated attempt to take down Deathstroke that had nearly killed Superboy.

Besides a brief stint of Tim himself pulling the Kryptonite dagger shard out of his best friend, and a brief trip in costume out to the Bat clan base Monday evening, Tim had mostly been scarce. He had admitted to having been injured enough that he had stayed Friday night with the Bat family for medical attention, declined going on a mission, and when he was seen was moving stiffly and limping... but he hadn't exactly been entirely forthright about the extent of the damage. Rose knew, but she probably isn't talking.

Under the loose fitting pants and long sleeved shirt, though, his torso and arms were covered in a multitude of stitches from various sword gashes. His right thigh had been cut to just shy of the major artery running through it, and his left abdomen just below the rib cage was a deep and uncomfortable sword puncture. Both had been treated by Alfred Pennyworth at the Batcave. Tim had barely made it 'home' without passing out from loss of blood.

But he had made light of the severity in case Beacon's abilities were more needed in the aftermath of the Deathstroke incident. And after that he had been, after it was clear Conner would survive, hiding in the labs working. Rose had at least once come to bully him out and demand he get a couple of hours of sleep, but as soon as he awoke he had slipped back down among the circle of screens in the computer lab, researching. The screens are filled with toxicology reports, research into missing metahumans, information on CADMUS, intake information for the local hospitals of Gotham... one screen had a news article about the recent suicide of a pharmaceutical executive and another screen what looks like local fairytales and legends.

He ignores the twinges from the various injuries as he flips back and forth between his research, enthralled with the data.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    When Phoebe arrives, its not in uniform. Her hair was braided this time to keep it neat and out of the way as she worked in the medlab, learning an awful lot about anatomy in a very short time in order to best help her compatriots. Thankfully, dark complexions help to hide dark bags under eyes, and in site of the fact that she had pushed herself to discomfort using her powers, it was more important to assure their leader that Superboy would survive, and though, in passing, she had noted the Red Robin wasn't himself. Form what she could tell, anyway.

    Secret identities and odd companionship aside, she mostly worked to stay out of everyone's way (minus the surprised cry when she went to get something out of cold storage and was greeted with a zombie head).

    So when she makes her way down to the lab, looking at the circle of screens going on, she sighs, looks up to the ceiling and then, state with a dry tone:

    "So. Do you just learn to ignore your body after a long while, or is that just a talent for Gothamites?" she jokes. She's wearing a soft gray shirt tonight, over jeans. There's dog hair, here and there on the blue jeans, and she had presumably removed her shoes at the door -- her socks are covered with happy little cacti.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim snorts, his eyes not moving from the screens. Another article about a missing metahuman, this one in Russian. He frowns. Cyrillic is such a pain to read. "Gets necessary after awhile." He types a search string in, and one of the screens has the familiar spin of 'thinking'. "Did you need something, Beacon?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
5T"One, it's weird to call me that if I'm not in uniform." Phoebe replies, her nose wrinkling slightly. "... unless you're the gym teacher. Lombardi always calls people by their last names." she states dryly. And then she leans against the side of the desk. Tim could probably feel her aura already at work with her close proximity to him, likely a warm, fuzzy feeling. "Two, what kinda mythical creature info are you looking up? And three--" she reaches out, and taps the bottom of his chair with one cactus-clad foot.

    "I was beginning to wonder if I did something wrong. You havent been to the lab."

Tim Drake has posed:
"Your abilities are better used on those who deserve them," Tim replies idly. "And yeah. You're from Gotham. You've heard the stupid rhyme we all learned as kids, about the Talons?" He grimaces. "Trying to find any useful information beyond the early history of Gotham." One of the screens has several bits of information regarding the Founding. Tim's own family surname is highlighted several times, along with several other names recognized as the Founding families. "Nothing you did. Just have a lot of work to do."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I've got a passing familiarity with it, yeah." Phoebe replies dryly, leaning over as she squints at the screens a little. "My Gotham History fascination was always with the original people that lived here. Keep in mind, Im a /foundling/. Who knows what my biological make up actually is?" she questions as she looks over the information, leaning close before she states:

    "You also realize I'm mobile and can come to you as you work, right? You are *also* deserving of having some releif, just as they are."

Tim Drake has posed:
"Mm." He doesn't really reply to the last bit. "Well, seems the Talons, at least, are real anyway. That's the head that Hood left in the freezer. I took it over to the Batman for analysis..." he frowns. What is today? "...a couple days ago?" Its clear he isn't exactly aware of what time or day it is, though many of the others in the group are used to this sort of thing.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Ugh. /UGH/. Here I thought it was just normal zombie. But no. /Ugh/." Phoebe makes a face. "It was on top of my vegan-friendly mac-and-sauce." The face stays with her a moment, and then she takes a breath.

    "So, I get that I'm the new kid, I'm pretty sure I was the youngest in the room, and maybe I shouldn't be questioning the leadership--" she begins, and she drops her gaze a moment.

    "... but what good is a leader if you're going to let yourself stay hurt? And trust me, I get it. I knew someone who was the same way." her dark eyes rise up, giving a sidelong look to Red Robin.

    "How bad were your injuries?"

Tim Drake has posed:
Red Robin is quiet for a minute or two, typing. He's chewing on the answer to that. Finally, he admits, "They had to use every bag of blood on hand for me at the Bat-base." He finally looks over to her, leaning back in his chair. He stifles a flinch as the motion pulls at his stitches. "I'm not sure if the Talon was trying to kill me or not, but she came damn close."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "So you went to the home team's base and got yourself patched up enough that you could at least walk." Phoebe states quietly, and then she purses her lips. She lets silence hang in the air, before very softly she asks: "... would we have heard about what happened if she did?"

    "... why don't you think yourself deserving?"

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim shakes his head. "It's part of The Job," he shrugs. "Getting hurt. And yeah." He cocks his head, considering how to put it. "My suit... all of our suits made by the Bat Family, even yours... has a biosensor in it. It tracks the basics... heart rate, blood pressure, o2 sat. I mean, sure, when you're in a fight, some of the stats go through the roof but the computer can recognize that. But when things go sideways... like for me, it saw my heart rate spike and my blood pressure drop as I was bleeding out..." he is a bit too blasé about this, "it sent a warning to base. They were expecting me. If I hadn't made it, they would have found me on way there. And yeah." He blows out a breath. "The Roost would have been updated. I have... some fail-safes in place." He frowns. "Not as many as I should, but I've been working on that too, the past couple of days." He drums his fingers on the desk beside the keyboard.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe is quiet as she listens, her dark eyes intensely studying Tim. She watches the way his arm moves when he drums his fingers on his desk, trying to find the error in the rythem, She breathes out, and tilts her head back a moment. "Now the question that you asked me makes a whole lot more sense. I suspected it would." she murmurs, and she rubs the back of her neck a moment, shifting her braids around before she looks back to Tim.

    "I'd much rather have you around than the failsafes." she comments, "... not just because of the fact that as great as my powers are, probably wouldn't be able to take eighteen bullets at once, that's a bit much, but because you're a smart guy and, from what I've seen... someone who needs to work a little bit on the leadership thing, other than delegation."

    Then she reaches out, and very, very gently pokes his shoulder.

    "And you still didn't answer my other question. You're not dodging that.I'm pretty sure I could take you in a fight right now, but I'd feel *really* bad doing it."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim lifts a brow, and then shrugs at her. "Other people need it more. May as well ask any of us why we risk life and limb going out and helping people when we could sit at home watching TV and enjoying life. Sometimes, you just choose others."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yeah, but when the others were stabilized and well on the mend... and even before, you still didn't. And you still arent." Phoebe points out, crossing her arms. "And I'm pretty sure none of us would be the couch sitting type." she states, then she leans her head back. "Maybe Bart. With the snails."

Tim Drake has posed:
"Heh." Tim spreads his hands apologetically. "Been busy. Isn't the first time I've been hurt, won't be the last time. I guess I'm just used to it." It's the closest he's willing to part with as an explanation. "I get into a lot of 'motorcycle accidents'." The quotes around that last bit are obvious.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yep. I'm at a Volunteer's Club meeting right now, might run late." Phoebe gives a wry grin. "Before that it was study group. Before that I was considering getting involved with the yearbook. My mom thinks I have a secret boyfriend, but... eeeeh." Phoebe turns her head up, and gives a slight grimmace. "That would somehow be more complicated than 'joining a superhero group'. SO."

    She holds her hands out a moment. "I was serious when I said I was mobile. You'll get better faster."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim sighs. "I guess this is your way of telling me to accept help whether I want it or not," he says with a slight laugh. "And I doubt my arguments will go anywhere anymore than when I tried to argue with Rose earlier about getting sleep."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I wouldn't argue with Rose. She's terrifying." Phoebe replies, and she lowers her hands, then gives a shrug.

    "And no, I'm not going to heal you against your will, that's... kinda wrong. Because it's not that it's invasive, but it is... intimate, I guess would be the word?" Phoebe's lips purse, her head tilting as she looks away, and gives a shrug. "I respect your boundaries if you don't want to be touched, but if you're languishing there in a stupid amount of pain because you feel bad about feeling bad, I have an issue with that."

Tim Drake has posed:
"I argue with her all the time," Tim notes lightly. "I don't often win those arguments, but that's besides the point." He frowns a bit. "I just don't want to risk you needing the healing for someone else who is worse off, or needs it more. I can handle pain for awhile. But..." he glances towards one of the screens, then reaches over and types in a few lines. "Hm. That's..." he shakes his head, turning back to Phoebe. "Never mind. You're right. The sooner I'm healed, the sooner I can be useful again."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'd say 'That's the spirit, Tim', but I'm about to point out you're in the middle of doing research that I so boldly interrupted you to tell you 'nyeeh'" Phoebe sticks her tongue out at him, as she rolls her shoulders "'I am healz, hear me rar' -- or something. I haven't played group video games in like, a year." she gives a small laugh, and then holds u her hand,s rubbing them together slightly. "So, where would you prefer I lay hands? Head? Cheeks? Shoulders? It'll tingle. Probably."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim looks a bit uncomfortable for a moment, and then shrugs. "I... guess where ever? My face is probably the least cut up, if we're being blunt." Tingle //and// Phoebe saying it would be intimate. Oh boy. He looks rather apprehensive. "I'm assuming you don't need to know what's hurt or where because you'll... feel it?" He looks interested in how it all works as well as trepidatious.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe wrinkles her nose. "It doesn't really matter where I lay hands on, though skin contact I guess works better? Just suffice that I've never laid hands lower than the belt line, unless it was an ankle or knee." she states. and she looks at her hands a moment, then gives a bit of a nervous shrug, her cheeks darkening slightly. "I.. actually don't really know. I feel the pain as it heals, but it's distant. Like the feeling of one of the trains overhead coming through the steel and concrete and through your shoes -- no one's ever asked how it worked. Usually it's shoulders." she adds, and motions "But I can't tell if you're all bandaged and I don't want to mess up stitches if you have them -- this is just going to be weird, and we've made it *worse* somehow!" the younger teen laments, and then gives a huff, moving to stand behind Tim and slightly to the side, so she's in his vision (very important!), and with her fingertips already glowing with light, she reaches up, drawing those calloused, strong fingers against Tim's cheek on his left, and a little lower on his right, gently placing her hand against his shoulder.

    "All I really know is that it feels warm and it tingles on your side. You are not allowed to encourage someone to get beat up for science, by the way." she warns, and her eyes close, her own shoulders relaxing as her head tilts forward.

    And pretty instantly, Tim would feel the light sensation of your limbs going to sleep, nerves tingling as warmth travels from her fingertips and palms down his body. The deeper wounds are where the sensation tends to pool, stimulating muscle fibers to knit back together, flesh to heal, capillaries reform.

Rose Wilson has posed:
Tim is a very sneaky person. Some people may feel that is a rather obvious thing, considering his standing as a Batbrat. But that isn't exactly the best thing, especially when sneaking includes not sleeping.

While injured.

It doesn't take Rose more than a few seconds thought to figure out where Tim might end up, which might explain the rather brisk pace that Rose has when she walks into the lab. The Roost is home, plus HQ, which might explain why she's got bare feet, a pair of loose basketball shorts and a sports bra on when she comes to a stop just inside the lap.

One pale brow lifts upwards at what she's walked in on, and she considers various different responses before landing on, "An I interrupting something?"

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim feels his muscles relax, a bright warmth spreading through his flesh and then settling on first the puncture on his torso, then a few moments later the gash on his thigh. There are tiny flashes of heat as the smaller, less deep and critical wounds begin to knit together, but the bulk of the power seems to be going to the two major injuries. Tingling is right-- Tim's face scruntches a bit in... not shock, exactly, or discomfort, but something that indicates he wasn't quite prepared for the sensation of muscle and flesh knitting together quickly.

But then Rose comes into view, and guilt is the expression on his face-- not for anything salacious by any stretch, but because he //had// slipped out of bed to come work on the NOWHERE and Court of Owls problems instead of sleeping, and he's pretty sure she's not happy with him for it. "Healing--" he starts, but twitches as the split muscle in his leg finishes knitting. "God this feels //weird//."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe is, prescisely, to the back and slightly to the side of Tim, who's seated. Everyone is fully clothed, but there's a slight discomforting face on Phoebe as she winces, mostly at Rose's arrival. The younger girl was wearing a gray shirt, jeans, and socks with happy looking cacti on them. She breathes out, evenly, making herself centered as she focuses on the feeling ebbing into Tim via his cheek and shoulder.

    "That was a bad one." Phoebe whispers quietly. "Yes. That feels weird." Phoebe confirms, breathing out as she shifts her weight, squaring her stance a little bit as her knees begin to quiver.

    "I finally convinced him that limping around like that makes us look bad."

Rose Wilson has posed:
There is a flat, irritated look that is shot towards Tim, and it probably has nothing to do with anything salacious. Probably because she just assumes Tim is incapable of that kind of behavior. Conner? Probably. Hood? Obviously. Probably even Big Brother Short Pants Grayson. But not Tim.

Then she shifts that look upwards towards Phoebe, "Right...makes us look bad." Oh she's got opinions on that. Probably shared ones with the healer, though, all things considered.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim's eyes close as the wound in his side feels like it's buzzing with electricity. The muscles there reknit, tightening and closing the gap forced in by the Talon's sword, skin regrowing over like the wound had never been there at all. "Augh... the last time didn't feel like this--" he notes, thinking back to when Phoebe had healed the bullet wound in his arm. But then again, these wounds were a lot worse.

The last few gashes suddenly close as well, and Tim feels in a lot less pain, but also... tired and hungry, actually. He slumps back a little in his chair, but then he glances up at Pheobe and gives her a grateful smile. "Thanks. Really." He does lift a hand out towards Rose slightly, offering for her to come closer if she wants to.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I've never done wounds this deep and old." Phoebe replies, a little breathless, and she lifts her hands off Tim, shaking them out as the gashes close up.

    She teeters slightly, then her knees give out, and she falls backwards, feeling nauseous and exhausted. "... but at least you're not gonna be limping everywhere." Phoebe scolds slightly.

Rose Wilson has posed:
"So what she's saying is...don't wait so long next time." The depth of the wounds she can't admonish him about, since he probably didn't actually //want// that either. But waiting around forever, she can nag him about.

Instead of going towards Tim and his out stretched hand, she moves towards Phoebe, reaching down to try and help the girl back to her feet, and to a more proper seat in a chair.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim looks alarmed as Phoebe staggers. "Is there anything we can get for you? I'm going to guess you expended a lot of energy, and will need to recharge. Food? Water? Smoothie?" He reaches over and taps a couple of buttons, frowning. Outside the computer lab, in the main lab area, the sound of whirring servos can be heard. "Y-yes? Y-y-yes? How-how can I-I? Help?" a monotone voice stutters.

"Ugh. Still not ideal." Tim's expression darkens as he calls up a schematic of what looks to be a humanoid shaped robot on the screen. "Mm. Well, looks like the protocols I need are working. I'll fix the damn voiceprint later." While he's tinkering with the code on the screen, the door to the lab opens and the robot from the screen steps in, though somewhat less than gracefully. "What for --help?"

Over his shoulder, Tim notes, "Let him know what you need, and he'll bring it back down."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yeah, I just need a couple of minutes... get my bearings--" Phoebe begins, giving a thankful look to Rose, with a wan smile before she takes a deep breath, and exhales. Her fingers fold against her lap neatly. "Thanks, Rose. And yeah! Don't be a stranger, there is *zero* need to let things be that bad! What if you didn't have a base to get to out in the field? That could have meant a really painful stupid death!" Phoebe states, then physically wilts -- until she spies the Robot BUtler.

    "Oh... ah..." Beacon pauses, looking a bit pale, her eyes going wide. "... pack of oreos?"

Rose Wilson has posed:
There's a slight wrinkle of her nose, and once she's certain that Phoebe isn't going to just lay there on the floor, Rose moves over towards Tim, "It was reckless...if there's healing available, not making use of it could have gotten you killed."

One hand moves to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, "You should eat, too, Tim. When was the last time you ate?"

Tim Drake has posed:
"One-one pack of O-O-Oreos. Would you also like m-m-m-milk?" AHAB stares in Beacon's direction, teal lights for his eyes glowing in the dim light of the computer lab.

Tim scowls at the stutter, his fingers flying across the keyboard-- only to stop moving as Rose squeezes his shoulder. "Uh. Wew, you are not going to like that answer," he notes quietly, then actually looks back and up at her. "Before we left for the meeting at Bat central?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Ooh, yes please, and thank you." Phoebe states to the butler, then looks at Tim.

    And then looks at Rose. And then looks at Tim again before she stands up, wobbly for a brief moment, and then clears her throat.

    "You should eat at least two meals a day, Tim. Team Medic's orders." she states, and then looks to Rose, and gives a nod to her, before she goes to journey forth in search of things to make her own stomach stop grumbling at her.

Rose Wilson has posed:
"That was days ago." Rose points out, looking like she's got more to say about it. But then Phoebe brings her attention back towards her, shifting her attention over towards her, watching for a moment as she leaves.

Which just leaves Tim there to take the full force of Rose's look, "You should eat."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim Drake gives Rose an all-too-innocent look. "As you wish," he says, rising as AHAB is already on his way upstairs towards the kitchens. He wobbles very slightly, catching himself almost imperceptibly on the armrest of the chair. A lack of sleep, food, and being rapidly healed isn't great for a metahuman, and it's worse for someone who is quite fully human. Still, willpower alone gets one far. He leans over slightly and steals a quick kiss. "Something quick, though."

Rose Wilson has posed:
"No." Rose moves to loop an arm around his waist so that she can help keep him up on his feet as they head for the kitchen, "You are going to eat high energy foods, carbs, protein. Veggies. And you're going to eat until you're full. Then you're going to come back to bed."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim slides his arm around her waist as well, partially to steady himself and partially just because he enjoys the closeness. "This is where I should make some comment about what we'll do when we get there," he points out, "but maybe it'll have to wait until morning." He frowns. "Or... evening. What time is it, anyway?" He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."

He doesn't argue, though, as they make their way to the kitchen-- though he does suggest his kitchen over in the theater instead of the one in the Roost, as it's at least closer to the bedroom. Nor does he argue at all regarding food, whether it's the suggestions on what to make or actually eating it. In fact, the only request he makes doesn't happen until they are both behind closed doors in his bedroom... and Conner would either be entirely proud of what that is or astounded at the sheer audacity.