3147/Hitting Walls

Hitting Walls
Date of Scene:	29 August 2020
Location:	Sublevel 2 -Training Facilities - The Roost
Synopsis:	Tim and Hope chat opsec breaches and about setting ground rules for the team.
Cast of Characters:	Tim Drake, Hope Summers

---

Tim Drake has posed:
It's late. Movie night had been a success in many ways: people had fun. A movie was watched. Tim's theater room has been officially broken in. Much popcorn and candy was consumed. Everyone left happy.

Well, everyone, it seems, but the host of the event.

Out of his casual clothes and into sweats, a muscle tank, with handwraps on, Tim's down on Sublevel Two, which has been entirely given over to training. Or in his case tonight, taking out his anger and aggression on a punching bag. Cliche, yes. But though he's usually considered the nerd of the team, or the tech guy, the strategist? It's fairly clear that for all that dismissal otherwise, he's more than earned his position as a Robin in the Batfamily. While the muscles on his arms aren't bulky by any means, they are toned, defined, and clearly he has skill, because his punches aren't wild or untrained-- they are clearly made by someone who has way too much training for his age.

Probably something Hope might sympathize with.

Also, something that, though Hope hasn't really known him long, that's different? Tim's expression is often blank, or grim, or when social laughing and happy. Tonight? There's a sort of rage there that he normally doesn't express or bluntly even feel. Getting him angry, truly angry? Takes work. And it seems someone has hit every button on that elevator.

Poor punching bag. Luckily it's meant to stand up to Cassie's punches. Mostly.

Hope Summers has posed:
It's not that there are no facilities for shooting or fabricating guns and other things at Xavier's. It's more that there's a level of oversight with which Hope is not entirely accustomed there, and given what happened the last time she settled in with them in her own timeline, she's being a little more cautious.

That, and this place appeals to her sense of independence.

That sense of independence is probably why she's showing up now, and not when everyone else was gathered for movie night. That, and the newly-constructed gun in her hands. She's busy giving it a last inspection as she steps out of the elevator, rubbing her thumb over a switch on the side to check where it sits. Hearing the thump of the bag, she glances up to see Tim going at it.

Pausing, she arches a brow before taking her time skirting the training area toward the shooting range, keeping an eye on him.

Tim Drake has posed:
Punches turn into a few kicks and those flow smoothly back into punches. He, normally observant, doesn't even notice Hope step off the elevator and head towards the range. The thuds against the heavy bag continue unbated, until suddenly there's a clang as he knocks it loose-- not off, after all, it's set up to deal with far stronger folks usually, but the suddenly clang is enough to have him drop his hands and step back.

That's when he spies Hope. And he turns around, grabbing a nearby bottle of water and slugging some of it, then rewraps one of his hands. "Hey. Laser or electrical?" he asks about the gun, but his tone is flat and almost uninterested.

Hope Summers has posed:
"Laser's the plan, at least," Hope answers, slinging the gun over her shoulder and giving him a long look. "You wanna talk about it?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and taking a few steps toward the mat. The 'it' in question is definitely not the gun hanging over her shoulder.

Despite her supposedly casual pose, her steps are slow and balanced, feet rolling from the outside to the arch. It's not the first time she's seen this kind of attitude. Granted, it's usually in the mirror.

Tim Drake has posed:
"Laser's good. Low power, though. Don't want to punch a hole in anyone." Tim rolls his shoulders a bit, a bundle of nervous energy. Well, more angry energy. "Eh. Just a fucking opsec breach. I get to yank X-23 by her ear tomorrow and beat into her skull she might be invincible, but other people? Other people are going to die if she doesn't start thinking." He cracks his neck, and then reaches for the heavy bag, shoulders straining a bit as he manhandles it back onto its correct hanger.

He snorts with frustration as the bag clicks back in place. He steps back, ready to throw a few more punches into it. "Came down here to work out... this. Can't go to bed like this, nothing good with come of it."

Hope Summers has posed:
"Adjustable," Hope points out, turning the gun to show a dial on one side. "Because sometimes you need to punch a hole through some //thing//." She considers for a moment, then stifles a sigh, stepping off the mat the go and set her new toy down in front of the shooting range before coming back to help hold the bag.

"I wouldn't have expected that from Laura," she admits. "But...I knew Laura back in my world. Older and more experienced, I guess. What happened?"

Tim Drake has posed:
He does start throwing blows again, but they are more measured, as he replies to Hope's query between hits. "Conner said something to her. Dunno what it was, but it was quiet, and whateve rit was she took as carte blanche to start bragging about the aliens and the clones and God fucking knows what else. Then Cassie starts running her mouth too, because Cassie. All while we have Laura's little sister, who I suspect knew way too much before even walking in this building, Steph, and Steph's boyfriend," the latter two being people Hope likely doesn't know (well, Tim doesn't know she knows Roberto) and certainly aren't on the team, "in for a damn movie night sans masks. Shit, even //Conner// didn't wear his damn S shirts."

Jab, jab, hook, jab, jab-jab. "People," jab, "die over this," jab-jab, "shit. Not everyone here is a mutant with a healing factor. Not everyone here is a superhuman. And even those who are?" Jab, hook, jab, jab. "Family. Friends. Loved ones. Those people die too."

"They die easy. And they die easier when people can't keep their mouths shut when out of costume."

Hope Summers has posed:
"Gabby tends to collect information. She's more careful than she looks though." Hope braces against the bag, holding it steadier than it looks like she could by size alone. She doesn't say anything for another moment though, mulling it over.

"So. If I've got my facts right, for the last what, three to four years? It's been you, Cassie, Conner, and Bart. Bart's out of time like me. Conner's an indestructible clone. Cassie's got a mom, at least, but she's on the indestructible end of the scale. And then there's you. Which...is clearly why you've got the sense, because otherwise you'd already be dead. But. I get the feeling this...bigger team thing is new, yeah?"

Tim Drake has posed:
"Cassie's mom's a mortal. Like me." Tim steps back away from the bag, rewrapping a hand again. The knuckles on one fist are already beginning to bloody a bit. He's been at it awhile. "And... yes and no. I'm part of a larger team, I guess you could say, in the sense that I work for Batman. It's not a small team of Bats around Gotham, but Rule Zero is secrecy at all costs. People die when the masks don't protect them." Tim scowls at nothing, bad memories already playing through his head. He didn't say 'could' or 'might' die. He was clear that they did. They had.

"Secrecy is a responsibility. And yeah. About that long. Bart came later. Before it was just the four of us." He grimaces. "Three of us sometimes. Rose..." he shrugs. "Doesn't matter. Point is, I don't care how careful Gabby is or isn't. She shouldn't be looped in-- she's not on the team. I wasn't comfortable with the team being open IDs behind closed doors, if we're being honest, but it was a choice we made. Trust."

He sighs, jabbing the bag once more half-heartedly with the bloody fist. "Trust that's been broken. I had to have M'Gann do something I know she didn't like doing. But I had no choice. I have to protect the team. And those attached to them. Stuff slips? Maybe it's Pheobe's mom. Maybe it's Carrie. Maybe it's Conner's favorite teacher up at Empire state. But someone will die for it. How it works."

Hope Summers has posed:
"Not gonna lie, I was not expecting to see...people." Hope glances around the bag when he steps back, keeping an eye on him. Sometimes you need to work things out. But eventually there's a point where it's time to stop.

"I'm not disagreeing with you. Connections get made, people die, you get compromised. Sometimes that's worse then people dying. But the //point// is that I don't think most of the team gets that," she points out, leaning a shoulder against the bag. "You bats are all about the secrets. So are most of the X-Men, for the same reasons. You and I are used to it. But you can't expect them to do any different unless you set the rules."

Tim Drake has posed:
"I thought I had." Tim scowls darkly. "I don't know how I can make it clearer without throwing a body bag on the floor." He at least starts unwrapping his fists, so maybe he's done for the night. "The base is safe. We can be open about things, scream, yell, hell, even get drunk if that's what people need to do to let off steam. I don't necessarily think it's the best idea, but we should be safe here. I've done everything I can to make it that way-- for all people complain about my security protocols? They had at least been following them."

He eyes the split knuckles and groans. He does not want to have to explain this in a little bit, but maybe she'll have already gone to sleep. "Until today. Or I assume until today, but now I have to ask if we've been compromised further. If people have played the 'just one person' or 'I trust them with my life' game." He lets out a breath, and then leans against the bag himself. "...I'm going to have to have this lecture for everyone, aren't I? Fuck, that's going to be marvelous." That last bit, obviously, oozing sarcasm.

Hope Summers has posed:
"I dunno. Any of them stage an insurrection and try to kill you for ruining their lives yet?" Hope quirks a brow, a faint smile at one corner of her lips as she shrugs. "Lay it out as house rules, if you think it'll be easier. Less confrontational. Considering you pay the rent, that seems plenty fair to me."

"But," she continues, more serious. "Yeah. If you want the team to work, then you'll have to make some things clear. Otherwise it's just...a club. And if you wanted that, that'd be fine too, but that's not the read I get from you."

Tim Drake has posed:
"Eh, Cassie and I haven't had our bimonthly screaming match yet," Tim jokes darkly. But at least it's a joke. He shakes his head. "Nah. It's a team. Or it's supposed to be. I've been trying to give some space for people to get used to each other, train togetehr, spar a bit, learn each other's weaknesses and strengths. Maybe that is the problem-- maybe it's been too much of a social club." He frowns. "Maybe instead of taking this time, I should have thrown us into the deep end. It's how we did it back at first, you know. Deep end. We learned as we went along. Hell, we didn't even really completely have the control or training we do now." There's a quirk of a grin at that, and memories-- good and bad-- come to mind.

"Maybe that's what we need. Less warm and fuzzy and more of the Mission." Tim pushes away from the bag and then stretches a bit. "Laying down the ground rules more clearly, and putting us out in the world. I've been putting off sending us out on..." he glances over to Hope. "Well, if we're being honest? The covert ops we're supposed to be capable of. That's what this team is meant for, Hope. Not the media-chasing, front-page news making of the Titans or the League." He gestures. "Look around. Does this look like the big T of the Titans, or the Justice League's Hall for visitors and warm fuzzies? No. No one knows who or what or where we are. And that's how it's supposed to be. We'll get the real work done, quietly and without needing the spotlight."

Hope Summers has posed:
Hope arches a brow, head tilting. "Careful with that line, Tim," she cautions, pushing off the bag herself. "It's pretty gray, and eventually you start to find out that you're not on the side you thought you were on. I wouldn't say anything, except that you've been pretty clear about the side of that line you //want// to be on. I'm with you. I agree, it's necessary. I've just also seen it go wrong, too."

"You watch my back, I'll watch yours. We keep it clean, we keep it good." She starts back toward the firing range and her gun, watching him over her shoulder. "I don't know about the deep end, but we ought to get some swimming in. A good mission statement, some ground rules. Some structure."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim nods, not feeling like debating the lines or whether or not he or the team might cross them. To him, the line was clear. We don't kill. We don't become them. Fear, intimidation, all of this was fine. Just never crossing that line.

He wasn't in the headspace to discuss how grey things get before that line though. And how for many on his team it was a line already crossed many times over.

"Looks like it," he agrees with the need for a more clarified set of rules and structure. "We've always played it lose, the small group of us. And for the Bats? The Batman is in charge. Period. Thats how it works." He sighs. "With a team this big, and this... flexible and disparate... structure will be needed. It's clear seeing where the pieces fall may not be for the best."

He glances toward the range. "If you have the computer run Target Shift 47X23 that probably would be a good one for lasers. And it will keep score." He's been busy. As always. "I'm gonna head up and catch some sleep. At least a couple hours."

Hope Summers has posed:
"Better treat those knuckles, too," Hope advises, starting to inspect her gun once more. There's a casual comfort to it, her hands moving automatically through the motions...on a gun that seemingly didn't exist until a few hours ago. "Otherwise you'll be lucky if you can make yourself breakfast in the morning, let alone do anything more dangerous."

Glancing up, she flashes a grin. "Assuming you didn't build the robot just to prevent the dangers of you cooking in the first place. Or maybe Phoebe can help, if she's still around?" Shaking her head, she looks back to the range as she fits the gun to her shoulder and sights down the barrel. "Don't beat yourself up too much. It's just growing pains. We'll work it out."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim laughs lightly at the cooking comment. "I could probably figure something out if I had time... but yeah. I've got some stuff in my room. Not even worth swinging through the medbay. "And the robot definitely saves us from pizza and fast food every day. Can't expect to stay in top condition on junk." Even if he is prone to junk himself. Its fast. Its easy. And with Bart around, it usually just appears. "Let me know how that design works out. I've got a couple thoughts on something similar." He snags his water bottle. "Thanks, Hope. See you tomorrow, probably."

Hope Summers has posed:
"If I get it worked out right, I could probably adapt it into gauntlets for you." Hope's attention is fixed on the range now, though. It's time to see how this thing works out.

"Sleep tight, Tim. Catch you in the morning."

And then the range is firing up, targets starting to fly across as she calibrates the weapon.