7995/The Apokolips Morning Afters

The Apokolips Morning Afters
Date of Scene:	26 September 2021
Location:	Tim's Suite, Wayne Manor
Synopsis:	Tim and Lonnie (don't) have a fight.
Cast of Characters:	Lonnie Machin, Tim Drake

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Lonnie Machin has posed:
Tim... was on a lot of painkillers. And probably vaguely remembers an attempt to sneak out of Wayne Manor, which of course, his memory tells him was completely successful and he's so brilliant and awesome and clever.

And then he wakes up and he's smelling the starch Alfred uses on the bedlinens, and realizing he's in his bed in Wayne Manor.

Then there's movement and a sleepy noise next to him - Lonnie is lying next to him, in his underwear, tangled up in the top-sheet. He's snoring a little bit, because while he may be disgusted by the excesses of the ultra wealthy OH MY GOD this bed.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It wasn't like he was actually sneaking anywhere! He just had places to be, and a quick heal-up from Phoebe got him to a point where he could go be out in public without looking like he'd been punched in the face repeatedly. A quick glance over to his desk shows the tuxedo he wore out, carelessly tossed over the back of the chair.

    That's gonna cost some money to deal with. Later. Tim sighs and slips a hand under his t-shirt to press against the bandages constricting his ribs, grimacing faintly before he starts the slow, shuffling process of rolling over onto his uninjured side.

    Oh. There's Lonnie.

    Tim blinks at him for a few moments before he settles back against the mattress. But now he's awake. Because Lonnie is having a sleepover with him at Wayne manor and Tim fully expects that this can only end in disaster. Or at least some very uncomfortable conversations that he's really just too mentally exhausted to deal with at the moment.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    There's a silent, sleepy moment-
    And then Lonnie proceeds to roll over and smack Tim in the face with his arm. Whap. He buries his face in the pillow and says something about the Bourgeois.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "...ow." Tim's eyes are scrunched shut, Lonnie's arm still laying against his face, and he carefully shifts his knees up... slowly... trying not to jostle his ribs.

    Then he puts both feet against Lonnie's side and shoves him.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie snorts, once - and then he gives a titanic stretch and a yawn. "Hmmm-awwwwwwwwwf."
    Then he promptly - if lightly - pulls Tim into a snuggle. "Mmmn. I don't know what this mattress is made of, but I'm pretty sure a bed this comfortable is some kind of obscenity." He sits up. And then notes the tray with breakfast already served on it. "Huh?" He sits up, and lifts the tray.
    "...What is this? Kedgeree, coffee, and orange juice?"
    He makes a dubious face. "Your butler spoils you."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim turns his face into the pillow and muffles something that probably isn't very polite. Then he slowly leverages himself into a seated position. His bedhead is... insane. And he pays it no mind as he scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

    He doesn't say anything after that, just plucks the mug of coffee off the tray and holds it close to his chest. "You can have it," he says as he tucks his legs back under the sheet and looks out his window, at the first rays of sunlight spilling over the Wayne Estate.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "It's a little rich for me." Lonnie says, "I usually just have corn chex." He sniffs it. And then serves himself up a plate of it anyway. "Smells good though." Then he perks an eyebrow. "You tried to leave. But uh. Painkillers. Also Alfred wouldn't let you. It's amazingly difficult to argue with that man. He quoted Kropotkin at me, can you imagine?"

He raises his eyebrows at Tim. "You don't want to be here." That's not a question. "But it isn't for the reasons you think it is."

Tim Drake has posed:
    The coffee has sat long enough that it's at an acceptable drinking temperature, and already made up the way Tim likes. Lonnie was right, he *is* spoiled. But that's not exactly news, is it? He sips at it rather than answering, for a moment or two.

    "I can imagine."

    Then he wraps his other hand around the coffee mug and sighs. "I think I'd like to ignore all of my responsibilities and pretend the last couple of days didn't happen," is what Tim decides is his reasoning, after some contemplation. "Hiding my head in the sand sounds really good, right about now."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Hmmmmmmno." Lonnie murmurs. "Let's not do that. The hiding thing. As for your responsibilities? We already know that's not gonna happen." He exhales, and says, "Do you want to know what's got you so uncomfortable about being here?"
    "You're too clever. You *love* secrets. You always have. You love sniffing them out and you love keeping them. But here -" He looks around, "You don't have any. I could tell that it was bugging you even when you were stoned. Here, you're completely vulnerable. And you HATE that." He takes a bite of the Kedgeree, and then his eyebrows go up. "I'd swear this food was posh, but it's rice, smoked haddock, and boiled eggs."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "You're possibly the only person in my life who would actually discourage me from taking some time off," Tim says, resigned, but then his head tips to the side. "Aside for, you know," and he just shrugs, because does he even need to say it? The shadow of the Bat hangs over him at all times, though it's more of a self-inflicted weight on his shoulders than Tim quite realizes.

    He frowns down into his coffee. "Is that really how you see me?" he asks. Underneath the sheets, he folds his legs together, breath catching only the tiniest bit as what remains of his injuries are jostled. "I don't mind being vulnerable here. Even before my father died, this place had become more of my home than the Drake estate. It's not--"

    Tim's knuckles go white as his grip on his mug tightens. "I had a really bad day. Being here puts me in the mindframe of needing to think about the implications of what I saw--over there. And I could really use some distance from that for a while," he says. His voice has gone flat in a well-practiced move to keep from some other, less desirable emotion to show through.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    "Some people live to work. I'm always working." Lonnie admits. "Honestly I've relaxed more with you than I have on my own in years." He listens to Tim talk, and then he adds in, "It's not how I see you, it's how you are. What do you think vulnerability IS, Tim? It's not just an external thing, it's an internal thing too. Its facing the things that you put aside, the things that bother you. Something about this house puts those things front and center."
    He sets his plate aside. "Yeah? For how long? A day? Two? A week? A month? A year?" He leans back. "You mumbled about it while you were out, sometimes. The monsters. The stone-faced man. The soot. You said 'it was a giant factory built to manufacture suffering'."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim downs the rest of his coffee in a couple of gulps just so that he can set the empty mug down on the tray next to Lonnie, and climb out of his bed after. It's not exactly a smooth process, him standing up, because Tim definitely overextended himself by going out last night to fill his slot on the Wayne social obligations calendar. Alfred had to basically forcibly dose him once he returned to the manor, though it really only took a stern word and a *hint* of disappointment in the butler's tone to make Tim crumble.

    Still, physically, he's a hell of a lot better than he was when he was dragged back through to this... universe. Plane of existence. Honestly, Tim isn't sure of the specifics, and he's happy to keep it that way for now.

    "I don't know," he says, dismissive, as he steps away into the bathroom to get dressed.

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie remains sitting where he is. He pours himself some coffee. "Yes you do." He says. "But since you're being intractable, I'll just go and see you later." He pauses, and then says, "I'm your boyfriend, Tim. Not your enabler. I owe it to you to be as honest as I can, don't I?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Within a few moments, Tim has managed to pull a pair of jeans on, but he's still in the same t-shirt he passed out in. And by the looks of the fatigue showing on his face when he steps back out, just doing that much was a lot. "You're my boyfriend," Tim asserts, because he's slowly getting more comfortable with acknowledging that part of himself aloud. But as always, he is a work in progress.

    "And I've just gone through--I had a. Bad time." He blows out a breath that reads frustrated, but the way his expression flinches is more like discomfort. "So why are you psychoanalyzing me like you're my therapist instead of comforting me?"

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie perks an eyebrow. "What constitutes 'comforting' anyway?" He holds an arm out for Tim to slip into the crook of it. "A bad thing happened to you. I was worried. But I also have *faith* in you, because I've seen you succeed against ridiculous odds, figure out how to stop rampaging monsters - even if them being unleashed in the first place was partially your fault - and solve mind-boggling conundrums. I'm not going to give you platitudes that 'It'll be OK', I'm going to talk to you like the genius I know you are. And based on what you were mumbling, part of the problem is that you can't rationally explain the things you saw. So let's start with an irrationality. You just spent a weekend in Hell."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim tucks his arms around himself and stays planted precisely where he's standing, rather than take the open invitation Lonnie has offered. He looks out the window again, but there's something distant to his gaze that suggests he's not really seeing the perfectly landscaped estate grounds.

    "Lonnie, I really don't want to talk about it right now. In fact, I don't want to even think about it."

Lonnie Machin has posed:
    Lonnie considers that, and then he proceeds to get up and dress. He pulls on his t-shirt and his jeans, and finds a brush, running it through his hair to get the morning tangles out before he puts it up in a loose bun. Then he goes looking for his socks.
    "Then I'm going to do something I never thought I'd do - I'm going to take a walk around the Wayne Family Estate before I go back to Gotham."
    He puts his hand on the doorway. "This isn't a fight, by the way. This is me giving you what you want." Then he pauses, and says, "...I am glad you're safe." He doesn't use the word All Right. "You can come find me when you're feeling more talkative."

Tim Drake has posed:
    While Lonnie gets himself put together, Tim slumps back against the doorframe of the bathroom. His arms remain where they are and his shoulders curl faintly inward, and he doesn't look over. Instead he finds a spot on the floor to stare at until Lonnie breaks the silence.

    "Yeah, sure," Tim says, and he makes a vague gesture with his hand. "Say hi to Yap for me. I'm sure Alfred will have a bag of treats for him ready to go when you leave."

    And then Tim waits until Lonnie is gone to crawl back into bed, pull the covers up over his head, and pretend he's asleep for a few hours.