9330/A Time Between

A Time Between
Date of Scene:	26 December 2021
Location:	Level 1 - Medbay - The Roost
Synopsis:	Phoebe has the opportunity to give Tim his gifts from the nerd brigade, and Tim confronts Phoebe about her Jar of Hearts spellwork. Their friendship comes away stronger for it after Phoebe is allowed to break without consequence.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Tim Drake

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe Beacon was quietly working in the Med Lab, which she has partially adopted as her own and was protective, on account of the candy drawer that was constantly raided by Gabby. And probably everyone else. Phoebe had some good candy.

    She had, true to form, patrolled early Christmas morning after encountering Batman fighting Tombstone, which Austin Reese had excellent timing in pfaffing with a snowball to give Bats an opening, and then met Tim and Lonnie at the soup kitchen to help serve, and then had disappeared afterwards. Last night she had stumbled in, scratching at her chest in irritation and baring some ring with blood magic, scribbed drawings of the Great Lakes coastlines, and saying how she needed six mirrors and toting a Bathtub-sized coffee from Harold's.

    She seemed in much better shape this morning, her hair freshly re-braided as she looked over items in a large leather book.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim is only just waking up after running a late patrol. So late that the sun had been up when he'd finally stumbled back into the Roost, overly tired and unusually quiet. After the soup kitchen, he and Lonnie had gone on to volunteer at a nearby homeless shelter, and they hadn't finished up until after dark.

    So his whole schedule was pushed back. Trust Tim to have his entire day booked so he could avoid celebrations.

    But he's here now. Certainly not bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but he's showered and dressed and clutching a mug of blessed coffee, so he'll get there. Eventually. He makes his rounds of the Roost, checking in on everything on his way to his computer in the lab. The nature of the route means the medbay is just about the last place he checks before he gets to work, so Phoebe enjoys the benefits of a mostly caffeinated Tim when he arrives, leaning against the doorway as he calls out a "Morning."

    It's probably not even technically morning any more.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Morning." Phoebe greets Tim with a waggle of her fingers, tilting her head back and rolling her head over her shoulder to regard the guy who's typically the smartest person in the room. "How was patrol?" she asks, pushing herself back from the desk. She's not usually sore, but she does scratch at her chest again, distractedly, right above her sternum. "Oh! Hey, I have a gift for you from the guys -- Nacho, Nick and Jay all kicked in to purchase something." she comments.

    It was technically morning. Morning is all relative to what time Phoebe eats breakfast.

    Nevermind there was a posterboard with the Great Lakes and a ring scotch-taped to it over her computer. That's definitely not medical related.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Surprisingly boring," Tim reports. "I trailed after a kid carrying his new PS5 home from his grandma's house because I was sure someone was going to jump him, but he made it home safe. Maybe it was just too cold out." Briefly, his attention moves down to where Phoebe scratches at herself. Just a flick of his eyes, no more than that.

    Then he heaves a great sigh as he pushes himself up out of his lean. "Oh, that's, uh, nice of them. You might have to help me pick out something to send to them." He looks vaguely awkward, in the way that Tim usually does when he's caught flat-footed. Like it happens so rarely that his brain just doesn't know how to process it.

    Which isn't true at all, either of those things. But Tim's brain sure thinks it is.

    He walks over to the posterboard and the map. "This isn't the One Ring, I'm assuming?" he asks as he gestures to it. Don't worry, his hand doesn't come anywhere near close enough to touch it!

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Nice of you. I would have done the same thing. Those things are worth a small mint." Pheobe comments. She catches the eyeflick, and she turns her head, avoidant, and scratches again.

    She does produce from the side of her desk a 14x20" package, wrapped in brown paper, tied up with a string. There is TO TIMMEEEEEH written on it in what must be Nacho's handwriting. There's also a smaller package that has 'HAPPY WHATEVER NERD' written on it.

    "You've been accepted by the nerds." she cracks a smile. "Nick's mom came down with the flu, so we didn't do our normal holiday get-together. We're considering a March thing." she explains, and then she looks up at the map.

    "Attempted to scry where Agnes -- Jon's girl that we rescued from a vampire cult -- might be at. I think that's an old sanitorium upstate. Matches coordinates."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's head bobs in agreement. "Yeah, for sure." While he's not the kind of gamer he was as a teen--as it turns out, being an adult with responsibilities really sucks out all the time you might have otherwise had for your hobbies and interests--he can certainly still appreciate the value, both emotional and monetary, of a new gaming system.

    He also can certainly spot Phoebe's avoidance. It earns a faint nose scrunching, because Tim's not quite awake enough for any kind of proper camouflaging of his facial expressions.

    Once he's found a safe spot to set his coffee mug down, he takes the gifts from Phoebe and walks over to one of the patient beds to use as a makeshift table for unwrapping. And is Tim one of those obsessively careful people who spend several minutes peeling back tape and unfolding the paper so it can be reused?

    Nope. He tears right through the wrapping paper, tossing it over his shoulder as he goes (don't worry, he'll clean it up after). "Want me to do some internet snooping into the sanitorium?" Tim offers as he does so.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Already done. It's an asylum now. Only part of it's in use. Probably Haunted Ay-Eff." Phoebe considers.

    The big package is one of those 'Fancy Portraits of your Pet as a Rich Aristocrat' -- it is indeed Sir Yippington, in fancy 16th-century regalia complete with a mink-lined cape and a Holy Orb in his upturned paw. It's even got a frame around it to make it look like it could be hung on a museum.

    The smaller gift is a modeling-clay wreath ornament, with the give humans (and a puzzled dog) looking into the camera of a phone, taken while they were all garbed up but before Moles. The back reads: OctobLARP: Nick, Nacho, Peeble, Jayjay, Timmeh + Sir Dog.

    "Honestly, if you get them Steam Cards, they'd be overjoyed. They all pooled in for the picture . They gave me a smaller one of Scout from one of Nick's old pictures of us."

    Scratch at the chest again.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's a rare moment for Tim to be stunned speechless, but in this moment he absolutely is. He holds the painted portrait out at arm's length, just staring at it. "This is the most amazing thing I've ever seen," he admits some time later, voice hushed.

    He sets it and the ornament down--maybe he should buy a tree, huh--and then takes a moment to gather up the discarded paper, compressing it into a ball with an unnecessary display of strength just so it's aerodynamic enough that he can toss it into the recycle bin from across the room.

    "Let me know when you've decided on a date. If they want to use the penthouse downtown, I'd be happy to open it up." Tim hardly uses it himself, but unlike the old Drake estate out in Bristol Township, he maintains the penthouse in case it's needed. Always good to have a centrally located place to crash, if needed.

    He hops up onto the bed next to his gifts, which he looks at for a little bit longer before he folds his hands together. "Pheebs... do we need to talk?" Tim pauses there, shakes his head, and tries again: "Is there anything you want to talk about?" His eyebrows are drawn together with concern, and there's no missing the way he keeps sneaking peeks at the spot where Phoebe is itching.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Nacho says they brainstormed for about a week before deciding on this. Then they found his instagram and they had all the materials they needed to choose a good picture for it." she states, stretching one arm out over her head as she looks over something in the book, and gives a grin.

    "They'll bring the gamecube, and Smash." she looks over to Tim. "It'll be the best not-Christmas party ever."

    And then, when Tim speaks again, she blinks... and begins to scratch at her sternum again. And then follows his eyes to where she's scratching. She purses her lips, and tilts her head back, and exhales.

    "... you're wondering about the itching."

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's true that there are plenty of great pics of Yap up on Insta to choose from. Yap is a certified #dogofinstagram after all, which he probably would be even if he weren't an active member of the protest scene along with his dad. That's just the icing on the cake, really.

    Though it's more personal for Tim. Yap likes to wiggle his way into Tim's hoodie to nap and plays bodyguard duty whenever Tim takes him on walks. He's a very Good Dog.

    Tim nods, and briefly pulls out his phone to set a reminder about the penthouse with a tentative day set for March. Then, back into the pocket it goes.

    After, Tim bites the inside of his cheek. He hesitates for a moment, which is unlike Tim, but then he shakes his head. "No," he says. Decision made, he continues with, "I'm worried about you using magic to suppress your emotions."

    Wonder how he figured that one out.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe's eyes go a little wide at the determination he's made. She hitches a mreath a little bit, her fingers pressing to her sternum, and then she wrinkles her nose, crossing her arms firmly, and she looks down.

    "... you're not the greatest detective for nothing." she breathes out. "When did you figure out that I was using magic to supress them?" she questions softly, drawing up her legs and setting her chin on her knees.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Now it's Tim's turn to cross his arms over his chest and look down. "Actually, I didn't. It wasn't until other people pointed the change in your behavior out to me that I even noticed." He leans his hip against the medical bed, his body hunching inwards slightly. "I haven't been a very good friend," he adds.

    He only wallows in self-pity for a second or two, though. This moment is firmly *not* about him. "I can't pretend to understand what you're going through, the things you're going up against. But I do know a little bit about repressing yourself," which, hooo boy, that's the understatement of the century.

    Tim looks at Phoebe for a long moment. Long enough that it's probably awkward, because he's studying her, really taking in every detail. It's the kind of attention Tim only affords to his investigations, usually. Afterward he blinks, and shakes his head. "Just... please give me a good reason why I shouldn't be freaking out about my best friend going all "Teachings of Surak" on me."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe is looking back up at Tim. The rims of her eyes are red, her lower lip forced still by being tensed. Her jaw was set, he could see it in the way that her cheeks were slightly puffed out. Her ears were darkened, out of embarrassment maybe. She's quiet, more than chastized. Her arms were tight around her legs, her knuckles paling in how tightly she was holding herself -- an imitation at how tightly she was holding herself together.

    When she came back from the Silo, it'd been vague at best what she went through. The way she froze up when people touched her. The way her body went into full panic response seeing Mickey Rogers at the preview of the artifacts. The way she buried her emotions to the point of relying on her body's healing power to not show bruises from sparring.

    The way her dark eyes looked back at his blue "Don't say that. You've been the best friend I can ask for. You still showed up for me and my sake, even while dealing with everything here, with your father, with being a Bat. I don't expect you to be monitoring everything all at once, even if /you/ expect to. You're not Braniac." Phoebe points out quietly.

    "... I blew up at Lydia and Zatanna. At Jon. Gabby. Megan. Everything was just so... raw. I thought Chas would tell me to leave because I was too out of control and damaged and I was just another bad thing that the meat puppet brought into his life. I was scared that no one would want to be around me because I was... broken. And stained." she's quiet a moment.

    "So I looked in my books, and I found this spellwork. Separating the emotion attached to the memory so that I could act with a clear mind and just stop... losing my cool. You write down the emotion on a piece of tin, and you bind it with hemp string, dip it in an accellerant and set it afire, and store it in a jar. It's meant to give village elders clarity to think in an emergency -- "

    She's not blinking. Her words are muffled by her knees, her body curling up tighter as if willing herself to disappear, but there is a tear trail down her cheeks.

    "There wasn't enough /time/ to just process. I had to /fix it/."

Tim Drake has posed:
    There's a lot for Tim to observe, right now. In the way Phoebe's holding herself, in the expression she's fighting to keep from her face. And Tim's always looking, because that's just how he is.

    But maybe he's not been looking as carefully as he should have been, recently. He'll worry over that later.

    "Because you don't think you deserve any better. But you should ask for more, Phoebe. It's the least I could do for you, after everything." Tim sighs, and his head ducks down. His posture is closed in still, but he puts in painstaking effort to fix it. Rolls his shoulders back. Lifts his chin. Forces his hands to hang by his sides.

    Even still and relaxed, the description Phoebe gives him of the spell looks like it hits Tim with the force of a solid punch. He wavers on his feet slightly before he steps forward.

    Usually he's mindful of personal bubbles to an almost extreme (mostly because he wants his own to be similarly respected). But right now his first instinct is to fold Phoebe up in his arms so that's what he does, squeezing her tight as he drops his chin onto her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he says. He sounds uncertain, though more about what he should say rather than about his apology. The apology is definitely sincere. "I'm so sorry."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    There was a lot for them both to observe. As much as they rely on each other, and reflect upon each other, you could't have two more different heroes in some cases.

    Phoebe stiffens as Tim approaches. For a split second there was a flash of fear in her dark eyes. Myriad possibilities flash through her mind. Expulsion, correction, restriction -- she wasn't expecting affection. Her eyes are wide as he wraps her arms around her. She trembles, her body shiverring as she tilts her head forward and onto his shoulder.

    She gives a loud, hiccuping sob.

    Her arms come up and around Tim, her hands curling against his back. Her forehead presses harder to his shoulder. Her jaw tenses, and she leans against him, her weight from the chair pressing to him.

    And just this once, Phoebe allows herself to be vulnerable and raw to Tim, crying on his shoulder.

    "Please don't kick me out."

Tim Drake has posed:
    On the whole, Tim considers he and Phoebe too alike. It makes conversations like these difficult, because nine times out of ten he feels like a hypocrit. More than just seeing Phoebe's reasons for doing what she does, he understands them. Enough that, if their positions were reversed, Tim can't deny that he'd probably make similar choices.

    But they aren't. Their positions aren't reversed, so Tim can only look from the outside in and try his best to help. If standing here holding Phoebe while she sobs could be considered helping.

    Honestly, Tim's not sure. He's really bad at this sort of thing.

    "What? No--why would I ever do that, Pheebs? This is your home just as much as mine, or Conner's or Gabby's or--" Insert names of other Outsiders here. The point still stands.

    He shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he keeps his arms around her. "You'll always have a place here. Always, I promise."

    Tim even tries some gentle... rubbing of circles against Phoebe's back? He really has no idea what he's doing.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It's helping. Promise. Because there were two people Phoebe trusted that if they said jump, she knew they would be there to catch her.

    Now, there was just him. She is calming down, whether it's because of the spell she's using to restrain her emotions to 'minimum extreme output' may lay creedence to how badly she was hurting. She takes a shaking breath, and lets it go. Her hands curl again against his back, and then she very slowly -- with noted reluctance -- releases him, pulling back slightly and digging her palms into her eyes.

    "I'm sorry... I just... your shoulder's probably soaked. God that shirt probably costs like a hundred bucks."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's less willing to let go, though he does at least make enough space between himself and Phoebe so that she can pull back. His hands are still on her arms, though, like he's waiting to reel her back in for another hug at a moment's notice.

    "I doubt it. I stole it from Lonnie's closet," he admits. "Besides. Most big labels don't make stuff for nerds. What, you think Supreme is going to release a Lord of the Rings-slash-Breakfast Club mashup shirt? Or one with the periodic table of elements but it's all video game references? C'mon."

    After a moment, though, he looks upwards to frown thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I just made that second one up but I kind of want to make it."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... as long as the element of surprise is a question-mark box." Phoebe replies, attempting to sound serious... but she begins to give a restrained sound of laughter through her nose, and just heans her head against Tim's shoulder again.

    "... as soon as this stuff is done, the vampires, the angels, everything... I'll end the spellwork. I'll take the time to process things out and grieve properly." she states, and she keeps a hand on her side, because her fingers twitch, and she wants to scratch at that hole in her aura.

    "Big labels should make stuff for nerds. All the rich people I know are at least low-key nerd, and who doesn't want a Second Breakfast Club shirt?" she asks, and takes another, steadying breath.

    "... I really was sca-- I mean, there was a concern over whether or not I'd be allowed to 'camp out in your basement'" she gives an embarrassed smile. "Lydia also offered me her apartment in Brooklyn."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Of course. Are we talking Mario question mark block or a Metal Gear Solid style question mark over the head?"

    Important clarification, that.

    Tim squeezes Phoebe's arms lightly. "Good. I'm putting a very arbitrary end date on this and I *will* come bother you about it once time's up," he says. Then he gathers her up for another hug, though this one is much more brief. "You do that, and when you're up for it, we'll hang out in our Second Breakfast Club t-shirts and comfy pajamas and do that Lord of the Rings marathon we've been threatening each other with."

    His chin rests atop Phoebe's head for a moment, but then he's finally pulling back, out from within her personal bubble. "You're not camping out anywhere, unless you want to set up a tent or a pillow fort in the rec room." Tim nods. Apparently he'd be totally down for that. "The Roost is your home and I want you to feel comfortable treating it that way."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Depends on if we're putting the element of surprise in the Metals section." Phoebe determines, and she gives a small laugh at the 'very arbitrary end date'. Because when it's not Angels storming Manhattan or vampires kidnapping goddesses-in-the-cradle, it's always going to be something.

    She tilts her head forward a little with the hug, though she blinks as feels his chin on her head, tucked neatly unto him, her arms wrap back around him for that brief moment. They might even get good at this hugging thing at some point. And then it's over for the insecurities! -- Maybe!

    "Sounds like a plan." Phoebe murmurs into Tim's chest, and then she pulls back, and laughs. "Tim, I'm not explaining to the Jewish Vampire romance-writer girlfriend of a former mutant terrorist that I live in a secret young superhero hide-out." Phoebe sniffs, and she rubs underneath her nose. "I joke about living in your basement because they go 'oh, Tim Drake, he's a nice kid, she's safe there.'" she explains... and then gets a serious expression. And then she steeples her fingers. "My room already has a Bookfort. I could use an advance camp in the rec room to get supplies."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim snorts. "An excellent point."

    And once he's announced as a 'good kid' Tim makes a vaguely pained face. "I'm glad I pass muster for Lydia and her former mutant terrorist girlfriend who I will absolutely not be demanding more info on," he says, in a way that suggests it's purely so that he will thusly be forced to do as he's already said. Otherwise, yes, Tim would like a LOT more info on that one.

    "It's strategically valuable and completely unguarded, now that Mr. Murder Mittens has been convinced to join our allies."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'll see if maybe the trip to the Asteroid is still good, considering I'm a non-mutant." Phoebe takes a deep breath, and she lets it out slowly.

    "I figured it was because there's no longer a tiger being held in the rec room that it's unguarded." Phoebe considers, and then she tilts her head back. "And it's not just Lydia. I mean, when I left the Curio Jon and Jubilee both asked where I was going to stay. At least one person thought I was going to try Constantine's house but... uh..." she purses her lips a moment. "ALthough my room there is pretty awesome, not sure how thehouse would handle some of my research. Zee opened the possibility of me staying with her, but I feel just.. .awkward." she gives a little grin, and she motions "And someone's gotta keep the candy drawer stocked!"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Nope. That gets a quick shake of his head from Tim. He also holds up both hands, palms outward. "I don't need to know anything about that!" Willful ignorance, it's the only thing standing between Tim and at least five members of the Outsiders having to suffer through one of his freak-outs.

    "Let's be real, Mr. Murder Mittens is more terrifying than that tiger was." He folds his arms over his chest and considers the candy drawer as indicated for a few seconds, before he walks over and pulls out... a Starburst candy cane!

    Which he hangs over the side of his 'This Calls for a Spreadsheet!' coffee mug. "One for the road," he says.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe will be there if Tim never needs to have someone hand him a paper bag to breathe into. She smiles, and gives a small wave. "Fine, fine, take one of the Sour Patch ones too. Gotta balance." she smiles to Tim, and she reaches out. Her hand briefly touches his shoulder, light as a feather.

    "... and thank you, Tim. I mean it. Letting me take my time to process everything. You mean the world to me."

Tim Drake has posed:
    And so Tim takes one of the Sour Patch candy cane, too.

    "I'm still dealing with crap that I've let fester for half my life, and me giving any advice about dealing with your emotions in a healthy, adult way is already massively hypocritical. So. You know. It'd be rude of me to try and rush you before you're ready." He takes a careful sip of his now-lukewarm coffee so as not to dislodge either of the candy canes. "I'm here in the meantime. We all are, Phoebe. The team cares about you." Tim smiles at her, and then takes a deep breath, nodding once before he slips out and heads for his computer lab. Time to get to work.

    He makes sure to keep the door open, though.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    You ever see those comics where after a heart-to-heart talk, the receiving end gives that little sigh out, where it curly-lines up into a heart? That's probably what happens as Phoebe goes to scratch at her chest -- and then re-directs the motion to her shoulder. She sits back down in her chair, and turns back to her computer, where she had no idea what she had been researching, but was displaying a variety of very happy cats at just this moment.

    And as Tim goes to work, Phoebe's heart feels lighter.