Summary:Tim and Stephanie go out for Chinese. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
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Dinner time. Most of the office people are off work and heading home or heading out to meet friends for drinks. Evening classes at colleges and universities haven't started up just yet. And Stephanie took time the other night before patrol to find a place she thought Tim hadn't been to yet. That it was very near to where he'd found her with most of a dozen gang members beaten up all around her on a rooftop was really just coinincidence.
HONEST!
The early dinner, with enough time for the food to settle and the carbs to work their way into them seemed like a good idea? It was one that had made Stephanie nervous, making it hard to focus completely on her last class of the day. By the time she was done with class she managed, finally, to compose her one great text. It consists of a time, an address, and a question: See you there?
Stephanie hit send before she could rethink her text, again, for the millionth time. And then she put her phone in her pocket and walked out of the building, heading toward the location on jittery nerves.
Really, there must be a lot of restaurants that Tim hasn't been to yet. If it opened up in the past three years, it's escaped him. Since his return, he hasn't spent much time eating out, so there are three years of New York he has yet to catch up on.
The text sends; the text is received. And after all of about fifteen nerve-wracking seconds, she has an answer. A single word: 'Sure!'
That was it? It was that easy to get a yes from him? Does he even have any idea of how much she agonised over the right place, the right time, the right wording, the right outfit?
When the time rolls around, so does Tim, pulling in with his sleek, red car. He's still dressed like he was at class, just jeans and a shirt. As he gets out, he peeks around, trying to find her. The enormity of the situation seems entirely lost on him.
Fifteen seconds. An eternity. A flash of an instant. Stephanie nearly leaps out of her skin when she gets the response. Heart racing in her throat, she hastens her steps to get to the restaurant before him. Which she does, by a fair margin, since she timed the walk from campus and gave herself the time for it. It makes her easy to spot, sitting at a table she had selected before hand, one that gave them both fair view of exits and windows, but gave them both a wall at a side. And from afar, the light fidget of her bouncing leg is visible.
It's an odd jutxaposition of the sketch book on the table next to her water glass, her pencil moving in quick crisp movements over the thick paper.
Ah ha, there she is. As Tim enters the restaurant, he takes a quick look around for exits and threats — a reflexive bit of processing — before his focus settles again on Stephanie. Seeing her moving with such jitters, and with her sketchbook in front of her, the conclusion seems obvious. "Designer's block?" he asks, as he sits down across from her. Sometimes, a conclusion being obvious doesn't mean it's the right one.
"Tim!" Stephanie squeaks, pencil lifting to keep from skittering across the page. She looks at it, finding nothing bothersome, before looking up at her date. A stain of pink dances on her cheeks.
"Hi. Sorry. I didn't see you and…" she stops talking because that is a HORRIBLE thing for a batling to have admitted. She looks down at the half fleshed out thought of a dress.
"Umm. no. It's just a doodle… I'm not needing anything in the portfolio yet but I thought I'd get some thoughts down and…" she's rambling.
Tim frowns. "You didn't?" He looks down at his shoes, as if his soles have something to answer for. He speaks more quietly. "Might have been sneaking a bit out of habit. Have to watch that — if people notice Tim Drake can sneak around like a bat…" He shakes his head. After all, 'he jumps around like a Grayson!' is how he'd figured it out in the first place.
But he brushes it off and scoots in closer to the table. Close enough to easily reach and lay a hand on her wrist. "Show me what you're working on? I'm curious."
"No. But.. I was distracted!" Stephanie says, her assurance hot on the heels of him lowering his voice and getting down on himself. Of course, her assurance doesn't make her position any better and she's ready to hide when he scoots in and rests his hand on her wrist.
Warmth from his strong fingers sinks into her skin and her blue-green eyes look at that point of contact, drawing her attention to that and away from the blush on her cheeks. His voice draws her gaze up on a "huh?" before her brain catches up and reminds her of what he just said.
"It's horrible," she says, even as she's untucking the sketch book from her chest and turning it around for him to see.
Tim's eyes snap up to her face, a little bit concerned. "Distracted? Remember you have to have at least half a thought on your surroundings at all times. That's all part of situational awareness." And that's something that everyone needs more of, not just bats. Not suspicious at all to advise your girlfriend of things like that while living in a city as dangerous as New York.
He links his fingers through hers, squeezing while he idly looks over the sketchbook. "Huh. That's cool. This one here, the black with the sequin star… is that based on Darkstar? I saw in the news that she's supposed to be active again now."
That tiny bit of concern, and those sage words from the young man who had once been the young boy that frustratedly tried to get her to give all of this up before giving up and starting to actually teach her how, has Stephanie's chin dipping. In that moment, she's suddenly fifteen again. It's a familiar aching sting, soothed by the weave of his fingers in hers. She swallows and looks up to him flipping through her sketches.
"It seemed interesting enough, but the interpretation feels too literal, even if the idea of those color change sequins makes it almost something I really want to do," she says softly, eyes half on the design half on Tim.
Though Tim has his eyes on the book, he feels something, perhaps in the set of her hand in his. So he squeezes her fingers and tugs her hand across the table, to kiss along the space just above her thumb. "You can do this, Steph. Just have to keep your head in the game. There's no telling when something will happen, you know?" He nods, fingers tracing the design. "That does sound interesting. And, maybe you could market this kind of design to people with open identities. Like get Susan Richards a ball gown based on the Fantastic Four colours, or Mari McCabe a dress inspired by her Vixen outfit." He smiles. "Especially since Ms. McCabe is in the fashion industry anyway. Could be quite a way to start making contacts."
Given that less then twenty-four hours ago, Steph was looking at her upcoming graduation date, and the Spring Line she would have to create in order to transition into Parsons if she was actually going to follow through with this as a career, her mind starting down the road of switching majors, that Tim's offering her something to actually continue with fashion and design floors her enough that the kiss to her thumb registers only as warm and uplifting.
"I…I don't know, Tim," she says, voice not at all like her usual flippant self-assurance, not at all like the strength of Spoiler.
Tim looks up fully from the page, his blue eyes locked unshrinkingly from hers. He squeezes her hand tighter. "You can do this, Steph." Meaning not just the crime-fighting, but the design too. His voice lowers. "You threw together your first costume out of bed sheets, and I couldn't keep my eyes off you." The admission does come with a slight blush, but dammit, it's true. "With real resources, real training, and real contacts behind you? Yeah. You can do this."
His unwavering faith and admission that the slapped together bedsheet vigilante's costume and the spray painted full face mask from Hobby Lobby that had made her want to vomit from fume-dizziness the first half dozen times she wore it out, have her blushing and melting into the squeeze of his hand. She can feel his double meaning, the crime-fighting and the designing, and it brings a blur to her vision.
"I just… don't want it to ..get in the way," she whispers. Which one is she talking about though? Is it crime fighting getting in the way of a design career or the other way around?
Tim nods soberly. "Balance is… never easy. No one person can have it both ways, not on their own. But that's why you learn to rely on people. To share your burdens with them, as well as sharing in their burdens when they need you. It's a Family." There are enough 'crime families' in New York. It needs a good crime-fighting Family.
Family. The word makes Stephanie giggle a wet warbly giggle of a sound. She sniffs once, eyes blinking quickly to clear them.
"Still doesn't feel real most days," she admits, an explanation of why her 'moved in' has been so spartan and incomplete perhaps.
Tim leans in close, as close as the table allows. An arm drapes around her shoulders, and fingers run through her hair. "But it is. And you've been invited into it. You think they'd let you wear the new suit if you weren't?" The new, more Batgirl-ish suit, even if she still goes by Spoiler. "You're one of us whether you like it or not."
Stephanie leans in too, trying to rest her forehead to his. The feel of his fingers in her hair, the strength of his arm, and the warmth of his breath are things Stephanie tries to memorize and hold. Whatever she was about to say dies in her throat with the waitress comes over to ask if they are ready to order. Stephanie inhales and straightens up, asking for the item she'd tried with she was sampling this place, heart once again pounding on nerves as she hopes it's something Tim hasn't had from here before. The trobule is that she's a simple girl from Staten Island, and he's upper crust from a wealthy family and is far more traveled than she is. He can actually READ the chinese that's sprinkled into the menu, where as she'd have to use the Google Translate app on her phone.
Tim jolts upright when the waitress arrives. Damn, he got pretty distracted himself. His hand still stays linked with hers. "Oh! Umm. I'll have the sweet and sour pork. That's always a classic. And, pork buns to share?" He gives Stephanie a questioning look. He may be from the upper crust, but he's more down to earth. He enjoys simple, lower-price restaurants as well as spoiling her with the higher stars. And besides: an important factor is that he enjoys these things with her.
Stephanie blushes, nodding at the shared appetizer. She'd gotten what is essentially a sampler platter, pu pu. And she managed NOT to giggle at the name. She got that out of her system way earlier. Instead, she tightens her hold on his hand, her other dragging her sketch book away from the waitress's eyes and down into her lap. When the woman leaves, Stephanie exhales loudly.
"So… how was class?" Subject change! Stephanie is not subtle with them.
Tim gives a sardonic smile at the question. "The biggest problem is, a lot of my old designs would more than meet the assignments' needs, and some of the engine work I did on the Redbird is actually more efficient than the examples we're working from… but I can't use it." For obvious reasons which he doesn't even state. "So it feels kind of… somewhere between 'repetitive' and 'like I'm hobbling myself'."
Sipping at her water, Stephanie nods at his lamentation. Some of what she's feeling in her classes. She wants to be doodling new suits for Tim or herself or literally ANYONE else who's a hero, but.. gowns and dresses and haute couture! Make it avant garde. More volume!
More volume gets you heard and spotted and shot. Steph prefers sleeker lines.
"I'm sorry. Anything I can do?" she asks, not that she thinks she can but.. you know, it's an offer.
Tim tugs her hand over and gives one knuckle another kiss. "Just listen to me vent. And maybe sometimes listen to me babbling while I work through designs. I konw, you're supposed to use a rubber duck for that part of engineering, but you're way prettier." Ah, rubber duck engineering. Encounter a problem; try to explain the problem to the duck; slap yourself on the head when you figure it out.
"I can, I can do that," Stephanie replies, blush on her cheeks again as Tim kisses her knuckles and tells her she's pretty.
And her mind didn't completely go Firefly on that, honest.
"If you'll sit with me while I doodle sometimes?" she asks, lower lip bitten down on.
Tim nods firmly. "It's a deal." He spies their dishes approaching, and his hand slips from hers. "Oh, one second." He digs into his pocket and brings out two pairs of lacquered chopsticks. "Got these way back when I was in Hong Kong. Figure it makes more sense than using the disposable ones."
'He's been to Hong Kong? He's been to Hong Kong! He's going to hate this, and spend most of the night comparing them and describing how much better it was and-' "That's great," Stephanie gets out, with a winning smile, forcibly banishing those thoughts. Because Tim's better than that. Reaching out, Stephanie takes a pair as their plates are set before them.
Tim has been to Hong Kong, yes, years ago. And he spent most of the trip rather distracted and absolutely not trying out the local food scene. He lets out a soft sigh when he's caught in the laser beam of her winning smile. "Thanks," he says to the waitress, without taking his eyes off her. He gestures to the pork buns with the chopsticks. "Ladies first."
Forcing the calm, Stephanie takes the first pork bun and bites into it before hissing and panting through her teeth and across the morsel. She sets the rest of the bun down on her plate, and fans at her parted lips.
"is 'awt," is the explanation, the food still in her mouth, cheeks going pink again.
Tim winces when he sees her hiss. But there's an opportunity there and he takes it. "I know you are, but how's the food?" He takes a bun himself, pinched between his sticks, and takes a more careful bite — enough to break the casing and let the filling start to air out, steam billowing forth.
Stephanie grumbly whine is all the response Tim gets as Stephanie forces herself to chew fast and swallow quick and then use her ice water to cool the start of the heat burn.
"Ugh. Tim. You're horrid!" Like the Farmboy and his line to Buttercup in a way, the manner that her eyes dance and her cheeks stay warm and flushed tell the real story of not actually being mad about the complement.
"Yes," Tim agrees. "Yes I am." He is totally unashamed. He takes another soft bite of the bun part, and lets out a sigh. "I swear, the Westernised buns are so much sweeter. Just how I like it." So he doesn't hate it. That's good.
Stephanie grins, head shaking lightly, before he admits that he likes the ones here better than the authentic ones. It sends a flush of 'I did it! Hooray!' through her and turns the grin into a megawyatt smile.
"I'm glad you like it," she twitters pleasantly, picking up the bun again and blowing on the steam so she can have another bite.
"Of course I do," Tim says. "For one thing, I'm here with you." He blows at the filling of his bun, and holds it across the table to her. "Here, try a bite. Mine's had more time to cool." Which, yes, means he's offering to feed her by hand, right where they're publicly visible.
It has her blushing brightly, even as she leans forward to accept the bite. Either, it's that Tim was right and the temperature is perfect or it's that he fed her, but either way, she likes his bun better.
'Don't say that out loud, whatever you do, Steph!'
She sits back, blush high on her cheeks.
"Your bun is yum."
Steph freezes. 'Dammit Steph. One job, Brain. On job.'
Maybe she'll get lucky. Sometimes things just slip under his notice. He can take the strangest things at face value sometimes. Maybe this'll be one of those times? He'll just accept that, yes, she liked the pork bun? That's what she actually meant, right?
Nope. No such luck. He blinks at her wording, his cheeks gaining a hint of colour. "Uhh…"
"The. Pork bun!" Stephanie blurts out into the face of Tim's blush. She reddens to the tips of her ears, hands coming up to cover her face as she admits that her mind went there too.
'Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.'
"OH." He sets the bun down, more on her side of the plate. "Um." He nudges the other pre-bitten bun out of her chopsticks, to take it in his own and take a bite from it. "I… like your bun… too?" There. Now they can both be awkward together.
That!!! Isn't helping Tim! Stephanie uncurls a bit as Tim nudges her pork bun free. Her hands lower, transfixed, as he bites from it, and then. And THEN!!!
Stephanie goes red again, and she wads up the paper napkin near her into a loose ball and throws it at Tim's nose.
I suppose, that's better than her hitting him with a brick.
Tim could defend himself from the launched napkin, could probably snatch it out of the air. But he's Tim Drake right now, not Red Robin, and Tim Drake isn't meant to do that kind of thing. So he just giggles and lets it bounce off. "Your pork bun, that is." He's not saying anything about… any other kinds.
And it's what makes it worse! Stephanie's blush kicks back up to full, and she reaches for her water. Yes. Hide behind a clear glass filled with a clear liquid. That works so well!
"Do. you have any plans later?" Code: Scheduled for Patrol?
Hey, at least it refracts the view a little bit. But then she manages another subject change, and he nods. "Yeah. I was thinking I'd go for a drive. Still getting used to New York's streets again." Of course, that 'drive' will probably be done in costume. Redbird, or the bike, or something like that.
"Do.. you want a tour guide," Stephanie offers, glass coming back down to the table. That she offered rather than just accepting means only one thing: Spoiler isn't scheduled tonight. She's got class in the morning, an early one, and the Family knows it. Whichever one schedules the batlings to cover patrols is taking these sorts of things into consideration. Yet, here she is, offering to give up study and sleep time.
Tim tilts his head, considering the offer and its implications. Because hey, it's Tim. She knows he knows she knows oh god I've gone crosseyed.
Ahem. "Are you sure?" he asks. "I wouldn't want to keep you up late. Balance is hard, and sometimes it means that one thing or the other has to make way."
"I'm sure," she states with a firm nod. Yes, balance means sometimes things have to give way, but relationships mean that sacrifices have to be made. Stephanie smiles into the nod, and properly tucks into the meal. They'll be on patrol later tonight, after all.