gotham needs batman

His hunch might be a little wrong but it couldn't hurt to pay a little extra attention to the little things. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the words he chose, how he held himself. It all could help. For all he knew, there was an amnesia thing going on or something. Better to not ask and just be polite and keep things casual.

"I don't exactly get to pick where I go or where I land, just got lucky that I came back to somewhere I've been before. Batman wasn't happy to find me in the Cave last time but I think we'd worked things out after a while." He commented as they turned into the kitchen and made his way to the sink to fill his waterbottle.

It wasn't anything special, just a plain water bottle, easily stashed away on his person without hindering his movement or at risk of falling and leaving him without hydration. He was patient as he filled it, gaze wandering the kitchen almost wistfully.

she  nods  at  the  question,  a  little  smile  crossing  her  face.  “for  the  most  part.  i’ve  been  given  permission  to  make  things  that  don’t  require  the  use  of  heating elements on  the  occasions  that  alfred  is  out.  though,  usually,  he  just  leaves  something  easily  reheated.”  

it’s  always  funny,  because  bruce  knows  how  to  cook.  he’s  perfectly  capable  of  taking  care  of  the  body.  but  the  kitchen  is  a  sacred  space,  alfred’s  domain  and  his  alone.  though,  if  she  asked,  brucie  bets  she  could  get  him  to  bend  for  her  at  least.  he  has  always  been  fond  of  her,  maybe  taking  pity  due  to  her  limited  range  of  movement.  

“speaking  of,  he  did  say  something  about  going  out  for  the  afternoon.  something  about  errands.”  maybe  an  excuse  to  give  her  time  to  herself,  though  she’s  not  sure  that’s  something  she  finds  comforting,  preferring  the  company  of  others. 

“That’s right,” he nods. “I’m right here. You’re alright,” he tries. “You’re at home, Bruce. You’re safe.” He keeps his hands up where the other man can easily see them as he slowly moves a bit closer, watching the other man’s expression carefully. The last thing he wants is to frighten Bruce further.

“Whatever you’re seeing, or hearing, it isn’t there. It’s just us.” He pauses, listening for a moment. “Alfred is in the kitchen.” Archie is about to offer to go and get the man—or, more likely, bring Bruce to him, because he doesn’t plan on leaving the man’s side for even a moment, when he’s in this state—when Bruce speaks.

Brows furrow in confusion, his head tilting slightly to one side. “The cave?” He has absolutely no idea what cave Bruce is talking about. No idea if it even exists or if it’s just something his mind has come up with in its current state.

But if this ‘cave’ will make Bruce feel better—if it will make him feel safer—then Archie will do his damnedest to get him to it.

but  archie  talks  to  him  in  a  low  voice,  words  reminding  him  that  it’s  just  the  fear  gas.  it’s  just  a  chemical  reaction  in  his  brain  to  scarecrow’s  most  recent  concoction.  none  of  it  is  real.  none  of  it  is  real.  he  repeats  it  again  and  again,  willing  himself  past  the  worst  of  it.  the  appearance  of  arkham  fades  around  him,  flickering  between  sterile  halls  and  the  familiar  walls  of  his  home.  

slowly,  he  reaches  for  the  hand  offered  to  him.  the  skin  feels  freezing  to  the  touch  and  he  looks  up  to  the  pale,  hazy  eyes  of  a  corpse  that  looks  like  archie.  he  squeezes  his  eyes  shut,  willing  the  vision  away.  or  maybe  unwilling  to  see  the  image  of  his  husband  dead.

“r-right.”  he  takes  a  careful  step  forward.  then  another,  free  hand  trailing  across  the  wall  to  orient  himself  as  the  world  fades  in  and  out  around  him.  the  clock.  he  needs  to  get  to  the  clock.  the  layout  of  the  manor  unfurls  in  his  mind  and  he  follows  what  he  knows  is  the  way,  even  without  his  sight.  

the  scent  of  death  and  decay  tickles  his  nose  as  his  fingers  find  the  mechanism  on  the  clock  and  he  takes  a  shaky  breath  before  holding  it.  the  door  behind  the  clock  slides  open  soundlessly,  revealing  the  steps  to  the  cave. 

grey  eyes  sparkle  with  amusement.  “hypothetically?”  he  thinks  about  it  for  a  long  second.  “hypothetically,  he’s  very  intelligent  and  if  it’s  done  too  soon  after,  he  would  recognize  it  as  a  retaliatory  measure.  however,  according  to  rumors,  he’s  annoyed  jason  recently.  a  hypothetical  coffee  switcher  might  be  able  to  get  away  with  it  if  they  pinned  it  on  jason.  if  such  a  person  were  to  exist.”

The feeling of the metal in his hand, though, has something sparking in the depths of his eyes as he looks up at Bruce, now having to conceal a smirk. This is more like it. A mission, and a challenge. Not that it's going to be much of a challenge, but that's okay. Dick can set his own goals beyond the assignment he's just been given. Bruce just said on the man's person; he didn't say anything about where.

"Who d'you think you're talking to, B?" Planting something on a person is, often, mildly easier than taking something off them; especially for a boy raised in a circus who learned a shade more from its resident illusionist than his parents might have wished. With a distracted bodyguard it'll be even easier; the hard part's going to be making sure Vicki doesn't catch on, but that just makes it more interesting as far as Dick is concerned.

as  he  approaches,  he  affects  a  slight  waver  to  his  posture,  the  picture  of  a  little  tipsy.  when  he’s  a  few  steps  away,  he  stumbles,  drink  pitching  forward  and  directly  onto  the  bodyguard’s  cheap  suit.  

the  man  in  question  gives  a  surprised  shout  as  bruce  gasps  in  shock.  when  he  speaks,  his  voice  carries  the  high  lilt  of  brucie.  “oh,  shoot,  i’m  so  sorry!  here,  let  me一”  he  pulls  out  a  handkerchief  and  begins  to  dab  at  the  mess,  putting  his  bulk  between  the  man  and  the  target.  

Almost.

Fortunately Bruce has a distraction ready-made to get Dick focused on something else. He leans back against the ornamental column behind him, eyes looking almost lazily over Bruce's shoulder - the very picture of a bored teenager getting a quiet talking-to.

“mm.”  he  reaches  up  and  straightens  dick’s  tie.  “and  this…”  he  drops  his  hands,  brushing  against  one  of  his  as  he  does,  passing  him  a  small  metal  tag.  it’s  light  enough  to  not  have  a  noticeable  weight  and  small  enough  to  not  easily  catch  the  eye.  but  it  will  transmit  a  location  loud  and  clear.  “...on  his  person,  if  you  can.”  

an  inclination  of  his  head  indicates  another  man,  a  few  people  away  from  the  man  in  question.  “meanwhile,  i’ll  keep  his  guard  distracted.”