2017.01.06 - Comfort

Dick has been injured and is frustrated at being bed-ridden

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Dick Grayson is laid up in his bed, shirtless, tight wrapping of bandages around his bruised ribs. He still has some new bruises from last night's fight, as well as cut lip and some scratches on his shoulder. He has the lights dimmed down, and he's lightly dozing, trying to catch up on some lost sleep. A glass of water and an uneaten sandwich sit on the table beside his bed.

Bruce Wayne gently raps on the door. "Dick? You in there?" he calls from the hallway.

Dick Grayson rouses and blinks. "Yeah," he says, "Come on in." He shifts on the large bed and stifles a grunt of pain.

Opening the door, Bruce steps inside Dick's room. He takes in the youth's appearance and a brief grimace crosses his face. "I read your report," he begins. "It was a bit risky going out there after him alone. But good work. Are you going to be all right?"

Dick Grayson smiles wanly up at the man, his bruised countenance briefly lightened. Then he closes his eyes slowly. "Had to; he wouldn't have lasted another night out there. Had to act on the intel," he says, trying not to breath very deeply.

Bruce Wayne nods. "I guess," he reluctantly agrees, crossing the room to take a seat on the edge of Dick's bed. "You going to take a day off from school? I can call in that you're sick," he offers.

Dick Grayson nods slowly. "Yeah, that.. might be best," he says with a shallow breath. "We're not due any quizzes or anything." He looks up at the man sitting near him with a slow smile and tilts his head up. "Could, um, you pass that water over here?" he says, as he tries to shift his shoulders and a bright spike a pain is seen in his eyes. He doesn't say anything, but it's clear.

"You're a smart guy. You can afford to miss a day now and then. Oh, sure," Bruce says, reaching for the glass on the bedside table and passing it to Dick. "Zachary Zatara seems to be making himself at home here on Gotham," he adds with perhaps a bit of a sour note. He was territorial, after all, and didn't take kindly to the magician's intrusion for all that he was being helpful.

Dick Grayson fumbles the glass a little, spattering his chest with water droplets before he manages to sip some. He drinks about half the glass and has to hand it back to Bruce. "Zach is a good guy, Bruce, and he was really helpful - if it wasn't for his magic, I'd still be looking for that guy."

Bruce Wayne takes the glass back and returns it to the table. He gets up to duck into the bathroom for a moment, coming back with a small towel. Settling back down on the edge of the bed, he carefully dabs at the wet spots on Dick's chest. "True enough," he finally agrees.

Dick Grayson sighs and smiles as the man cleans him up. "Thank you," he mutters softly. His eyes close for a bit, then he reaches and puts his hand over Bruce's on his broad chest. "I'll be fine," he says, squeezing the man's hand slowly. He still has some strength, apparently. The young man blushes slightly, shifting himself on the bed a little.

"I don't like seeing you get beaten up like this," Bruce says in a serious tone, frowning a bit with consternation. "What if the Joker wasn't in Arkham? It's like they have a revolving door policy there half the time," he adds with an edge of frustration.

Dick Grayson blushes hotly. "I would put on the costume and go out with you," he says stubbornly. "I'll just be down for maybe a day. If that," he says, his handsome face defiant and stern. He struggles to sit up, biting back a cry. "Nnnghgg.."

Bruce Wayne reaches out to catch Dick's shoulder in his hand, gently pushing back. "Lay down. You need to heal up before you come back out with me. Or back out on your own."

Dick Grayson lays there panting, frustrated. He blinks back hot tears of anger at his situation, the athletic boy hating the forced inactivity. He gasps as he settles back down. "OK, ok," he manages to say, reaching to cover Bruce's hand again. "Don't.. don't do anything without me.." he says, knowing it's silly, knowing he'll need at least a couple days in bed at the very least with the extent of his rib injury, now exacerbated twice by incidents in the field.

A brief smile quirks the corners of Bruce's mouth. "You know I can't promise you that." Gotham City was *his* to protect after all. "What did the accountant have to say? I didn't get that far in your report. Alfred came down to make sure I knew you were laid up here in bed and I think he might have taken a broom to me if I didn't put down what I was doing and come check on you."

Dick Grayson smile brightens and he blinks back his tears, one trickling down his cheek. He sniffles once. He takes as deep a breath as he was able. "He was on the run from Penguin - he wrote down several entries in the journals the cops have now, about deliveries and payments to a source in Bludhaven and one in Metropolis. Oh, and get this - the thing that the Penguin wanted to kill him over? Big donation to the Gotham Zoo," he says with a smile.

Bruce Wayne nods. "I just knew he was dealing with people outside of Gotham," he says in confirmation. "I'll see if Superman is willing to help track down the target in Metropolis. Who do we have as a point of contact in Bludhaven?"

Dick Grayson shakes his head. "Just a couple of cops we know are straight - that place is even worse than here," he says. "I'll look around down there, see if there is someone we can trust to feed us info."

"Not for a few days you won't," Bruce chides. He does a double take, seeming to just now notice Dick's tears. "Hey, don't take it so hard," he adds in a softer tone, reaching out to brush away the tears.

Dick Grayson sighs as the man brushes his tears away, the intimate gesture making the teen shiver a little - his boxers are.. uncomfortably tight right now. He turns his head a little, blinking. "I'm just frustrated, laying here.." he says, his voice a little hoarse with his emotions, and the knowledge his mentor, his best friend, is right here for him. "I'm OK," he whispers, looking up at the man with bright cornflower-blue eyes.

Bruce Wayne musters up a reassuring smile for Dick. "I know how you feel. You know I do." Unspoken are the times when he had taken a beating or been shot and was laid up recuperating for far too long for his personal taste. "Just take it easy and get better so you can get back out there with me."

Dick Grayson nods slowly and takes Bruce's hand, and squeezes it, the youth keeping his hand there, taking some reassurance from Bruce's strong grip, the feel of the older man's hand in his. He sighs and shifts on the bed again, suddenly blushing. "I know you do," he says quietly.

Bruce Wayne squeezes Dick's hand again as though trying to convey some of his strength to the youth through that grip.

Dick Grayson's strong arm tenses with muscle as he returns that grip, his arm almost trembling with the effort. Then he relaxes his grip and sighs.

"Can I get you anything? Have you eaten? I could throw together a sandwich and some soup for you," Bruce offers. It might seem strange, but he was actually capable of cooking and cleaning for himself.

Dick Grayson takes a slow breath. "Some.. some soup would be good," he says, glancing over at the plate. "Oh. I didn't eat Alfred's sandwich. Leave that, too. I can try it as well."

"All right," Bruce agrees, giving Dick's hand one last squeeze before letting go and standing. He heads for the door and the sound of his footsteps, never really all that loud anyway, are quickly lost in the huge house as he disappears downstairs into the kitchen to heat up a can of hearty beef and barley soup.