2013.05.29 - First Dates

Tony decided that when the time came, dinner with Oracle might be better on her turf. So locating the finest bistro in Gotham, he quietly made reservations on his own without the assistance of Pepper. He also had Happy go and have the '47 Rolls washed and waxed for the occasion. If you're going to do right, go all the way. By having Happy drive, he could sit in the backseat as well and make her more comfortable. Dressed in one of his most stylish suits, he accords her every genteel cordiality and treats her like a queen. They now find themselves seated at a private table in one of the more lavish eateries in the city.

In the car, on the way over, Barbara felt somewhat compelled to give Tony her real name, simply because dinner at a restaurant will be a whole lot less awkward that way. And, frankly, any paparazzi worth his salt that happens upon them will be able to trace her face back to the police commissioner's daughter. There's just no point in hiding it. Of course, she also made him promise not to reveal it to anyone beyond JARVIS and Pepper and...well, but default, Happy. Not much she can do about that.

But, holy cow, the Rolls is gorgeous. She's glad it occurred to her to pull out her best 'little black dress' for the evening, and she uses the lighter of her wheelchairs, since it travels better in a car that's not tricked out like her van.

Sat now opposite Tony at the table, she looks around at the lovely restaurant and smiles at her date for the evening. "This is lovely," she says. "Thank you."

Tony Stark smiles broadly and genuinely, "My pleasure." he says warmly, "The thing is..part of me knows this is two colleagues talking shop but is it wrong to think of it a little as kind of a date? I mean, it feels like a date. There's dinner, there's a little black dress involved.." and yes, there is even a bit of a hopeful tone in his voice.

Barbara gives a short laugh, now, green eyes sparkling. "It does kinda feel like a date," she concedes. "And I'll bet just about everyone here would say it's a date." But what everyone else says doesn't matter to her in the least. Of course, when she considers just how long it's been since she's had a real date?

Wow.

On second thought? Let's not consider that.

"No one would believe us, if we said it weren't," she concludes. "It's probably better just to humour them." And enjoy the illusion while it lasts. He's not an unattractive man, after all. And, it won't take long for her to get lost in gearhead mode, thus breaking the spell.5R

The waiter comes to get their wine order, he orders a bottle of their finest, oldest red. Two in fact. Keep one at the ready. He smiles back to the beautiful woman in front of him and says, "Well, if we're going to humor them why don't we pull out all the stops?" the tone is genial. He's also not putting up an act whatsoever. This is the guy he is - warm, affable, a bit of a gearhead, and charming. "So if you had to list your five favorite places in town, what are they?" he asks, not at all concerned about driving the topic towards defense networks or the like.

"Five?" Barbara asks, relaxing as well as she can -- which is to say partially, neve completely. She actually is, inexplicably, a little nervous. And she doesn't know why. Considering the question, though, she also realizes at least some of her favourite places are things she can't really list in public. So, she rhymes off the first three, at least. "The Clocktower, the Library, the Museum..." She ticks them off on her fingers. Thinking a moment, she adds. "The botanical gardens are nice, though they're a little out of town. Oh. And the view from the top of the cathedral when the sun hits the stained glass? Priceless." Though, the latter, she hasn't seen in several years. Since before the accident. "I don't suppose you have five places in Gotham specifically. But, what about the world at large?"

Tony Stark hmms. "Well, let's see. Top of Stark Tower at sunrise or sunset, you can see the world from there. Sunrise in Malibu. The side of my house is glass, so you can watch the sun rise from the edge of the world." he ponders again, "Anywhere in Italy at anytime. That's three.." he hmms, sips his water, "The Carribean ocean - I can understand why pirates hung out there." and then gets a bit of a shifty eye, "But my favorite places in the entire world? Hands down, without a doubt, my workshop."

Barbara chuckles, now. "I love that we both selected our workshops as the best place." Because they did. "Speaking of," she notes, not really meaning to segue quite so quickly into business, but she was kind of excited by it. "I built a small prototype of the anti-teleporation/cosmic portal field." Her voice is definitely not pitched to carry beyond the confines of the table. "And I can say fairly definitively it works." A beat. "I had an inadvertent field test."

Tony Stark smiles, "Well, when we boil it down to essentials we're both geeks. Very, VERY attractive geeks who have done well, but geeks none the less." he says, and then the wine comes. After glasses have been poured, he raises his, "Well, I was going to raise my glass to being out with one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, but I think I'll add also successful field tests -- how did you inadvertantly test it?" he asks, thoroughly interesting and excited to hear.

Barbara accepts the wine with a smile, raising her glass to match his. "And to the beginning of what I hope will be a beautiful partnership," she adds. She takes a sip, and then sets her glass down. "I've been monitoring the activities of a Planet-of-the-Apes cast reject by the name of Grodd," she tells him, now. "The first time I stumbled across him, I managed to access his cyber facilities. We... had a little tussle." So to speak. "He tried to wipe my system, destroy the copies of his data I'd made, and teleport me to his base of operations to pummel me senseless." She gives a bit of a shrug. "My system's fine; I've salvaged a lot of his data; and the prototype worked."

Tony Stark rolls his eyes, "Indeed, a most beautiful partnership," then his eyes go wide at the mention of Grodd, Oh -- THAT guy." he says, as if he's had his own run ins with him. "That guy showed up to my office, talking about wanting me to manufacture his air scrubber design so that we can entirely erase the carbon footprint. I haven't agreed, because I haven't figured out why he's offering me the design. I don't know what's in it for him yet, I'm still trying to figure that out. So at least we're on the same page with that guy." he sips his wine.

Barbara barks a dry laugh at that. "I don't know what his game is. I only know that he's playing long term. I've got hours and hours of surveillance on him, currently. His living quarters are entirely unsecured. Getting video and even audio inside the house is child's play. But, the amount of juice that he's pumping out of there? It's enough to keep a small town running for a year. The thermal and EM readings beneath the house foundations are crazy. I haven't managed to breech anything more than his computer system, however. So, I can't see inside. I do know he appears to be telepathic -- at the very least, he has formidable mind-control powers. He's also got controlling interests in enough companies that your finance guys would probably sit up and take notice."

Another sip of wine. "His behaviour and expenditure patterns suggest a sort of equilibrium. He'll save a struggling company one day, only to turn around and burn its facilities to the ground the next. But, I don't think it's for the insurance money. I think there's something else. The technology he's offered you and Justin Hammer seems to be on the up-and-up, but I'm sure it ties into a larger plan. A much larger plan on the scale of international political restructuring." A beat. "Oh. And you should hear his sales pitch to super villains to join his new 'Legion of Doom'. He wants to be their financier."

Tony Stark shakes his head, "Now see? He's offering stuff to Hammer? Total dealbreaker. I won't do business with people that do business with Hammer. What I will do, is tell my friends about this Legion of Doom thingamajig, though, so when they pop up the Avengers can play 'Whack-a-Mole'." he sips his wine some more, "How is the schematics for the early warning system going, anyway?" he asks, "Maybe if we can get through the geekspeak early, we can keep socializing." he shrugs a bit and smiles again.

Barbara gives an oblique nod at that. "I've connected with the JLA, too. I can't tell you how often I've been tempted just to call you or Superman to hammer down on him -- I can give you precise coordinates as to where he's located. But I can't help but feel all that will do is cause him to go underground and dig in some place deeper where I won't be able to monitor him so easily."

As for the early warning system. "But, with the successful, if inadvertent, test of the prototype unit, I can gives you the basic specs I've got before the night's out. Then, you can poke at them at your leisure and see where they can be improved. The biggest flaw in the design, as it currently stands, has more to do with the basic trajectories and orbits of birds in space than realigning the frequency spread for broad coverage. Well, that, and I think we'll need a bigger power source. But, I've got a couple of ideas about that, too..."

Tony Stark hmms, "Sounds like the best place for Magilla is to leave him out in the open so we can keep an open eye on him. For the system, I think I can solve the power problem..I'm pretty good with those. The trajectories can be plotted and we can have it keep an eye out for things incoming from a non-euclidian angle - things that aren't coming from a tradition geometric profile. SHIELD is being pretty suppository about it, so if we can get something that basically works then we should be good. We can refine it with updates and better hardware."

Barbara nods to that. Indeed, she agrees. "I'll send JARVIS periodic summaries for you to pass along as you see fit," she says, as to Grodd's activities. Much as she'll be doing for the JLA. As he starts outlining the satellite positioning, she smiles. "That should work," she agrees. "I figured you'd know a thing or two about energy production."

A beat.

"Speaking of... Did you happen to hear about the kidnapping of daughter of Knox Industries CEO about three weeks ago?" Even if he did, he may not remember. "I only bring it up because the manner of her abduction was somewhat out of the ordinary. She was grabbed by a bunch of mooks from a low-level Gotham street gang at a community rec center. The unusual part was how they did it. They had a very unique piece of technology -- some sort of suped up flash-bang grendade, for lack of a better explanation. Its energy spread was off the charts. Knocked everyone that didn't have a personal dampener shield, which they apparently had, clear off their feet and out cold for several minutes while they made good their escape. I've managed to procure one of them, as well as the tech specs for it. At its core is..." She grimaces now, half perplexed and half in awe. "As near as I can figure, it's some sort of micro singularity or fusion reaction that turns dark energy into zero-point energy." Another beat. She glances at him. "Zero-point. We're talking virtually unlimited. If one of these things were weaponized to do more than send out a flashbang pulse, it could level a small country...and never be detected by conventional screening methods."

Tony Stark is blaise at first, then becomes VERY interested very quickly. "Zero point." he says, impressed. "You're right. If something bigger than a flashbang sized device went off it could wipe out countries..continents." he hmms. "I'll get on that right now." he pulls out his phone and speaks conversationally into it, "JARVIS, start a hard search of zero point energy sources for me, lock down identifying characteristics through delivery systems and energy signatures when weaponized, have me a working database by the time I get home. Be thorough." -- seconds later the AI responds cheerfully, "Working on it sir, it should be comprised by the time you return to the Tower." -- he looks at Barbara gravely, "That's something I don't want to mess around with. We should probably work together on this fairly close - we find it, we shut it down and we shut down whoever put it together. Then we find everyone related to them and shut them down too."

Sat at a private table in the finest little bistro in Gotham, Barbara Gordon, in her wheelchair, is tucked neatly across from Tony Stark. Both are dressed quite stylishly, as if out on a date -- though their conversation is almost all business. Two bottles of red wine sit on the table, one of them open and half-empty, their glasses partially so as well.

Their conversation seems quite animated, in that way only real die hard geeks can really achieve.

Tony has his phone out, finishing a call to JARVIS, based on information Barbara has just given him. The spectacled red-head nods to him as he puts the phone away and returns his attention to her, his expression serious to match the tone of his voice.

"I agree completely," she's saying now. "I traced the original device back to a small tech start-up in Blüdhaven, called 'DynamTech'. It's owned by one Marcus Balcourt, who is a former colleague of Knox and his late wife. My operatives have been into the facility to shut down their operation there, but I don't think that's where it began. Nor do I think that's where it will end. Personally, I want to see every last trace of these things wiped away."

For those in the know, they're discussing aspects of the Shelby Knox kidnapping -- albeit quitetly enough that their voices don't carry beyond their own table. And they haven't even started to think about ordering food, yet.

Tony Stark narrows his eyes, "You know, I'm familiar with some of the folks that operating in and around Gotham and Bludhaven..and I respect their methods, I really do..but I don't know if they have the same experience I have when it comes to tracking down something small that can do a lot of damage when weaponized. I could probably do a lot more good in that department. I know I certainly have the tools to do it effectively."

He sits back, and takes a sip of his wine. There is a bit of a storm in his eyes now that the talk has turned to this. Something that just presses his buttons when he it comes to this sorta thing.

Outside, it's a little awkward. Barry is wearing a light sweater over a pale blue oxford shirt with no tie and dark brown linen dress pants, as well as a pair of dark brown walking shoes with argyle socks. He's a little bemused, to be frank, but in a pleasantly surprised way.

Barry's escorting Helena down the street, not far from where she works in her flower shop, actually, and he glances into the window, seeing the place bustling with diners, and checks out the food being served, and the expressions on the customers. "I'm starving... how about we stop here?"

Barry nods towards the door of the bistro. "Is this place any good? I haven't had time to learn the local hangouts." Clearly, he's a bit of a throwback, not willing to check Yelp! or the internet. Then he catches a whiff of the cooking inside. "Oh, yeah, we've got to stop here." He ambles forward to the door and opens it, holding it for Helena. "After you," he says.

Helena Bertinelli looks at the bistro and blinks. "Uh, you could say that." It's only the swankiest place in town, and she suspects that they're both rather underdressed. She's wearing a simple red buttonup shirt over a black straight skirt that used to be one of her teaching staple garments, and it's not exactly dressy. "Let's give it a try anyway." She reaches for the door instead of waiting for Barry to get it for her. Oops.

Barbara isn't really surprised that Tony's keyed into this, given his public history. Even without that, however, she's not blind to the threat. "I'm perfectly willing to work together on this," she concedes. "I know you're better equipped for the whole save-the-world gig than my people." And that he generally shares her philosophy about use-of-force. That's important, too. "But I think this thing with Knox and Balcourt goes deeper than just this one piece of technology. And I suspect some of my people may be in good positions to discover a certain amount from this end, as well."

To the naked eye, it looks like Barry just ambles into the bistro, slow and casual. But really, he's moving faster than can be seen, just to expidite things before he goes out of his bleeding mind with boredom.

At the hostess stand, he snags a pencil, writes down "Allen party of 2" and crosses off all the names ahead of them on the wait-list. Sure, it'll be a hassle for the staff, but he'd rather not raid the kitchen unless he has to. Then he looks around the restaurant, spots the next two top that just opened up, and busses it, borrowing an empty tub from the dish room, and a clean towel.

He shines it up nice, replaces the slightly wilting flower at the table and returns the bus tub to the dish room in back. On the way, he catches the server who was about to dump eight dollars worth of entree's into Barbera Gordon's lap and keeps her from tripping, evens out the tray and then moves back to his starting position and gives Helena a super-slo mo (for him) smile, as they enter.

The hostess says, "Allen, Party of two! Allen, Party of Two..." as she looks around. Barry raises his hand to catch her attention as she says, "Your table will be..." she turns and looks. "Oh, it's ready now... Follow me, please," as she gathers up a pair of menus and Barry just gives Helena a wink and an 'after -you' gesture.

Tony Stark ponders what Barbara's proposing. He doesn't work well with others. It's true. If he were still new to being Iron Man, it wouldn't even be a thought. He'd go right home, get the intel from JARVIS and start knocking down buildings until he got the right people's attention. It's his time with the Avengers, SHIELD, and friends like Captain America and Black Widow that have tempered him. "We could tag team it," he says, after thinking it through, "You and your people do the intel and recon, give me the locations and I can make a flashy show of kicking their ass while your folks fade back into the shadows like they were never even there?"

Helena Bertinelli blinks at Barry in surprise, having not expected for him to have reservations here. But, hey, no complaints. She smiles at Barry and walks toward the table. "Wow. Okay, I have to admit, I've actually never been in here before myself." And it shows. She follows the hostess to the table, and out of habit scopes out the room. Seems quiet, exits are clear, Oracle's sitting there with ... The sound of a needle being dragged off of a record is almost audible, but Helena manages to recover after a second and take her seat.

That works for Barbara. She smiles at that. She's always been better at intel anyway. Well. No. That's really a recent development, thanks to her chair. Prior to that, she was a fair hand at both. But, flashy fireworks? Those have never been her bag.

Raising her glass once more, she smiles to him. "I'm good with that," she agrees, taking another sip. It's then that she picks up the menu to look at, though perhaps an errant breeze where there should be none momentarily distracts her. Her gaze drifts briefly around the room and she cants her head some as she watches the waitress lead a familiar woman and her beau toward a freshly cleaned table. Her brows rise some, as she ends up meeting Helena's gaze. A slow smile crosses her face and she gives a nod in greeting.

Barry pretends not to notice the glance between the women, and then catches sight of Tony Stark. He does a double take to his dining partner, but fortunately it's fast enough that no one else can see him make it. He holds Helena's chair for her before taking his own. They're far enough apart that he's not going to be eavesdropping on them accidentally. He asks the hostess, "Tell our waiter or waitress to send over an appetizer sampler as soon as possible please. We're starving." He takes a seat across from Helena and smiles half-heartedly. What a crazy whim to start an evening. "So, uh, how long have you worked at the flower shop?" he asks.

Tony Stark glances over at the new arrivals, offers them a friendly smile but doesn't recognize them at all, and goes back to his table companion as he sips some more wine. "Well then, let's see. We so far have successfully decided to monitor Donkey Kong, establish an interstellar interdemensional early warning detection system, and put the kabosh on one of the most deadiliest weapons either one of us have ever heard of before we've even picked up a menu. I daresay that qualifies for productivity award of the day, don't you?" he says, as he too picks up a menu.

Helena Bertinelli tries to smile back at Barbara like she's just some other random person being offered a polite hello, then looks at Barry. If she recognized Tony Stark, she doesn't show it. "Oh, not that long, really. Maybe a month or so? It's actually been pretty interesting." Oddly, that's not as much of a lie as it would seem. Though she still can't help but wonder why this guy just up and asked her to dinner seemingly out of nowhere.

Barbara laughs lightly, now. "I daresay so," she agrees. And as much as she's now overflowing with other ideas, too, she puts them off for the time being. One step at a time. The priority pieces have been laid out. And she can probably pump Ted Kord for some help with some of her other ideas, rather than burdening Tony with everything. Better to see how this initial effort plays out, first.

Helena's desire to remain anonymous is fairly clear, and since Babs doesn't really recognize her date at all, she figures that means she shouldn't pry. Thus, she lets her attention stay on her own 'date' for the evening and concentrates on the menu. "What do you think looks good? I'm considering the fish."

Barry's staving by now. He's tempted to run out for a snack before dinner, but resolves to wait. Part of his wanting to run out is just the awkwardness of the situtation. Why did he ask the gorgous brunette out. What to talk about. Maybe he should run to the bookstore and read a book on what not to say. He finally ventures. "It must be nice, working in a place with all that beauty. That smells good all the time."

The busboy comes by with glasses of water for the two of them and informs Barry, "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't have an appetizer sampler. Your waiter should be right over." Barry makes a show out of peering at the menu, but really wants to order one of everything by now. Their waiter is taking his sweet time, giving Barry plenty of time to agonize over the small talk. He gazes out the window to the light reflecting on the pavement and wishes Grodd would attack or something.

Tony Stark sips his wine, and sees he's fairly low. He pours himself another glass and offers to top off Barbara's glass as well as he asks, "There's something else I wanted to discuss with you, but it's rather sensitive and I don't want to come off like a first class douche because of it." another glances is given towards the couple and an eyebrow goes up in resposne to the busboy's curt reply. He now has half a mind to buy the place and make them offer a sampler appetizer platter. He glances back to Barbara. First World Problems.

Helena Bertinelli looks up at the busboy as the glasses of water are delivered. "Perhaps some salad in the meantime?" Yes, she's noticed that Barry's getting a bit fidgety about food. Maybe he's hypoglycemic? Hopefully asking salad will suffice. She then answers Barry's question about the shop. "Well, sometimes, yes. I kind of don't care for the gladiolas, though. They make me sneeze."

First World Problems, indeed.

Barbara's head cants quizzically at Tony's words. "Sensitive?" She leans back a little, but moves her glass to accommodate the top up, nontheless, giving a nod of thanks. "Okay," she say slowly. She smiles now. "Then, I'll try to take it in the spirit in which it's intended and not in the way it may end up sounding?" She sounds a trifle uncertain -- actually more curious, really -- but she did say she'd try.

She can't help but observe Helena's nervous date, however. Partly because, again, she's just curious. Let's face it: the woman is a professional cyberstalker. Prying is business. Doubtlessly, Helena can already guess that Babs' fingers are itching to get near a keyboard. But, she's promised herself she'll respect the other woman's privacy, so, who knows? The Huntress might later be pleasantly surprised. (For a little while, anyway.)

Barry can't wait any longer, and races over at super-speed and grabs two salads that just got placed in the pass, a Frisee with lardons and goat cheese and a sherry vinaigrette and baby spinach salad with candied walnuts, pear and bleu cheese and whisks them back to the table along with a serving of bread.

Their waiter arrives and blinks bemusedly at about the same time. Barry turns to him and says, "I prefer red wines to whites? Do you have a preference?" He breaks off a piece of bread and noshes, calming a bit as he does so.

Tony Stark thinks a moment on how to broach this, but just as he's about notices the now-ya-don't-see-it-now-ya-do act of the food at their table. "Wow.." he comments almost under his breath, "The service here is amazing. I hope ours is as fast." he says, before turning his full attention back to Barbara. "I want to help you walk again." he says, more of a blurt than anything else. It's like he wanted to phrase it more gently and missed horribly. Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist? Yes? Tactful? Not so much.

Helena Bertinelli startles and looks at the suddenly-there salads. The fuck? She does manage to not blurt that out loud, at least. She looks from Barry to the waiter and back in open confusion. "Uh, what just happened?" Because getting overly suspicious about isn't really like Helena. She glances over at Barbara, but it's more of an expression of 'help?' than anything else.

Barbara sits there... stunned... for several long minutes. It's not often she's left entirely speechless -- or so distracted that she misses the suddenly appearing salads at the other table.

"Walk again..." she finally ventures. Her brows crease. She realizes Tony is being sincere and well-intentioned, trusting in both his earlier statements and the fact that, well, he's not being flippant. If she's learned anything from watching him at press conferences, it's that he's flippant when he doesn't care and hopelessly blunt and direct when he does.

Ultimately, she lets out a sigh, her shoulders falling. "Tony, that's very generous, but..." She now inhales deeply instead, setting her hands in her lap, feeling them curl into fists and consciously relaxing them. How many months of therapy has she gone through for this?

"After I was shot it took the doctors six months to rebuild my spine enough to allow me to even sit up straight. I've got steel rods in my back, bridging my vertebrae just so that I can actually use a wheelchair and not be bedridden for the rest of my life. I don't know how you can fix that."

"Oh, man, thanks for the salads. I really needed these," says Barry, taking a bite of the spinach salad. "I get these wild blood sugar swings and then I get all whacked out and out of it," he says after chewing and swallowing.

While Helena is giving the waiter a querrelous look, he eats all the bread, rushes over and refills the basket before returning to the table. Crisis of Inifinite Appetite averted. Barely.

He waves his fork in Tony and Barbera's table. "Hey, whatever that couple over there is having will do. Two bottles to start." His eyes flick down to the menu. "I'm ready to order. Are you ready to order?"

He looks up to the waiter and says, "We'll take a salmon, a cod, a chicken breast, a pork cutlet and the steak frites." The waiter just stares a little slack jawed. "Uh, and whatever else the lady is having. Oh, and all the sides you make. And an order of garlic fries from the bar." He spears another forkful of spinach salad and sticks it in his mouth so he can shut the Frack up.

Tony Stark sips his wine and says, "I don't want to sound cavalier, but with the technology I've developed refining Iron Man, I think I can make signifigant advances in transmitting signals from the brain, directly to the nerves that need to get the signals to move." he sets down the glass. "I'm saying it's possible to wirlessly transmit signals from the brain to the nerve." - he's also got another trick up his sleeve, but he's not ready quite yet to discuss Rhodey.

Helena Bertinelli is honestly as slack-jawed as the waiter by this point. What the HELL did she get herself into here? Who IS this guy? It takes her a few seconds of blinking rapidly to recover enough to look up at the waiter. "Um, I'd like the pork cutlet, please." She just kind of picked one at random because... seriously? She looks at Barry again with a kind of shell shock.

Oh, if Barbara weren't such a technogeek... Her expression is fairly incredulous, now. She runs a hand over her hair, stopping to cup the back of her neck as she regards him. "You're effectively suggesting a wi-fi system for my brain?" Is she hearing that right? She tries wrapping her head around it, letting her hand fall away, considering the very idea of it -- not to mention the audacity of the idea. "It's... okay, it's an interesting idea. But, it's not just nerve damage, it's muscle and tissue, too."

Her voice drops low, because she doesn't usually tell people what happened. She prefers not to think about it. But, now? "I was shot at point blank range. Literally. The gun was no more than 18" away from me when he fired it." She doesn't go so far as to say who 'he' is. "There are incredible advances in spinal reconstruction, these days... and don't qualify for any of it because of the full extent of the physical trauma I suffered."

The dumbfounded waiter heads off to put in the biggest order for a two-top he's ever seen and fetch the wine. After another bite of salad, Barry says, "I saw that pork chop on a table as we were coming in. It looked to die for."

He takes another piece of bread in one hand, putting down his fork so he can hold his water glass with the other and starts working on both, alternating. The silence between Helena and Barry draws out like a knife. An awkwardly made, awkwardly used knife that might be used on a Muppet in a dark alley. Eventually, he finishes both the piece of bread and most of his water, as the silence puddles deep around their table.

Tony Stark leans in, "Look. Barbara." he says softly, quietly. There's steel and conviction in his voice, "I know there's doubts. I know there's lots of damage." he pauses, "I started researhing spinal injuries the day we met. Minutes after I saved that jumbo jet from taking out a chunk of Gotham. Yes, there's incredible advances in spinal reconstruction - but nothing like what I'm prepared to lay down. There is tissue and muscle damage, but we both know that can be repaired. The only reason they aren't doing it now is because they know your legs will only atrophy again, because they can't keep up the simulated day to day use of your legs to keep them muscled." he looks around, "I'm working on something big. I'm not saying I think I can help you. I'm saying I /know/ I can help you."

Helena Bertinelli stares at Barry for a moment longer, then with a couple of blinks forces herself to stop acting like a weirdo. Because honestly. How is this guy eating half the restaurant any odder than a man with no FACE? "You did? Well, now I'm glad that's what I asked for." She picks at her salad sparingly for a moment. "So what do you do? I mean, you know I work in a flower shop... god, that makes me sound like Eliza Doolittle or something."

"I--" Barbara listens to Tony, hears the conviction in his voice. If she's even distantly aware of poor Helena and her bizarre date, it's just not registering any more. This as definitely taken precedence.

This sort of hope, however, the hope Stark is offering, is dangerous. It's taken Barbara a very long time to come to terms with her injury -- to come to terms with (or at least be able to normally forget) the fact she'll likely never walk, never have children, never have any semblance of the life she had before... and to be able to suppress her rage at being denied all of that just in order to function in everyday society, where nothing is built to accommodate the needs of her condition.

Her lips press together as her mind races furiously, blood pounding in her ears at the same time. Ultimately, she looks up at his face and gives a very slow nod. It's not so much acceptance of his offer itself as it is comprehension of the individual words coming out of his mouth.

"I want to see it," she decides, finally. "I want to know how it works and what the risks are and--" She breaks off to inhale an unsteady breath, clearing her throat quickly to interrupt the hint of tears that would otherwise threaten to embarrass her. "All of it. I want to completely understand it before I agree to anything." Before she dares to truly hope.

Barry takes a sip of his water. "Pygmalian Eliza Doolittle or My Fair Lady Eliza Doolittle?" he asks, as if it makes any difference at all. He gives her a half a smile. "At least you don't have a horrible cockney accent to wade through."

His eyes narrow and he lowers his voice. "I, uh, work for the Gotham Police Department. I'm a forensic scientist and a crime scene investigator." He glances around to make sure no one overheard. It's not always popular to work for the cops, but it's best to be up-front about it.

"That doesn't bother you, does it?" he says with a furrowed brow, as the waiter returns with two bottles, two glasses and a wine opener. Barry just waves him to get on with the bottle opening and ignores it as he watches Helena.

Helena Bertinelli blinks at his question, then chuckles softly. "My Fair Lady Eliza Doolittle." And then, just like that, she smirks in a manner that would make even Tony wary and says with a THICK Italian accent, "Not Cockney, but is this incomprehensible enough for you?" Then she smiles sweetly up at the waiter as he pours some of the red wine and uses that distraction to glance toward Barbara and her date. Wow, they're talking about some serious shit over there, apparently.

Tony Stark is silent and pensive again for a moment. "You got tech on you, don't you? A phone, a tablet, something?" he reaches for his wine and pauses before taking a swallow. Not as much as a gulp, but more than a sip. There's a curious urgency in his tone.

Of course, Barbara has tech on her. She'd no more leave home without it than he would. She blinks at the question and twists to find her handbag, in which is a small tablet phone, which, yes, has been considerably tricked out compared to what most carriers offer. She pulls it out and sets it on the table. "Here." She reaches for her own wine, now. It may help.

Tony Stark snags his own phone, which is considerably smaller, but damn near transparent. He taps the keys a few dozen times in quick succession then says simply, "JARVIS, prep the package" - he taps his phone against the back of Barbara's phone and it is suddenly inundated with data. Charts, figures, and quantifiable data from an anonymous subject who was even more injured than Barbara. "There. There it is for you to doubleback and check on, vet out, and verify. I even left you a breadcrumb trail to all the original data on my private server." -- the only thing absent is a title, name, or code for the project. Easier to hide that way.

Barry takes a big bite of his salad and chews thoughtfully and waits for her reaction. He eats another piece of bread, realizes he's eatten most of the basket and refills it while Helena isn't looking directly at it. "I think your accent is charming and comprehensible at the same time." He takes another bite of salad after tasting the wine. He gazes at the bottle pensively, wishing silently that he could get drunk. But that's not going to happen. Not with two bottles. Not with twenty.

Helena Bertinelli takes another bite of her salad as she considers his description of his job, then shakes her head. "No, that doesn't bother me." The accent is gone again. "It's actually kinda cool. Like ... that guy. From that show. You know, in Las Vegas, with the guy, and that stick insect woman." She gestures vaguely as she explains equally vaguely, waving a piece of bread around in one hand.

Holy info-dump, Batman! (Batgirl? Iron Man? Eh. Whatever...)

Barbara takes back the phone as Tony completes the data transfer. Her eyes widen, some, as she realizes just how much info is there. That is not a single night's reading, right there. That's going to take some time to get through.

"Thanks," she says, glancing from the screen, back to her 'date', and then back to the screen. With conscious effort, she puts the phone back into her case and lets it hang from her chair again. "I'll have to look at it when I get home." And try really, really, really hard to ignore it, now, as it sits there tempting her for the rest of the meal.

Barry just shakes his head. "Sorry, I don't know the show. My job keeps me pretty busy. I mean. I own a TV, but I hardly ever watch it."

He's finished his salad and half a glass of wine and another slice of bread. "I'm on call at work all hours, so I try not to get attached to TV shows. I mean, I know I could get a DVR and all, but..." He shrugs. He looks out the window. What the hell brought him here anyway. With her. Her normal life, he supposes. "I'm still trying to learn my way around the city, actually."

Tony Stark nods, "If you're anything like I am, you tend to stay up at night. That'll get you through some midnight oil and then some, with the homework you'll want to do. But after you've done that, feel free to talk with me about it. I uh, also piggybacked all of my contact information on the data dump. You can get hold of me publically or privately, whether I'm in the suit or not." he says, hoping she understands just how much trust he's giving her on their first outing? date? meeting? together.

And trust doesn't come easily to either of them, Barbara is certain. She nods to Tony, now, meeting his gaze and holding it long enough to assure him she gets it. "Thank you," she says with a simple nod, then. A beat. A pensive smile. "For everything." And it occurs to her (not for the first time): Working with him is going to be one helluva ride.