2012-11-27 Falcone's War: Commonality

As much as he tried to shrug it off, the wound that Robin suffered at the Gardens was actually meaner than it seemed. To that end, the Boy Wonder has been unconscious behind closed doors at Thompkins' clinic in Old Gotham. Unwilling to trust the old doctor the way his father does, his mask was put back on his face as soon as he regained consciousness. Still unable to move, he simply lies in his bed and glares at the steeling with quiet, focused rage.

Helena Bertinelli still hasn't replaced her costume, and thus still doens't have a proper mask, but she's done what she can for now, meaning black motorcycle leathers, and a piece of black silk with eyeholes cut into it like the first Antonio Banderas Zorro movie. Having concealed her Ducati a little ways away and travelled the sneaky route to a side door into the clinic. She slips inside and sets her motorcycle helmet by the door before settling her impromptu mask into place and stepping to check in the exam rooms set furthest back in the clinic -- like one she spent a day in herself a few months back.

As Helena's head peeks into the door of the room Robin occupies, an empty syringe whistles through the air and embeds itself with a thunk in the door's frame. Robin has propped himself up on one elbow, obviously in pain from the effort, but he's plastered a look on his face that shows his best effort at being fearsome.

“Who are you supposed to be?”

Helena Bertinelli flinches as the syringe skims VERY close to her face, and then she glares at the young man before slipping completely into the room. "I'm a Huntress whose gear got ditched God knows where a MONTH ago. And I don't know about you, but I can't exactly afford to have a different costume for each day of the week." She picks up on something about the kid's posture and her expression softens a bit. "I wanted to see if you were doing okay."

“Should've known it was you, Bertinelli,” Robin says, easing back into the bed slightly with a pained groan, “You move the same way. Unfocused anger.”

“I am fine enough. This is a waste of time and a resource. The scum that stabbed me is out there and Batman will require my assistance to find him.”

But then a look of realisation crosses his features and he frowns, turning his head slightly to look at her, “What do you care? I'd have thought you'd be glad to see me dead.”

Helena Bertinelli steps to just a bit away from the foot of the bed the young man is occupying, trying to stand where he doesn't have to turn to look at her. "Yeah, well. I'm not the Bat." She hesitates at his last statement, then shakes her head no slowly. "I'd never be glad of that," she says in a quieter voice. "I have more in common with you than I do with your ... what /is/ Batman to you? Mentor? Boss? Something more?"

“What are you talking about?” Robin sidesteps the question, either unready or unwilling to answer it. He shifts into a more comfortable position in the bed, silently glad to not have to move around to look at her.

“I scarcely believe we have much in common, Bertinelli,” he says with a scoff, “You act like someone who has lived in comfort. Sharpened to be of use in battle, true, but not a weapon forged specifically for it.”

Helena Bertinelli shrugs and offers a small nod. "Yeah, that much is true. But then, that's not what I meant." She looks down and away for a moment before adding, "I'm angry. A lot of the time. I get the feeling you are too."

“Mine is focused anger,” Robin retorts, as though the confession was an attack on him, “A weapon. A blade. This is not the life for the happy and the contented. Anger is the fuel for the fire.”

Perhaps a compliment in his own, backhanded way.

Helena Bertinelli considers the young man's words for a quiet moment. "Even the most exquisitely crafted weapons can be ruined by neglect or misuse." Oh, just frigging great, H. Start talking in damned riddles like Yoda or something, that'll endear you to the kid. "You need to give yourself enough time to heal, no matter how much it sucks to be trapped in here."

“If I did not know that I would not be here,” Robin admits, gesturing at the wall behind which the rest of the clinic is operating, “Do you think one old women can keep me where I do not wish to be? I will heal and then he will pay.”

The way he growls the last words seems to imply some serious damage is intended for the one who stabbed him.

Helena Bertinelli nods. "Well, let me know, and I'll be there to help if there's any way I can." She looks ready to turn and leave, but then she pauses and reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a small iPod-like music player. "Would this help you pass the time?"

“I prefer to focus on which order I am going to break every bone in his body and in what manner I will do it,” Robin answers pompously, sounding proud of himself. Still, despite all this he cannot help but crane his neck curiously at the device, “I do not think our tastes in music would match.”

A brief smile makes its way across Helena's face, and she hastily tries to squelch it. She nearly says something about his planning on breaking his attacker's bones, but stops herself. Might not be the wisest thing to say. So instead she replies to his comment about the little music player. "It's one of the wifi capable ones, so you can link it to your own music lists if you want... and if this place has wifi you can borrow."

“If you insist, Bertinelli, then you may leave it here.”

Robin lifts his head slightly to look at the player, though he is careful to express nothing but the most detached and mildest interest in it. His look says he may choose to listen to it or he may not, but it matters little.

In truth, he'd welcome the distraction.

"I think I will insist, even if just to get under your skin." Helena reaches over and sets the little device on the table next to Robin's bed where he can reach it easily, then reaches into an inside pocket to retrieve her earbuds and a thin power cord, which she takes the time to plug into a handy power socket. "I'm sure you or the Bat already have every possible way to get in touch with me. So, um, if you want to talk at all ever..." Sappy, H. Just leave already. "Anyway. Bye."

At first Robin says nothing, simply following her with his eyes as she plugs in the power cord and puts the player down nearby. Her offer to be there to talk with goes without response, only resulting in him staring at her impassively for a moment.

Then, after a lengthy pause, he simply nods slightly in response. His ascent maybe? Who knows. He's done, however, as he turns his head away from her to look at the opposite wall.

Helena Bertinelli is honestly surprised she got that much of a response from the kid, and knows better than to push him further. After pausing to peek out into the hallway, she slips back out of the room and leaves the clinic the way she arrived. It's a weight off of her shoulders knowing Robin's on the mend, but it still leaves the quandry of who the attacker at that fund raiser was, and when/if she'll be able to pitch in and help locate the bastard. Her replacement crossbow had damned well better arrive soon.