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It's not an interesting event. Boring as hell, actually, and Tim might have spent the last hour or so trying not to let her attention glaze over entirely, but being here is one of the occupational hazards of being Bruce's adopted child. At least she has years' worth of practice from being the Drake daughter to call upon in her hour of need. (Several hours, technically, and she might be counting down the minutes until she can reasonably leave.)

And then it's... It feels almost like someone smashed her arm with a sledgehammer. There's noise and sensation and pressure but nothing quite connects, even when she looks down at her arm and sees she's bleeding through her stupidly expensive dress. For a second, she thinks - should've worn the Robin suit, and she turns to Bruce, ready to say something stupid about the cost-benefit analysis of high fashion versus body armor if she could only get her voice to work.

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"You're going to Switzerland if I haven't ended this before you're ready for therapy, and you're not staying there forever. It matters, even if you intend to enroll there. Get the work."

"Fine. I'll talk to him."

Is this conversation over yet?

"Good. Thank you."

It is now.

So the thing about training your daughter in fighting crime is that (a) she develops a fairly high pain tolerance that means she can start going off the painkillers earlier than usual and (b) it is remarkably difficult to keep her on the sidelines when she doesn't want to be. She's already started sneaking into the Batcomputer's mainframe and is currently multitasking digging through information on various cases (including hers) and sorting through a couple albums of photographs she's taken over the years. It's amazing what you can do even with the use of only one arm.

Bruce is eerily quiet as he makes his way down to the cave and then directly to the computer and directly behind her. "What do you think you are doing?"

~~Passive-aggressively objecting to being locked out of the loop on her own case?~~

To her credit, she doesn't so much as flinch. "Spring cleaning?"

"I could be wrong, but I don't think that usually takes place on a computer."

Without missing a beat: "Your generation traditionally isn't quite as adapted to changing technological trends as mine."

"Except you appear to be spring cleaning my computer." At least in part, and no he wasn't missing the pissiness.

"I have things on it, too." She helpfully brings up one of the photographs, a view of the Manor in spring.

(It's good. Most of her shots are, despite being largely self-taught. Jack and Janet Drake were amenable enough to her hobby as long as it didn't require active participation, like supervising her so she didn't get that chemical burn on her wrist while learning to develop film.)

Edited 2015-07-03 15:10 (UTC)

It was a beautiful picture, really, and made Wayne Manor look more alive than it sometimes felt to Bruce. More home, slightly less museum.

"And you needed to get out of bed to do this why?"

Because it's so much easier to just get the case files from here than sneak into the system with her laptop.

"The bats missed me," she says promptly. That'll definitely work.

That was his assumption, yes.

"Well, in that case I'm sure I can arrange for some of them to hit you, but I really don't think they've actually noticed your absence and you really shouldn't be out of bed, yet.."

It's a good thing she's already copied a few pertinent files for herself, then.

She turns a wibble-face on him that is so theatrical that it's clear she's not even trying to look genuine. "Are you saying our colony of bats doesn't care about me?"

"What I am saying," he said, firmly, "is that if you don't get upstairs and back in bed, I may decide to hang you from the ceiling here for some real bonding time."

Blandly: "That doesn't seem very conducive to healing."

"If I hang you up by your ankles it won't hurt your arm at all. It may even provide better blood flow." And increased pain, but seriously - "Go. Back. To. Bed."

"You didn't have to threaten me over it," she says, all wounded dignity because really, Bruce, where did you learn your parenting techniques?

She shuts down what she was working on, though, so there's that.

A British special forces officer, why do you ask?

"At this stage, I'll do whatever it takes to keep you from damaging yourself or getting killed, up to and including hanging you upside down or locking you into a bulletproof hamster ball." He holds his hand out to her, though.

"I'm not convinced hanging me upside down belongs in the not damaged category."

She accepts the help, albeit reluctantly. Because it's not like she needs it or anything.

He helps her up and then starts walking toward the lift back out of the cave. "I'm not convinced getting up and coming down here to raid the computer files belongs int he not damaged category."

"I was just sitting there," she points out helpfully. "How's that different from sitting in a bed? It's not exactly strenuous exercise."

Cheerfully ignoring the effort it took to get from her room to the Cave, of course.

"I'd let you sell that bill of goods to me if the computer and your bed were anywhere near each other."

"...I used Portals?"

Yes good he will definitely believe that completely likely possibility. Maybe she should just go back to bed, this is just getting sloppy.

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