tushanshu_logs

The joke lacks Steph's usual lively tone, which says a lot, but Peggy still shakes her head in half exasperation over it, part of the usual routine. "It wouldn't matter," she says, nudging Steph towards the bed so she can sit down if she's so inclined.

"You're not hurt, are you?" It's a question of physical injury, of potential jiangshi wounds, even if Peggy knows that's probably not the reason she's here. She doesn't see anything, but that doesn't mean Steph's entirely scratch free.

Steve huffs a small laugh at the comment, ducking his head. The effort on Steph's part is sweet, but the lack of verve makes him more concerned than embarrassed. He checks the window once more, pure paranoia, before he takes up a position by the corner of the bed, automatically falling into parade rest.

Despite the nudge from Peggy, Steph doesn't move an inch, rooted to the spot, her hands flutter uselessly at her sides instead, as if there's something she wants to do, but won't, for some reason or another. She wants to take her uniform off, it might not be as bad as it could be, but it feels revolting, after having those creatures claw at her and break into pieces under her hands.

"I'm okay," The answer comes automatically, though it's true enough, at least if they're talking about purely physical wounds, "I just--"

She stops, lifting her gaze from the ground to flick between Peggy and Steve, her attitude much more cagey than usual, though Steve will probably recognize similarities to the edge there was in her behaviour when they talked about her death.

Seeing them here in their bedroom reminds her that she's intruding, that they must have been getting much needed rest before she barged her way in, "I'm sorry, I should-- I can go."

She moves a half step back, even if she can't go anywhere with the window resealed.

Edited 2013-01-28 17:17 (UTC)

Peggy's reply is near instantaneous. "No, stop. That's not necessary," as she lightly sets her hand on Steph's arm. There's no pressure in the gesture, just reassurance.

She came here for a reason. Peggy might not know what it is yet, but there's absolutely no way she wants Steph back out on the streets right now. "Please, come sit down. You're not unwelcome at all."

Hadn't they just been talking about that anyway? Telling other people they could use the suite as a safehouse? As far as Peggy's concerned, Steph is at the top of the list of people who are welcome to stay, zombie infestation or not.

Edited 2013-01-28 19:31 (UTC)

"Steph," Steve says, as Peggy starts speaking. He waits until she's finished before he goes on. "I'd hope you know us better than that. You're always welcome here."

It's a comfort, in fact, knowing exactly where and how she is. Gently, prompting, he says, "What's happened?"

She's silent while they speak, shaking her head in a silent 'no' when Peggy asks her to sit, and then she briefly squeezes her eyes shut as she tries not to tear up at all the reassurance. She hasn't had a lot of places where she's always been welcome; her home was off-limit most of the time when her dad was home, the Cave has always been a case of how Batman - either one - felt about her at the time, Tim's parents tolerated her, but she was rarely allowed into his house. But she's welcome here, Peggy and Steve are her friends, and she ignores the tight feeling in her chest that comes with the reminder that this can't last forever. Now is enough, it has to be.

"Nothing," Nothing has happened, not anything more than what they're all dealing with.

Steph looks down at her hands, clenches and unclenches her fists, then looks back up at each of them, her voice quiet, almost pleading, "I'm scared."

It's hard to admit, and it isn't all that's upsetting her right now, but it's what a lot of it comes down to. She's scared, and she doesn't know what to do.

Steve goes to the bedside shelves, retrieving a set of undyed cotton pajamas that seem like they'll fit Steph. There are several stacks of clothes there, a recent investment given how many visitors the suite tends to get - and prompted by Rikki stopping by late one night in gutter-stained work clothes.

"That is allowed, you know." All gentleness, no teasing. "You're human. We're all human, no matter what we've seen - experience doesn't grant immunity to feeling. I hope it never does."

He sets the clothes on the end of the bed, nodding to the changing screen in the corner. "Do you want to clean up?"

Peggy's grip on Steph's arm tightens, just a little, and her other hand comes to rest lightly on her friend's back. Steve's more or less said all she planned on, but she doesn't step away. There's grime and dirt all over the batsuit, all of which Peggy doesn't pay much attention to, even if she imagines Steph would be more comfortable without it right now.

It's a big admittance on Steph's end, to be scared, but there's still more. A lot more. But she waits, letting Steph take the lead here. She'll only coax as deemed appropriate.

"I know, I know," She hasn't forgotten her conversation with Mandorallen about the same topic, but it's harder to believe what she told him when it's her own fear. It's hard to believe when she's also scared that everything she's done - everything she will do - is worthless.

She should say something else, but she can't find the words for it, so she just nods in response to Steve's question, then looks at Peggy, almost for permission (she didn't miss how her grip tightened) before stepping away. She takes off one of her gloves so she can pick up the pajama shirt, and heads behind the changing screen. It takes her all of twenty seconds before she's out again, in the black underlayers of her suit, the pajama top over it, and her suit left folded on the floor (she'll... work out what to do with it later, when she's in a better frame of mind). She stands by the screen, looking a little lost, a little apologetic.

"I haven't been this scared in a long time."

Since Sionis, really.

She's relieved when Steph agrees to change, even walks over to give Steve's hand a light squeeze while they wait.

Then Steph speaks up again, and Peggy can't help it. She slips forward and pulls Steph into a hug. It's gentle and with no expectations, maybe even a little protective, with one hand around her shoulder, the other at the small of her back.

"You're safe here." It's the least she can offer right now.

Steve takes Steph's other side, putting his arms around both women and securing Steph gently between himself and Peggy. "For as long as you want. We take shifts, to make sure someone's always here anyway."

Her first reaction is to tense up, but after a second she relaxes, clinging to Peggy and resting her head against Steve's shoulder. It eases some of the tension in her chest.

"Thanks," It's quiet, mumbled, but she knows they'll both hear her.

For all that she appreciates the physical affection, she's still feeling too on edge to let it last, and after a moment she gently extricates herself from the hug. She stays close, though, wrapping her arms around herself instead.

"Can I--" A pause, and she focuses her attention on Peggy rather than Steve, "Can I talk to you?"

It's not that she doesn't trust Steve, and when she does look at him after a second, her expression is apologetic, but so much of what's weighing on her has to do with vigilantes that she doesn't want to bring it up with him. And... if she decides to mention her daughter, she's not ready to share that, either.

When Steph pulls away, Peggy doesn't do anything to stop it. There's something to be said in giving her control over the action. Control over something.

Then she asks it. Can I talk to you? And Peggy doesn't even hesitate. "Of course," and her voice is soft, her expression gentle. She turns to Steve, a silent plea but also not quite a request. "Would you take the couch for now?"

It doesn't even occur to her to take Steph out into the living room. She knows Steve is ill likely to be bothered by any of it regardless.

In answer, Steve plants a kiss on Peggy's cheek, gives Steph a reassuring smile, and sees himself out into the living room.

If they smell food cooking in a few minutes, it's only because he's hungry.

She nearly opens her mouth to insist that she doesn't want to kick Steve out of his own bedroom, but he doesn't seem to mind, so she just returns the smile as best she can and watches him leave.

Later, she'll probably feel more guilty about it, but right now Steph just crosses over to the bed so she can sit down on the edge. There's no mistaking the exhaustion in the line of her shoulders, in the way she rubs at her eyes before dropping her hands into her lap, but for all that she needs to sleep, first she needs to talk.

For a while she doesn't say anything, her attention on her hands, like there's an answer there that's just out of reach.

"Is it--" She stops, sighs, rubs at her eyes once more before trying again, "Am I a good person?"

It's not what she was planning to ask, and she knows that Peggy's too kind to give any answer but 'yes'. But just like a lot of her distress comes down to being scared, it also comes down to this; she's surrounded by, and creates, so much violence, and she's not sure what that makes her.

Peggy studies her as she walks over to the bed, the sag in her shoulders, the fatigue in her step. She takes a seat next to Steph, close enough but still with some semblance of personal space for the moment. She gives the answer expected, but not out of any kind of compassionate hold up for a sobbing friend trope. It's genuine.

"Yes." It's honest, gentle, but also a little stern. And she says it despite knowing what she does of how Steph lives, vigilantism and all.

"Good people can be rare, far and few in between. And I absolutely believe you are one of them."

She lets out a shaky breath, her shoulders dropping even more, though this time it's partly in relief. Even if she knows it's the only response Peggy could really give, she's still grateful to hear it.

"There's a boy here," She knows that she's not really keeping a very linear progression in the conversation, but it's hard when her thoughts are all over the place, "He was nine when he started - doing what I do. I don't know how we can condone that. He's just a little kid."

Her expression is pleading, like she needs Peggy to explain it to her.

She frowns at that, because for all she knows about the bats and their vigilantism, nine seems terribly young. It's not that she underestimates a child's ability to be strong, to cope. But someone has to be the teacher in a situation like that. Someone had to say, yes, this is okay. And it doesn't sound okay.

"It doesn't sound like you condone it at all." And as far as Peggy was concerned, that said a lot about Steph herself. That was important. "I don't know how or why this boy started. I do know children find themselves in situations of extremity that we wouldn't wish upon them in the slightest." She pauses for a moment. "I'm largely an outsider to your world, but it doesn't mean it can't exist as something morally grey. It doesn't mean you can't disapprove when mistakes are made, when poor decisions are treated as acceptable."

"I don't, I--" She responds almost instantly, more defensive than necessary, then shuts up and listens to the rest of what Peggy has to say. Everything she says is right, but it does little to ease Steph's distress.

"His parents were murdered, he wanted justice," She says the last word like it tastes bitter in her mouth, and there's a context there she can't really explain to someone who isn't one of them, "I tried to talk to him, tried to make him understand how fucked up this is, but I couldn't--"

A pause, as she scrubs her hands over her face, "I was so angry. I had to walk away."

She doesn't get the context, not the specifics, though Peggy can guess there's more to it than the simplicity of retribution.

"None of that is your fault, and you can't be blamed for your anger. If anything, your concern over him and the situation speaks volumes about you. You're older. Wiser - yes, whether you believe it or not. And people regardless of age can be blinded to their own perceptions."

Her tone is calm and the opposite of anything remotely condescending. "I can't answer how it makes sense. Maybe it doesn't. And I know that doesn't make it any easier for you, but it doesn't make you wrong either."

For a long time after Peggy speaks, Steph doesn't say anything. She's resting her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands, fingers tangled loosely in her hair in something like frustration.

It helps, to hear someone say that she isn't wrong, but it's also hard to believe it when she's spent the last few weeks turning everything over in her head. She certainly doesn't feel wise.

"There's this girl back home, Nell, she-- I've run into her a few times as Batgirl, and she even came to see me when I was in hospital," This is hard to talk about, what happened with the Black Mercy, but she forces herself to look back up at Peggy, "I was - drugged. There's this plant that puts you in a coma, givs you dreams so good that you don't want to wake up. I had a dream that Nell was Batgirl, and I keep thinking, you know, is that what we do? We make little kids decide to throw their lives away over some idea that we're better than actual law enforcement. I don't know how much Steve told you about what happened to me, but I can't-- I can't stand the thought of anyone else going through that."

She sounds tired and bitter and distressed. She's always thought it was right, doing what they do, but pretending to be from a world without vigilantes, seeing how young Dick has been - indoctrinated into their life, it's left her questioning everything.

Edited (adds more sads) 2013-02-10 10:06 (UTC)

Peggy is patient. She doesn't push for anything. Steph asked her to talk, and she'll listen, but only with the intention of letting the other girl go at her own pace.

"He hasn't shared." They do share a lot of things; there are very few secrets between the two of them, but there's a line drawn when it comes to someone else's privacy. She feels the need to clarify that right now, for Steph's own sense of secrecy than anything else.

Peggy gently rests her hand at Steph's back, places the other on her arm. She's not quire sure what to say, how to respond. There's nothing distinctively black and white - maybe if she knew more of how this whole apparent vigilante system worked. There certainly did seem to be a lot of children involved. "I think your questioning this is entirely healthy. Normal. You know the environment, you live it. It's not often we get a chance to step back and do so. I imagine it's even less an opportunity for you. If you're not happy - and with good reason - there's no reason why you can't try to create some change."

"I was tortured because of what I'd done as a vigilante," She says it simply, almost clinically, because it's relevent to her last point, but that doesn't necessarily make it easy to say.

The touch helps, and Steph leans back a little, against Peggy's hand, forcing her breathing to stay slow and even, easing some of the tension in her body. It's normal to be worried. More tension eases from her shoulders with that reassurance. Questioning the way things work isn't just questioning herself, it's calling into account the behaviour of Bruce, Clark, Diana, everyone in the Justice League who condones it. Everyone she's spent her whole life looking up to.

"I don't know how to change it, we've been doing it this way for decades."

Edited 2013-02-17 03:06 (UTC)

The admittance gets Steph a squeeze, unconsciously on Peggy's end; they're not quite at a good angle for a proper hug, even if Steph did lean back into the initial touch. Consciously after that, she slides her hand to Steph's shoulder and gently makes an attempt to pull the younger woman closer.

"It doesn't matter how long something is going on. The validity can still be questioned. It can be something we've known our whole lives, but one tiny thing can alter perspective. There's always room for improvement, for changes. Even if we don't know how at first."

The attempt works almost instantly, Steph shifts a little closer, all but tucking herself against Peggy's side, as she brings her arms to wrap around Peggy's waist, holding on. She doesn't really lke getting sympathy for what happened, but right now she's - fragile enough that she's willing to accept it.

"I know, I do, it's just--" It's just a lot of things, and so many of them feel like she's making excuses, but she sighs and continues, "I'm not exactly... well liked, back home. I don't know if anyone would even listen to me."

Babs might, but that thought makes her laugh all of a sudden, something bitter and angry in it, "Guess I could show kids pictures of myself after Sionis was finished with me, to discourage them. Wouldn't be the first time."

She knows it's not fair to Babs, or really to Peggy, to bring something up she has no context for, but the reminder that they laid her 'corpse' out like a warning makes it hard to think straight.

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