16289/Punking Gotham's Elite Pt. 2

Punking Gotham's Elite Pt. 2
Date of Scene:	21 May 2024
Location:	NYU Skirball Theater - Manhattan
Synopsis:	Damian and Gwen escape a horrible night of finance and stiff upper lips to go on a impromptu date. So much changes.
Cast of Characters:	Robin (Wayne), Ghost Spider

---

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
NYU Skirball Center, located in the heart of Greenwich Village, is downtown Manhattans premiere Cultural Center. The 2017-18 season, the first curated by Director Jay Wegman, features challenging, provocative and adventurous programing, reflecting the intellectual and counter-culture traditions of the historically bohemian Village. The 860-seat state-of-the art performance venue provides a home for internationally renowned artists, innovators and thinkers. Its presentations span a wide variety of genres, from dance, theater, music, film and performance art.

Tonight? A Wayne is present.

The venue itself was one that Damian had frequented often when he attempts to assume a different identity so he can enjoy a good show. Every artist from classical to provocative finds a welcoming home here. Tonight? It's a big event. Anyone who's anyone is here. The show in question?

The Tempest, by Shakespeare - a favorite of Mr. Wayne's. Though the man is wearing a black three-piece suit with a silver watch and nice shoes? He's dressed in a tux that is worth more than some people's homes. Yet, despite how nicely he's dressed and how often he's mingling?

It's clear he could use a bit of a break from the usual politicians and financial enthusiasts...

Ghost Spider has posed:
It's impossible to put Gwen Stacy in a box.

Okay... maybe not _impossible_, but lots of people have tried and failed, both metaphorically and quite literally (in your face, Goblin).

Thinking of her as just the ludicrously awesome drummer of The Mary Janes would be selling her short in so many ways. So too would treating her as nothing more than a stuck-up, soon-to-be Doctor of Molecular Biochemistry. Maybe the least unique thing of all about her, though certainly not the least outwardly obvious, is that she also has a modeling contract.

Oh, and there's the whole Ghost-Spider thing, because just being the whole package isn't enough without also having super-powers and saving the innocent citizens of New York City on the regular. A girl's gotta have hobbies, right?

Not that you'll ever find Gwen's nose up in the air. Not even when she's wearing a dress that she couldn't afford on a year's salary. She still lives in a crappy studio apartment and, honestly, orders pizza way too often (thank God for spider-metabolism or the dress she's in tonight wouldn't be doing the things it's doing to her figure).

She's in a floor length, stark white gown with platinum and diamond accents, strappy silver heels that only escape the bottom hem of the dress every-so-often, a matching clutch, and chandelier earrings that sparkle beneath her elaborate up-do. One might be forgiven for not recognizing her immediately, if one were only ever expecting to see the quirky drummer that rocked the Gotham City Opera House that one time.

Nevertheless, she appears at Damien's elbow as if summoned by some conspiratorial spider-signal, a twinkle in her warm eyes and a playful smile lingering at the corners of her lips. She got there just moments before some old guy in a tux that looked like he was about to launch into excruciating detail about his stock portfolio.

"Mister Wayne," she muses, surprise clear in her voice. With a subtle shift of her body language, she steps right in the path of Mr. Investor, effectively cutting him off as she lifts an extra glass of champagne in offering. "Funny meeting you here."

It's not funny. It's a rich event full of rich people doing rich things -- of which Gwen has only a tenuous connection. Not just an invitation, an expectation. Still, she plays the part well enough.

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
Gwen Stacy?

In a box? So many have tried. After all, Ghost Spider has been the bane of many would-be villains who have tried to make a profit for themselves. Like many others, Gwen is someone who is adamantine in will and persistence. Though, a full package she is indeed with brains, brawn, beauty, and artistic talent that few could match. Add in that she also has superhuman abilities proportional to a Spider and you have a all-round badass with no conceivable weaknesses.

Terrifying.

And yet, as Damian just finishes speaking with one of the producers of the play - you know, he was happy to see him, hope he invests in the theater, blah, blah blah - Damian turns his head just so to find perhaps the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, dolled up in the ifnest stark white gown of platinum and diamond accents with matching clutch and perfect earrings. A woman of class and stature merely by the sight of her - of whom she has already drawn most of hte eyes present despite her humility.

And yet...it takes Damian only the slightest moment for recognition to appear in his emerald green eyes.

"Ms. Stacy."

He gladly offers the woman his elbow. "Hilarious, if you really think about it. I never cared much for these events but...anything for charity, hm?" He says with a little mischief in his smile, accepting her glass of champagne.

"You look absolutely gorgeous today. Any special occasion?" He asks her, his eyes never leaving hers for even a moment...and most certainly hers is a welcome presence.

Ghost Spider has posed:
"Gwen," the slender blonde corrects, mischief that mirrors his own twinkling in her eyes. Once he's taken the extra glass from her fingers, she slips that wrist through his offered arm without a second thought.

One might expect a model to brush aside a compliment as easily as water rolling off a superhero's cape, but Gwen is so unlike the other models, the trophy-wives, and even the executives and politicians that frequent these things. She might look every bit the part, but the differences are more obvious in her laugh, the way her eyes smile a little too much, and the easy way she moves. She's not trying as hard as others to be something she's not or put on some elaborate show.

She's not even fawning over Damian the way so many women do -- not that he's not rich and handsome and kind and charitable, at least on the surface. Unlike so many at this performance, she doesn't seem to want anything from him.

"Back 'atcha," she quips in response to his compliment, humor seemingly ever-present in her eyes, though a bit of pink creeps up into her cheeks. "As you said: anything for charity."

She lifts her glass surreptitiously, tipping it across the room to a man in his late thirties -- maybe ten or more years her senior.

"Kyle Trenton," she mutters. "My date for the evening. He's the editor of an up-and-coming fashion magazine. He needed someone to accompany him, and my modeling agent reminded me that I needed to renew my contract."

She purses her lips, failing to hide the smile in her eyes.

"So, maybe not charity in _exactly_ the way that you mean charity, but if you knew how excruciating its been all evening, you'd think I was a saint."

A pause, then, just long enough for her to offer a little roll of her eyes.

"Are you staying in New York long? Or just for the show?"

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
That slight correction of her name, 'Gwen' not 'Ms. Stacy', suggests a certain familiarity and comfortability allowed between them at her insistence. A little smirk paints itself confidently across Damian's features. "Damian." He tells her, that wrist through the crook of his arm initiating a polite contact between them that brings a slight - surprising - shade of pink to the cheeks of the billionaire heir apparent. And yet, even though she's not noticeably melting over him...that makes her all the more attractive to him. It's the mystery of the inside, the act of pursuit, the thrill of the unknown...it helps her a great deal that she's not some rich girl trying to net her father some more money with a good relationship or PR stunt.

She's just Gwen Stacy...and that's more than enough.

She's not fake and Damian clearly appreciates it. When she returns his compliment, he can't help but smirk ever so slightly. "I should attend charity events more often then." he teases her faintly, though he looks towards Kyle Trenton. A single brow raises in curiosity, but he's listening closely. "Hm. Interesting...well, he chose wisely. I think every eye in the room was on you at one point...long as you remember to stay 'only' an employee, if you catch my meaning. Even well-intended...they tend to ask for favors." Damian warns her in a rare show of protectiveness in his civilian persona.

"And don't even get me started..." he sighs. "Everybody wants money. Only the ones without know how to ask for it with sincerity. Most of the people in this room have enough money to buy the city with change. They just don't know when enough is enough." He shakes his head, strong opinions on the aristocracy of the rich, evidently.

"I intended to stay in New York for at least a few weeks. Though, I see I could have been persuaded." He teases Gwen. "How about you? Stop on the road or have you finished touring for a moment with the band?"

Ghost Spider has posed:
"Maybe you should."

It's said in response to his little flirtation about attending charity events more often. At some point, these dances tend to move past teasing and into territory that's outright suggestive, but there's something about the innocence in that playful defiance that keeps things on the polite side of the line.

Oh, she knows what she's doing. She's just being a more petulant than enticing. After all, a billionaire should go to more charity events. Maybe he should go to _all_ the charity events.

There's opinions in there, behind those eyes. Lots of them. Given the chance, she'd probably happily tell him what he should be doing. But there's no disdain or dislike. She's just kind of a brat, sometimes. Especially when she's feeling comfortable.

And it's hard not to feel comfortable when an interaction flows so easily that it starts to suck you in. When the murmur of the room starts to fade. When you forget to look away as often as you should.

_They just don't know when enough is enough._

"Says the billionaire," Gwen laughs without contempt, the sound warm and amused. Damian Wayne is not Bruce Wayne, after all, and even if he were... honestly, she doesn't know enough about Gotham politics (or, indeed, global markets) to get in the weeds about the Wayne Enterprises or Wayne Foundation. They make weapons, don't they? Or they maybe they _did_? Something like that. It seems like all the billionaires have been involved in foreign conflicts in one way or another. Oil, guns, technology... Of course, so was Stark, and she's always considered that well above her paygrade.

(weakly, in her head) 'Go Avengers!'

"Hey, I'm just saying... there's lots of things to see if you're staying. In no particular order, the Empire State Building. The Statue of Liberty. The Met. Katz's Deli." She shrugs, each passing second bringing her a little closer to that girl that climbed off of the stage at the Gotham City Opera House after playing what was probably the fanciest venue in her life. "Honestly, I'd hit Katz's first. Seriously. The pastrami on rye is to die for."

It's not until that moment that she seems to catch herself relaxing. She covers it up with a little laugh and a dismissive roll of one shoulder.

"I appreciate the flattery, but don't worry about Kyle," she whispers. "I'm like ninety-nine percent sure he's gay, anyway, but even if he's not, he won't push. Not more than once." Those badass punk-rocker eyes glint with conspiratorial mirth before she scans the room again. "It _is_ almost time for intermission to be over, though..."

Everyone was already migrating towards the theatre doors in anticipation, some even returning to their seats.

It's not the auditorium that has Gwen's attention, though. It's the exit doors, with a kind of, 'Too bad the place isn't on fire' kind of longing that tightens her smile.

"I should probably let you get back to your..." Date? Seat? "...charity event. You just looked like you were ready for a break from... everything."

There's that knowing smile again.

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
Those little flirts passed between them made Damian feel light as a feather. She wasn't giving him any of that jargon - or at least not vocalizing it - about why her foundation was better than their foundation or his better hers or...whatever. Though their dance is borderlining the suggestive, Damian takes a slight sip of his drink. While she didn't need to say anything? Her body language says the rest. Micro-expressions that people can't hide as well.

He figures she's something of an activist, given her punk-rock status of her band. After he had finished his drink and he turns to look upon her, he gives her a warm smile. If anything, Damian can be quite the brat himself - mostly due to his quietly reserved hyperviolent tendencies (much like his father). But...they're comfortable with one another.

Just the way Damian would like.

"If only it were mine to give. I never cared for it, to be honest. If it were mine to give...well...plenty would have much more than they think or the city would be better off." Damian shrugs. "But, it's not my money. I just advise on best investments and haggle the board." Damian is...deeply rooted in his father's company, it seems!

"Well, if there's sights better than the one in front of me..." his eyes briefly look towards her lips, then back up to her own. "Maybe I'll have to have you give me a personal tour. As long as it doesn't interrupt your schedule too much. I imagine you're quite busy."

Damian chuckles. "Nothing to get back to, other than the play." The man boldly arrives by himself. "and...I really, really did. Though, perhaps I might find a way to sit next to you. After all, these events are best with proper company."

He gives her that knowing smile in return, in case she needs a break from some of tonight's festivities herself. There's much to be said about someone to sit beside you to poke fun at a classic.

Ghost Spider has posed:
You don't always need Spidey-Sense to warn you when you're about to get hit with an unexpected torpedo to your plans. Gwen had planned to let their banter stand on its own. He'd hired her band to play in Gotham. She'd noticed him needing a rescue from the humdrum of rich people sucking up to someone even richer. And she'd been willing to leave it at that.

Then came the _if there's sights better than the one in front of me_ that darkened her cheeks, the _personal tour_ offer that had her smiling, eyes demuring to the glass in her hand, and finally the coup de grace: _Perhaps I might find a way to sit next to you._

Okay. So, maybe she wasn't expecting quite such a warm reaction to an otherwise innocent interaction.

Not that she wasn't enjoying it.

Billionaire GQ model aside, Damien actually seemed to be a pretty decent guy.

And... he was right. Kyle was _such_ a chore to accompany. She wasn't even getting paid to be here -- it was just a favor to her agent, who promised to remember when it came time for contract signing.

It wouldn't be awful to have Damian to banter with, much to the chagrin of everyone around them, to be sure.

She's chewing on her lip without realizing it, using those seconds of pensive quiet after those suggestions to run through all the permutations in her head.

Peter is in there, too... hovering over her shoulder like a specter. It's guilt more than anything. She's in love with Peter Parker. And, just because they haven't really seen each other recently doesn't mean that's changed. It's been her fault as much as his... if _fault_ is even the right word. It's just... a lot. Plus, it's not like she's making out with Damian.

Right?

Right.

"You have one of the balconies, don't you?"

The plan had been forming in the back of her mind the whole time. You learn to multi-task when you have do a quick costume-change while web-swinging through Manhattan at rush hour so you can stop a supervillain from burning down an orphanage before your next final.

It's also an admission that she'd noticed him _before_ he started looking like he needed a rescue during intermission, for those who are incredibly astute.

"Do you see the man Kyle's flirting with?"

She leans a little closer to Damian so she can lower her voice, her shoulder brushing against his arm as she lifts a subtle finger to point towards the pair of them.

"If you were, hypothetically, to invite us -- including whoever that is -- to sit with you, Kyle might be too distracted to notice if I was enjoying the play more with someone else. Plus, he might be _so_ thrilled that we got an invitation from _the_ Damian Wayne that _I_ get a bonus from my agent."

A grin touches one corner of her lips as she turns to face him, making a vaguely dismissive gesture with her champagne flute.

"Hypothetically, of course. I obviously wouldn't invite myself to your balcony. Or ask for favors. I mean, I may be direct, but I'm not _that_ direct." She clears her throat gently. "Most the time."

A beat, humor still dancing in her eyes.

"But, if it _did_ happen, it would improve my night dramatically."

She shrugs.

"That's all I'm saying."

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
Ah, but Gwen cannot escape such pleasantries so easily.

He sees the darkening of her cheeks, how her soft skin darkens in response to his mild flirtations. In truth, there were no better sights in front of him than Damian had ever seen. Even when she was with her band, dressed in their rags of rock and roll, artistic expression, and rage against the machine. She's beautiful. She never needed all of this pomp and circumstance to be so. She merely is.

Rich folk - especially bosses - can be absolute bores to be around. But her body languages betrays her. Each catch of a breath, each little crook of the corners of her lips upwards, the slight pressure she adds to her bottom lip. She was...very kissable, even by a single look from Damian. Though alas, he doesn't make a move. He's not that kind of person. Though her question seems to strike a bit of a mischievous nerve, a little smirk on his features all of a sudden. "I do indeed." He turns his eyes towards Kyle and his beau, Gwen's closer proximity forcing a blush onto Damian's expression...

But he listens.

And honestly? It's a good plan. "Hm...then perhaps, hypothetically, I should give the man my seat so he might enjoy his evening...and you and I can slip out the back door to do something far more entertaining for the both of us. After all, it's a big city. I'm certain we can find something to do."

"And I'd be ashamed if I didn't improve a lovely lady's night."

He winks at her, and in a mere moment, Damian approaches Kyle and his beau boldly, shaking hands and passing through that moment of absolute fandom. Fandom turns to shock with turns to practically holy gratitude when Damian presents his ticket for the balcony seats - completely private viewing.

It only takes a moment for him to return.

"We should run." He winks at her, offering his hand to Gwen, and ifs he takes it?

Both of them might just sneak away into the night!

Ghost Spider has posed:
He wants to... slip out the back?

There's a flash of doubt in Gwen's eyes. Hesitancy more than rebuke.

She knows it's dangerous. Not because it's _dangerous_, but because it's one thing to rearrange her evening to sit next to someone just because they have good... okay great... chemistry.

It's another thing entirely to run off into the night with him.

That pang of guilt is still wrestling with her desire to go do something -- anything other than spend more time with Kyle -- when Damian slips off to greet the editor and his new love interest. A smile tugs at her lips as she watches their excitement to meet him, even more as he offers them his private seats.

Kyle's eyes lift to Gwen's across the room, and she offers an understanding smile, a encouraging little wiggle of her fingers. Go. Have fun. _Please_.

They do. Because Damian's hard to say no to, as Gwen is quickly discovering.

Still, Gwen sneaks her phone out of her clutch while they're still talking and looks down at it. No new message.

To Peter: "Hey."

To Peter: "I know I've been hard to pin down."

To Peter: "Literally and figuratively."

To Peter: "The band... the thesis. Work. Other stuff. You know."

To Peter: "Just... checking in."

It's not like he hasn't been busy too, but it's hard not to be consumed by guilt when you're about to 'sneak out the back' with some hot rich guy and you haven't even had time to have take-out with your... boyfriend.

Is that what he is, still? Do boyfriends and girlfriends spend days or weeks without saying anything to each other?

It's not his fault. She's not _punishing_ him by spending an evening with Damian. It's just...

Sigh.

_We should run,_ Damian had said.

The words bring Gwen's eyes back up, and she drops the phone back into her clutch. It takes a second for her to get out of her own head.

Run.

Oh, God, he did it! They're free!

All at once, a broad smile spreads across her lips, and all hesitation fades -- the decision was made, and she was all in. They were doing this.

"We'll see how much running I can do in heels," she teases, her voice a hiss of a playful whisper. She slips her hand into his, and with one last glance over her shoulder at the grandiosity of the Skirball Center, a thrill of rebellion washes over her.

They slip out the back door, the cool night air greeting them both like an old friend. The sound of the city is a symphony of life and chaos, a stark contrast to the structured formality inside. Her gown flutters around her legs as she makes her way down the back stairs and dimly lit alley amid the distant hum of traffic their only companion.

"Okay Trouble, where are we going?" she asks, her grin wide and eyes sparkling. "Keep in mind... I don't have a change of clothes."

Not one she can admit to having access to, anyway.

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
If Damian had caught eyes of Gwen Stacy trying to talk to an old flame in Peter Parker? Damian doesn't let any information regarding that slip out. Instead, when he comes back, he told her his simple suggestion and they were OUT THE DOOR! Because God forbid they spend one more moment amongst the rich and the needless. Now, was Damian expecting that they flee back to his abode, bed each other, and go about their merry way? Absolutely not. Instead? He just wants to run the night with her and whatever happens then? Well, that, he'll leave up to her.

That smile was worth it. That way her eyes lit up like the Fourth of July was worth every single penny of coming here tonight. Hand in hand, they escape the cold clutches of the wealthy and into the night of freedom of a city that never sleeps. For a moment, Damian completely forgets he still has her hand in his own, turning to look at her as she calls him Trouble.

"I have a few ideas." When she mentions she doesn't have a change of clothes? Damian smirks. "Well don't worry, you're not taking a walk of shame." He teases her, and leads her towards a **BITCHING** motorcycle on the side of the street, a Yamaha model by the looks of it. It's meant to go *fast*. "Your chariot awaits."

He considers. "How about dinner?"

Ghost Spider has posed:
"You came here in _that_ thing? You're braver than I thought."

The words are out of Gwen's mouth before she can even reconsider how absolutely nerdy quoting Star Wars might make her to the son of Bruce Wayne. But, if he needed any more evidence that she wasn't trying to pretend to be something she's not, he certainly has it. If he even gets the reference.

You take take the girl out of the spider, but you can't take the spider out of the girl.

Actually, it's genetically impossible to do either, at this point.

The point is, witty repartee and nerdy quotes come as part and parcel of the Gwen Stacy package, free of charge.

"Somehow I expected a Rolls-Royce and a chauffer to be waiting. You're changing my opinion of you, Mister Wayne."

She's still smiling, and she doesn't seem to need her hand back until they're beside the bike. There, she starts gathering the floor length gown up around her thighs. There's no rebuke to that being their only mode of transportation. She just waits for him to climb on so she can climb on behind him and stuff her excess dress between them.

"Dinner sounds great, but make it count. It may be last meal. Merideth is going to kill me," she mutters, laughing. "This dress is on loan."

Which sort of make sense, if you think about it. It was definitely worth several thousand dollars, and even with all of her side jobs (most of which consisted of pro-bono crime fighting and working on her thesis), she was lucky to be able to make rent, pay student loans, and eat relatively well. Nowhere in her budget was there a line item for a five-thousand or ten-thousand-dollar dress.

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
"What can I say? I don't like to live up to stereotypes."

Damian smirked at her in that moment, and even though she makes a Star Wars reference, Damian seems to understand it. See, Dick, Tim, and even Barbara like to get together every now and again to watch old movies and classics that they enjoy. Most popularly that happens to be Star Wars! When Gwen makes such a reference and Damian actually recognizes it? He gives her hand a little affectionate squeeze. "Nerd." He teases her with a playful wink.

Though he mounts his motorcycle and rolls his shoulders, evidently not bothering with a helmet, and he waits for her to mount the bike as well, feeling her stuff the dress between them as he reaches back behind him, as though to perhaps reach for her wrists and bring them gently around his waist, if she allows such a contact. "Hold on tight, alright? This thing moves fast."

"I was thinking Central Park Hot Dogs." he says as though it's a major restaurant. "Classy, functional, and effective. And if anything happens to that dress? Well, I'll have a word with Merideth." He chuckles, before hitting that ignition and racing off into the night!

A thousand dollars, even ten thousand, twenty...is a blink to Damian motherfucking Wayne.

And as they race through the night, he's easily speeding, his green eyes ahead as Damian reveals himself to be a thrillseeker.

Ghost Spider has posed:
Gwen rolls her eyes against the tiny pang of guilt that she tries not to let show on her face.

'Nerd.'

That's supposed to be _her_ line. Peter is _way_ nerdier than she is. Being the nerdy one in the couple is...

Stop. _Not_ a 'couple.' Just a 'pair.' Two people about to get _very_ close on a two-wheeled death machine. There's a difference. Even if they are both in formal evening attire.

Still, the blush that deepens on her cheeks when he squeezes her hand goes a long way to make that discomfort look like flattery. After all, she didn't hate it. She _is_ a nerd, and kinda proud of it.

"That's me," she laughs, just a hint of nervousness in her voice.

The clutch purse gets tucked in with the dress between her belly and his back, but she doesn't fight the way he urges her arms up and around him, scooting forward to pin everything in place and then... hanging on.

...And sort of hoping that the air started moving soon, because the harder she squeezed, the more the heat was built up around her neck. She was starting to feel a bit like she was glowing.

"Don't worry. Fast, I can do."

_Hot Dogs?!_ He wants to take her to Central Park and eat freaking hot dogs?! What, is there a freaking Gwen Stacy playbook on the internet somewhere?

Chapter 1: Diet. The Gwen eats garbage food -- a surprising amount of it, too. Feed her the cheapest food you can find in the most picturesque settings you have access to, and she will literally love you forever.

Chapter 2: Humor. Everything is a joke. (This keeps it from being too hard, frightening, or painful to deal with). The End.

"So have you been stalking me, or are you naturally this good at finding my vices? Because you are _really_ starting to blow my mind with these preferences... ditching the classy event, riding a motorcycle... _hot dogs_?"

Suddenly she gasps in realization, leaning around his shoulder a little to look at him.

"You're slumming!" she shouts before the bike takes off, but it's pure mirth in her features, a delighted laugh trailing into the roar of the bike and the wind as they race through the city.

Gwen, meanwhile, is revealed to not _completely_ trust Damian. Not yet. There's moments where she tenses, but nothing that might throw him off balance, and never so bad it looks like she might try to ditch. Still, the occasional hiss of a sharp intake here... the cringe of worry at a near impact there.

The up-do? It's a down-do by the time they're half-way there, and one of the first thing she does once the bike is parked is pull the rest of the bobby pins out and drop them in her purse, shaking her hair out around her shoulders.

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
Peter is DEFINITELY nerdier than Damian. Then again, it's not a hard feat. He grew up among assassins in the Middle East, whose sole focus was to surpass both the Batman and Ra's al Ghul, to become the Head of the Demon. He only in the past few years has been understanding different pop culture references thanks to his Bat siblings. Though regardless, to know that Gwen seems to notice that Damian actually has a similar personality to her is an endearing thought. She's nervous, and it shows...but thankfully? Damian doesn't seem to mind at all.

"Hey. It's okay."

That little offering of comfort, of peace, and Damian seems to smile as he starts to drive, putting that hell on two wheels he calls a bike through its paces in the early going. "Maybe I'm just that good!" Damian tells her with a laughter on his lips. "Maybe you're getting to know the real me, without the suits and titles and cash. Besides, hot dogs are pretty good. Only had my first one a few years ago."

Damian allows that hint, though she calls himout for slumming and he can't help but laugh. "Slumming or living?" He asks Gwen curiously, wondering what she might think about it. But, she's holding onto him. She tenses at times, but she holds on...and she freezes...and he listens to her. He adjusts how she rides to how she reacts.

Trust is an attempt, rarely a guarantee.

Then? Damian drifts into a spot, a perfect parallel park, with a smile on his face. He stands up straight, looking over his shoulder just in time to see Gwen shake out her hair. "

"Tip for the driver?"

Ghost Spider has posed:
What _is_ Damian's story, anyway? And at what point did Gwen even become aware that Bruce Wayne had a son? ... Was it big news? Or did she find out the day he called to schedule the gig at the Gotham Opera House?

It was probably that, honestly. It might have been news, but she can't really name the kids of any other billionaires, either. Of course, if another one called to book her at a venue like that, she'd probably figure out who they were pretty quickly, too. It's at least worth a quick Google search when some rich guy's offering a lot of money to do something weird -- like punking the elite.

'_Hey. It's okay,_' he said, and it made her smile.

She hated the way it made her smile.

It's not okay. It's not okay because it's _too_ okay. His words slither down her spine in a way that's too comfortable, and she doesn't need to care about what's okay to him. What she needs to do is breathe, get some distance, and stop letting him surprise her in the ways that make her think too much.

Distance is, unfortunately, harder to get when you're wrapped around someone and hanging on for dear life. At least there's a viable distraction in the conversation.

"A _few years ago_?!"

Her cheek is against his hair, lips almost against his ear. It has to be, for him to hear her over the engine, the traffic, the wind.

"Did you grow up under a rock?! They don't have hot dogs Gotham?! Pizza rolls? Bagel bites?!"

Yeah, definitely some sweeping assumptions about Damian's backstory made there. There's no doubt she pictures his early years as being served Wagu beef on a literal silver platter since he was old enough to chew, milk in a fine crystal chalice (imported, of course, from wherever rich people think the finest cows are raised), with a side of organic something-or-other that's invariably topped with whatever a demiglace is.

Did she mean to squeeze him when he corrected her: _slumming or living_?

Maybe it was just timing, but it felt a little like a hug -- maybe silent 'thank you' for not rubbing in the fact he had no logical business hanging out with the likes of her. He _was_ slumming. She knew it. Maybe he knew it, too, but the fact that he considered it something more than that meant a lot.

Probably more than it should.

The fact that he changes his pace through town a little, adjusting to her reactions, isn't lost on her either. Trust may not be a guarantee, but it grows over time, and every little thing counts. He adjusts, she relaxes, and as the bike weaves through traffic, there are fewer and fewer of those tense moments.

Not only does he turn out to be a freaking awesome motorcyclist, but he's responsive to her comfort level, and that goes a _long_ way to building that trust.

She doesn't let him go until they're parked, her heels still perched on the rear pegs, her fingers deftly plucking out bobby pins and pulling her hair free, shaking it loose around her shoulders. She grins at his question and leans forward, hands resting just for a moment on his shoulders.

"If you slow down, it lasts longer," she teases, barely containing her laughter before sliding back and swinging her leg off of the bike.

It's a graceful dismount, especially considering she brushes out the long skirt of her dress in the process and tucks her clutch under her arm. She spends only a few seconds doting over her own appearance -- a brush of her dress here, checking the hem for grime or scorch marks, a fluff of her hair there, just to ensure she's put together.

Ghost Spider has posed:
Ahead of them, Central Park in the evening is... well... Central Park. There's a guy busking with a guitar and a little amp on the sidewalk. A littler farther off, there are a few food trucks that serve street tacos and other bites. An old-fashioned hot dog cart sits under a street lamp manned by an older man with gray hair and a kind smile. It's New York, so there's always people -- pedestrians, traffic, sirens, horns.

The sky's dark, but the streetlamps farther in to the park cast the kind of glow that can either be eerie or romantic, depending on your mood and how well armed you are.

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
It's a difficult thing, to hold onto the past in such a way that can only be painful. Was Damian being mysterious on purpose? Potentially. Does he know far more than he's letting on? Absolutely. Does he care about Gwen?

That much is certain.

She was a good person. Damian could feel it in his bones. He isn't aware that she's having an internal struggle with how she feels for Damian and how comfortable she is. He isn't aware that she hates the way he makes her smile.

But he's going to keep trying to make her happy anyway.

She talks to him in his ear, her lips next to him making him smile even if it's a necessity for speaking and communications. "Yeah." Only a few years ago. He doesn't give anything more than that, though when she asks him and pushes for information? Damian smiles. "Who said I grew up in Gotham?" he questions her with a little bit of a cheeky tone, and her squeeze around him - intentional or otherwise - is appreciated. Because to Damian?

The wealthy life is slumming, boring and full of empty promises of where to put that wealth. To Damian? This is living. Just everyday things that most folks don't pay attention to.

When that bike comes to a stop, Gwen's hands rest on his shoulder, whispering to him a 'tip' or rather a piece of advice that it lasts longer if he drives slower, a little laugh.

"Well, you're not wrong."

And he steps off the bike as soon as Gwen has herself situated. Looking at Gwen after taking in the view of Central Park, he extends his hand to her as though to ask if she'd like to hold his hand, but he certainly doesn't make demands.

"Best hot dogs in the city. Shall we?"

Ghost Spider has posed:
It's an even more difficult thing to not know whats _in the past_ and what's just... on hold. Then again, there's lots of the past that Gwen's still holding on to.

She's twenty-seven years old, and her father still doesn't know she's Ghost-Spider. Thanks to being in the wrong place at the wrong time a lot and persuasive blow-hards like J. Jonah Jameson, Captain Stacy and a whole segment of the NYPD are convinced that Spider-Man and his ilk are part of what's wrong with the city. It's been his mission to catch the 'spider menaces' for years.

She couldn't bear to break his heart.

She lost her mother too early. She couldn't willfully give up her father, or she'd spend the rest of her life living in the past, regretting his disappointment.

_Who said I grew up in Gotham?_

This question isn't missed. In fact, Gwen seems to perk up a little at the umpteenth challenge to her assumptions about the increasingly enigmatic man she's spontaneously decided to run off and shirk all prior responsibilities with. She doesn't even have her costume with her, unless it folds up in that clutch or the dress she's wearing is magically better at hiding under-garments than it seems to be.

She doesn't ask, though. Not right away. Not with all of the wind and the traffic and the raw desire to comprehend the entire answer. God forbid she ask and lose half of some juicy details to the sound of the revving engine or a nearby car-horn.

No, she can bide her time. At least for a few minutes.

"I rarely am," she quips, watching him with those blue eyes of hers filled with playful challenge. His hand, though, is readily taken -- palm to palm, careful not to let her fingers slip into his.

_Best hot dogs in the city._

"Says the Gothamite. Maybe you don't have as pressing a need for a New York City tour guide as I originally thought," she muses, falling into step with him a bit like a dancer might -- touch light, stride easy, hyper-aware of that contact between them.

"So... it occurs to me that I don't actually know anything about you," she points out, genuinely curious as the curiosity finally gets to her. "You didn't grow up in Gotham?"

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
If only Batman's heart could break.

If only Damian had the luxury of a secret. Gwen was able to grow up normal before being blessed (cursed?) with Spider-like abilities. Damian? Damian grew up a killer. Trained in so many ways to kill a human being, yet taught and shown a different path...

Damian would kill if all he had to fear was heartbreak.

Hand is readily taken in hand. Careful not to upset or challenge any feelings of flight or affection, Damian makes no effort at all to intertwine their fingers. Instead, he just holds her hand and begins to walk with her towards the stall. Yet she talks to him about where he might be from. "I grew up in Asia, with my mother. She's...a hard woman, but fair."

Ghost Spider has posed:
"Asia?"

The steady click-click of Gwen's heels against the sidewalk is like a rhythm to their connection, their conversation... the whole moment. It connects them together like a heartbeat, filling the space with the leisurely pace of their stroll.

Her voice, though, is filled with surprise -- genuine surprise that lacks even the hint of her previously playful banter. It's not a dire tone, but it's certainly interested.

"I..."

A moment stolen to consider her words as her voice lingers in the air for a moment... and when she speaks again, guilt and contrition in her tone.

"I guess I never really thought through what that must have actually been like... growing up a Wayne."

How could she? She had absolutely nothing to compare it to. She was raised on a widowed NYPD officer's salary. She was lucky to have Chucks, ballet lessons, and a relatively save apartment to grow up in.

"Tell me something about you," she says after a pause, though it comes off as more of a question. "Anything. It... doesn't have to be deep, unless you want it to be. Something that maybe... helps me get to know the real you a little better." She smiles a bit. "I already know hot dogs are relatively new. That's pretty telling."

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
"Asia."

Damian confirms in that moment, the study thudding of Damian's footfalls matching nearly in perfect time with Gwen's own heels. They weren't in any rush and...Gwen is finally asking questions, so Damian is happy to answer them. Yet, he seems to have surprised her in that moment, as though he's given her a new perspective, if only for a moment.

"You have no idea."

He sighs ever so dejectedly. Being a Wayne was hard enough as it is. Being the son of *Bruce* Wayne? Well, that was something else entirely. But, he's asked to tell her something about him. Anything he likes. With a slow breath, he turned his eyes towards her.

"I love animals. I have a cat named Alfred and I saved a cow. I grew up with a dog named Titus." Not deep but...Damian has a soft spot for animals.

Ghost Spider has posed:
Humanizing.

This whole jaunt, from walking arm-in-arm through the lobby of the theater, to riding a motorcycle at breakneck speed through the streets of New York, to walking hand-in-hand through Central Park... if Gwen had to pick a central theme, it would be how much it humanized the man beside her.

It took him from a picture on a magazine cover -- a man of myth and legend, son and heir of yet another eccentric, mythic, and legendary man -- and it forced her to see him as a man.

A man that would hire her band to play in an opera house.

A man that would ride a motorcycle to a play in a tux.

A man that wanted to spend his billions eating hot dogs in Central Park instead of fancy restaurants.

A man that was -- maybe -- savvy enough to know that a fancy dinner wouldn't have changed her opinion of him, but driving her to get a hot dog certainly had. Or maybe he didn't care about her opinion at all, and she really was getting the _real_ version of Damian Wayne.

...Which was possibly even more dangerous.

Because she didn't dislike the man she was getting to know. Or the way he looked at her. If there was anything at all that she disliked, it was that she was a little too comfortable holding his hand.

The pets are certainly cataloged for later, but there's one statement she seems to latch on to.

"Wait, wait, wait..." The laughter that bubbles up is warm and free, her smile broad enough to touch her bright blue eyes. "What do you mean you _saved_ a cow?"

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
Gwen Stacy is more than a Spider.

Everything can be learned. Everything can be taught. All it takes is just a little bit of perspective to change someone's thoughts forever. In this way, Damian seems more like a person than someone with that fabled silver spoon.

Did he care about her opinion? Oh, most certainly, but he hides it quite well. She questions then how he managed to save a _cow_ with wide, bright eyes and an even wider smile. A smirk on Damian's face as they draw closer to the stand.

"They were going to charge him up and serve him as a meal and well..he seemed to be very much so a people person. So...I decided to buy him. He still grazes the estate to this day, with a few other cows I've brought to the fold so he wouldn't be lonely."

Damian tries to cover up a naturally bleeding heart to quite possibly no avail. "It's a simple thing, really. Speak firmly or confidently enough and people will be willing to part with about anything." he snerks.

Ghost Spider has posed:
It's not as bad as Los Angeles, but it _is_ New York City. Pretty people are _everywhere_.

Gwen sometimes gets a second glance when she walks past , but there are actors, news anchors, models, lobbyists, social media influencers, and so many other kinds of image-focused people that wander the streets, drive by in fancy cars, or otherwise grace presence of strangers that most have been conditioned just to accept it. They're dulled to its effect.

There are significantly fewer billionaires who aimlessly wander the streets, though, and as fate would have it, some of those billionaires are _also_ pretty people.

So, maybe it's no surprise how the the older man running the hot dog stand gawks at the pair of them as they approach, both of them done up in their finery -- Damian in his tux, Gwen in her long white gown and chandelier earrings (now mostly hidden by the blonde locks she's let down).

"You did not!" Gwen's protesting, warm laughter lingering as much in her eyes as it is the curl of her mouth.

It's such a line designed to work on women just like her -- the kind, bleeding hearts who want to believe that there are people like that in the world: billionaires who would start a 'cow rescue' because one was particularly anthropomorphic (all while eating a hamburger, of course).

And why _not_ use a line like that? There's no way to 'fact check' that. Short of an invitation to Wayne Manor, there is no way on earth to verify whether or not Damian Wayne has indeed started a cow rescue.

"I refuse to believe that you started a cow farm behind Wayne Manor just because one of them was a 'people person.'"

Of course, Gwen is not most women -- even most women just like her. Gwen will simply call bullshit on the billionaire she's holding hands with (despite the fact that she barely knows him), just because he's pushing too many of the 'too good to be true' buttons and her skepticism scale tipped over. To her credit, she does call him a liar with a good-natured smile on her lips, though.

"Good evening, Mister Wayne," the old man behind the hot dog cart greets with a genial smile. "Miss. What can I do for you?"

Damian must be used to that by now -- the result of having your face on the cover of too many magazines. She didn't know it, but Gwen was pretty lucky the paparazzi hadn't caught up with them after they left the play.

Still, the old man doesn't seem to be offering food. Maybe he assumes they can't _possibly_ be there to get hot dogs, because who would believe it?

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
Damian Wayne is one of a kind.

Spread the word.

Where models and bankers and lawyers and doctors all seem to care about themselves? Damian is a young man who did not grow up in comfort. He grew up with blood under his fingernails and bruises on his cheeks. He has a stiff upper lip and a largely stoic demeanor, the charming witty behavior both a mask and a gift of his mother. Damian has never cared for appearances or pleasing people in particular. He likes making people happy, sure, but he doesn't lower himself to the standards of others or break his back to meet higher ones.

Not anymore.

Gwen's playful protest makes him laugh. "If you'd like to accept an invitation to Wayne Manor, I'd be happy to show you. And don't worry, you don't have to sleep there if you don't want to." Damian teases her with so bold a flirtation but also honesty: she will not be expected to do anything but enjoy herself. "But, I have a compassion for cow safety. It's just one of my many quirks." He lifts his shoulder in a shrug. Is he too good to be true? Don't ask Damian that. To him? He's a very, very bad person who's willing to do very bad things to make sure people stay safe. Besides, part of the reason Damian likes Gwen is because she's different. She's not easily impressed, she's down to earth.

She's beautiful, inside and out. What's not to like?

When they arrive at the stand? "Hey Mr. Greenfield. How's business treating you today?" He gestures the the modelesque woman on his hand. "I'll take a classic hot dog and whatever the lady would like." he won't presume to order for her.

Ghost Spider has posed:
The sound Gwen makes isn't actually a snort. That would be a little _too_ unladylike, even for her. It's not a laugh, either, though. It's a haughty little 'hmph' that comes out with the 'yeah, right' grin.

Wayne Manor. As if.

_It's just one of my many quirks._

It's not quite a full eye-roll that he gets -- just a little lift of those blue eyes towards the darkened sky as she continues to grin at him.

How many women had fallen for all of this? How many women would claw her eyes out just to take her place in that moment? More than she wanted to think about, for sure. It's so easy, though. He has the whole disarmingly charming, handsome enigma thing down pat, and what woman wouldn't want a guy like _that_ to look at them... the way Damian looks at her? Especially when life hasn't exactly been easy these last few months...

Her best friend has gone off the rails as a wanna-be super-hero, and she can't convince him to stop, no matter how hard she tries -- he's 'following her example,' and it's going to get him hurt.

Her boyfriend (or Spider-Man, at least) had a warrant issued for his arrest (for trying to assassinate the mayor, no less), and after a while they started... drifting apart. She'd catch herself looking through pictures on her phone every once in a while, wondering what Peter was doing. She'd get a text from him every once in a while, but by the time she responded, he was busy. After a while she was afraid to call, afraid to bother him... afraid to be one more demand on his time.

Nadia's been scarce, too. She hasn't connected with the rest of the GIRLs as often as she should have. Her new suit design sort of... fell by the wayside.

Her dad almost got himself killed twice in the last six months. She had to save him twice and he _still_ blames Ghost-Spider.

And don't even get started on the Mary Janes. _Mary Jane_ hasn't been seen since before the Gotham Opera gig, off modeling internationally or something, and now even the band is falling apart.

Tonight has been the best night Gwen has had in what feels like a... long time, and it's on the heels of that realization that she's caught staring, slightly open-mouthed, by the old man's greeting.

It's not the hot dog vendor she's staring at, though. It's Damian. He never got to a punchline with his 'invitation to Wayne Manor' joke... never took it back, never hedged except where it came to sleeping arrangements.

Which meant it wasn't a joke.

Fish out of water, her lips move a couple of times, searching for words that fail to materialize... until her brain finally catches up to the more pressing question -- the one literally staring her in the face in the form of the old man that's already moving to get his tongs.

"The same. Please."

She offers a slightly dazed smile to the man who, with a knowing smirk, goes about the process of putting dogs in buns.

Then her eyes are back on Damian. Surprised. Confused.

Yet still without an answer.

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
While Gwen goes through her trauma, her past of looking at old pictures of friends and lover who just...drifted away like a ship in the night, Damian is wondering if he's doing anything right at all. The mill of him sleeping with supermodels and other likeminded personalities are simply that: rumors. Some ladies and highly eligible bachelorettes were given healthy sums to sell the lie, too.

Damian's a different breed. He's not a virgin or prude by any means, but he has a careful selection of whom he gives his attraction. Why? Because in his hard of hearts? He wants the real thing.

That thing so many have written about, dreamed of, and died for. He wants love. Someone who he can give his world to.

And he might have found her.

When Gwen orders the same thing and the old man works on the order, his eyes turn to Gwen then, a kindness in them as he gives her hand a squeeze.

"Oh, is there something on my face?" Damian lifts his free hand to experimentally touch his face, as though searching for what might be wrong.

"and...you're allowed to say no to the invite." he chuckles.

Ghost Spider has posed:
Blink. Blink. On his _face_?

Oh, God.

She's staring.

"No! God, no... your face is perfect." Horror fills her eyes. Color spreads through her cheeks. "...ly fine -- perfectly fine."

Gwen clears her throat softly, her own free hand rising to tuck her hair back behind her ear as her eyes cut awkwardly back to the hot dog stands, because watching how hot dogs are assembled is suddenly _fascinating_.

"It's not... it was just... unexpected, is all."

The man lifts one of the hot dogs and a small pike of napkins, handing it towards her. It's the first time she's let go of Damian's hand since they got off the bike. And after a few seconds, it's the longest she's gone without touching him since she spotted in at the play.

"Thank you," she says as she takes the napkin-wrapped bun.

"Like some advice, miss?" the old man asks, his expression entirely sincere.

_Not really._

It's there in her eyes and the way the anxiety crawls up her spine and tightens all of her muscles, makes her heart beat harder than she wants it to.

"Sure."

"You only live once, miss. Whatever Mister Wayne's invited you to do? Well, I'd hate to look back on a regret like that if I'd said no."

A soft breath leaves Gwen's nose, even as the man is handing Damian his hot dog, wrapped up the same way Gwen's was. Still, there's a little smile on the corners of her lips.

She seizes that exact moment to open her clutch purse before Damian get can get this wallet, pulling out a plastic card as she deftly balances the hot dog.

"Fine." Her eyes cut over to Damian even as she boldly presses the credit card into Mr. Greenfield's hand. "I'll come see your _farm_."

See how she boldly lowers the full value and esteem of the entire Wayne Estate to nothing more than a cow field? That humor is the _first_ sign that she's starting to relax enough to crack jokes with him. Those eyes glint with a kind of sharp amusement -- the confident PhD candidate shining out from within the defensive, world-weary girl like rays of sunshine on a stormy day.

"But _I'm_ buying dinner." Her chin lifts a fraction, and with a little shake of her head, she tosses her hair behind her shoulders. "See? You're not the only one that can flaunt wealth, Mister Wayne."

"That's nine dollars, miss."

Gwen rolls her eyes. "_Plus_ tip..."

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
She's staring. She tells him his face is perfect and Damian raises a brow at her - an admission of attraction? Though that color runs through her cheeks like wildfire. That little smile touches his face in that moment. "Why thank you." his eyes shift, her hair tucked behind an ear as though in awkward adjustment. "Unexpected tends to be how I best operate." He teases her faintly Though one of the hot dogs is offered to him and Damian steps aside for a moment, as though to let the lady have all the time in the world to accept her own when it's offered.

Damian doesn't seem to have any kind of inkling to hear the advice the older gentleman decides to give her. But considering that Gwen seems to seize her clutch purse before Damian can so much as slide his hand into his back pocket to produce a wallet. His eyes seem to chuckle a little bit as Gwen demands to pay for the meal.

"Then dinner is all yours."

Nine dollars plus tip is *quite* the sum, after all! "And don't worry, it's not a terribly large farm so it shouldn't take too much of your time." He smirks a little bit, though he takes a bite of the hot dog in his possession, humming faintly in approval. "As always, Mr. Greenfield, you are a testament to your craft. Thank you." He turns then to Gwen, a smirk on his face as she gives him humor, as she shows that she's not someone to be wineda nd dined without givingh er fair share. "I wouldn't mind watching you flaunt wealth a little bit more. Can't do all the lifting, can I?" He winks.

Ghost Spider has posed:
"Thanks, Mr. Greenfield," Gwen murmurs, and one more knowing smile is exchanged between them as she taps a screen and takes her card back, once more tucking it into her clutch.

_You know what's happening,_ is written all over the older man's face.

Yeah... that's the problem.

With Peter, it's so easy to be herself. He knows her. _Everything_ about her. Connecting with him was like finding a long lost twin, but... not in the... you know... weird, icky way. She just didn't have to hide anything.

No matter how much she likes the thought of Damian, no matter how powerfully the electricity pops and crackles in the air between them, she'll always have a secret from him. She's not whatever he thinks she is. She's not MJ. She doesn't fly to Milan for a fashion shoot and then swing back by to be part of the band whenever she feels like it because she can.

She has secrets. She has responsibilities and a huge part of her life that she can't even talk to him about.

But that didn't mean they couldn't enjoy hot dogs in Central Park.

"Oh, that's good," she muses at the mention of it being a small farm. "Because I'll have a very important board meeting to rush off to, so I'll only have time to see two cows." Pause. "Three at the most."

Her eyes narrow in pointed humor, tugged by her smile, and finally, it's time to venture away from the hot dog cart. She ambles slowly, taking a bite of her own hot dog along the way and trying to eat as politely as she can while walking... which isn't all _that_ politely, put next to the whole picture of the gown and everything.

It's that last statement that almost makes her choke as she swallows, laughter fighting the bite she was trying to get down.

"Oh, I see how it is..." She's dabbing at the corners of her lips. "You're secretly destitute and looking for a sugar momma." Yes, she just said that to Damian Wayne. "Well, rest assured, I'm good for one... _maybe_ two hot dogs a month." She holds up her hand to play at silencing him. "I know... you don't have to say it. Free hot dogs? Twice a month? I get it, but that's just who I am. I'm kind of the whole package. Whole Package Gwen. That's what they call me... at the place... where... we obviously talk about stuff like this."

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
Gwen doesn't know Damian at all.

She doesn't know about the psychological trauma, the bullet wounds, the bandages, the horrors, that a guy with no powers whatsoever is so much as even willing to go out into the night with perhaps the most terrifying hero who ever lived and put a lot of bad people in the hospital. She doesn't know the pain he's willing to inflict for information just to save one more person. She...

She doesn't know the road taken to get to this point.

The suit isn't the man.

Though she jokes with him a little bit more about the 'farm' being small enough that she only has a few cows she can reasonably see before she's off on her adventure again. A little smirk tugs at Damian's cheek as he starts to walk away with her, taking bites of his hot dog as he chooses to listen. She tries to label herself as a sugar momma, who's willing to attend to his every financial need.

"Well, I do need hot dogs quite a few times. And what would you like in return for your financial services?" Damian looks at her eyes in that moment, drifting his gaze lower to her soft lips, before looking right back into her eyes. "I'd hate to keep you from your board meetings." He smirks at her. "I'd certainly love a 'sugar momma' to keep me company..." He chuckles faintly, perhaps trying to get her to blush again.

Ghost Spider has posed:
It works.

For all her attempts to play the whole thing off as a big joke, Gwen can't help the way the heat spreads across her cheeks when he throws her words right back at her.

Or the way her heart actually misses a beat when his eyes dip down to her lips and back up. It's there in their bright blue depths, what it does to her -- the attraction, the nervousness, the improbability of it all, and maybe most of all the regret... the regret that she keeps catching herself flirting and then pulling back when it gets too serious. Like a kid on the gas and brake at the same time, just learning to drive.

"Yeah well," she clears her throat, "I mean... it's okay for a girl to be bored... every once in a while, right?"

Board meetings?... Get it? Bored meetings?

Yeah. The jokes were getting thinner as her heart rate climbed and the blush intensified.

Why was it _so much easier_ to make fun of Vulture or Rhino? Hell, she even got a few good zingers off on Juggernaut before he threw her a whole city block and through the windshield of a car.

_What would you like in return_...

That question was still hanging in the air like one of those cartoon anvils, waiting to fall, but so far she was doing a pretty good job of ignoring it.

"Would you like to sit?"

It's a pretty place -- a bench that overlooks a little green space that's lit up by the lights. Farther in, it gets darker... more dangerous. Or, at least, that's the way it appears. It's not safe to go that deep into Central Park at night. That's where the bad guys wait for prey.

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
Gwen has never been too good at keeping the blush away, or at least that's what Damian is slowly learning. It's cute every time that heat flushes across her face, a little laughter leaving Damian's lips. He enjoyed teasing, he enjoyed making her smile, he enjoyed that seeming moment of uncomfortability with her as her heart skips a beat - it also tells him when far is *too* far. But, regardless, Damian keeps his eyes on her in that moment. He wonders if...they actually had a chance. If they actually could...

Kiss.

But as they have that moment, as they take that moment...it almost looks like Damian *starts* to lean in. But alas, Gwen clears her throat and that she can be bored every now and again. A little smile from Damian as he gave her a little nod. "Yeah. I get it." He chuckles ever so slightly.

"I would."

And together, Damian leads Gwen to a nice bench - at least as nice as one can be produced - and Damian will sit first on the bench. Dick always made this look so easily, what with his thousands of girlfriends in a year. Even Jason and Tim made this look a *lot* easier. So what was this feeling in his chest? What was this emotion that made it feel like his heart was in a constant state of overdrive?

Ghost Spider has posed:
Certain moments are so telling.

Sometimes, you're all in. Sometimes, you're all out.

But sometimes, you just panic.

If Gwen had any doubt about whether or not she _wanted_ to kiss Damian, it's gone in that moment. It was pure panic that made her clear her throat.

Damian has a reputation. She doesn't know how much of that to believe, but Gwen has no reputation. How romantically experienced is she? Well, that much is glaringly obvious by the fumbling, the panic, and the utter sincerity of her awkwardness that's so... un-model-like. She may be twenty seven years old, but she still acts like a sixteen year old that's never been kissed.

And it gets worse.

It gets so much worse.

Because once Damian's sitting on that bench, Gwen has to do all of the physical and chemical computations in her head that determine what each discrete distance says about her feelings and desires.

Too close? Put your arm around me.

Too far? We might as well call it quits now.

Somewhere in between? Let's just be friends.

And this wasn't even a _date_.

...Was it?

She glanced at the hot dog in her hand, the quiet setting, the soft ambient glow of the park's lighting, the way their eyes had lingered, drawing them towards each other like magnets.

Oh. My. God. _I'm on a date. With Damian. Freaking. Wayne. And I _just_ realized it. I might be the densest person in the world._

That realization doesn't help the color on her cheeks fade. Or the tension in her body as she turns and smooths her skirt to slip into the seat next to him... the 'put your arm around me' one, because...

...well, because she _wanted_ to.

She's still Gwen, though. So even in that otherwise romantic moment, she's still holding a last bit of hot dog, which she shoves into her mouth.

And proceeds to look like a chipmunk as she chews, smiling sheepishly.

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
Damian sat first so he didn't have to force Gwen to endure the awkward hardship of being forced to sit too close to him if she didn't want to. It can be a strange thing, to move away from someone after they sit a little *too* close. But for Gwen to sit down next to him? Close enough that he could put his arm around her and get her within that little crook? That means the entire world to him, even if she doesn't realize it.

Damian has always struggled with socialization. When he first arrived in Gotham, he was highly confrontational, socially inept, and emotionally distant. Now? Well, at least now he at least has the capacity to care for the emotional cares and stresses of others - an impossibility at first glance. So, when Gwen takes that chance and sits next to him?

Damian - as though it were an easy, everyday thing - Damian lifts his arm in an attempt to rest it right over Gwen's shoulders, just enough that she can feel the incredible muscle in just his arm, and so he can angle himself ever so slightly to look upon Gwen with a little flush to his cheeks.

"It's cute how you eat hot dogs." Chittering away like a chipmunk, and to help her feel a little more comfortable? Damian takes an almost too-big bite of his hot dog, making his cheeks look very full as he looks at her with a little closed-mouth chuckle.

Ghost Spider has posed:
It made the whole thing smoother, giving Gwen the choice of how to proceed. If Damian had pressed the issue, had crammed in next to her and draped himself over her, she would have panicked -- she wouldn't even have done it intentionally, but she might even have found an excuse to bolt so she could go find a rooftop somewhere and hyperventilate in peace.

But just that little choice that Damian allowed her gave her the space she needed to process her own choice -- her own desire -- so when his arm finally comes around her, she tilts her head ever so slightly, giving him space and moving her hair so it isn't trapped awkwardly. And once he's settled, she leans back against him, grinning up at him.

Is he _blushing_?

There's a brief look of something like disbelief in her eyes and chipmunk cheeks that only deepens as she watches him mimic her awkward face-stuffing.

That disbelief quickly turns into a muffled laugh of her own, though, her hand coming up to attempt to cover her mouth as her eyes crinkle in the shared mirth.

The shared moment.

The shared connection.

The shared joy.

He wasn't mocking her. He was embracing her quirks -- embracing her for who she was, and it was such a wonderful feeling her chest ached.

But there was no talking to be done in this moment. Not from either of them. All that was left was to savor it.

Gwen's hand rises to Damian's cheek, fingers touching his skin gently, thumb brushing at the corner of his mouth to clear away a few bun crumbs. It's so simple. So tender and affectionate. And then she twists slightly and leans her head into the crook of his neck as she works towards finishing her bite so she can swallow, closing her eyes into that moment of absolute bliss.

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She moves her hair for him.

She tilts her head ever so slightly.

And that slight bit of teamwork leads to a most intimate moment. Damian's arm finds itself nestled just slightly around Gwen's shoulder, resting on the bench as well so he's not putting pressure on her neck. Though that little overbite was a risk, what with her potentially thinking him gross or making fun of her, Gwen shows that not only does she have a tremendous sense of humor, but also that he doesn't have to feel like he's stepping on eggshells around her. They can set up a connection.

They can *touch*.

Yet, as there's that disbelief on Gwen's face, they justl augh together in shared mirth, hands cover mouths and they take that long moment to just exist together. When Damian finally swallows his bite, he turns his head to look at Gwen when he feels the warm touch of her palm against his cheek.

He takes a moment to freeze in that moment, before he turns to look to look right at her, right into those eyes. She cleans the corner of his mouth and just...rests her head into the crook of his neck. A warmth flushes right through his face and in that moment? Damian's thumb rubs her shoulder and he slowly just rests his head on her own.

Perfect.

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It is perfect.

It's so perfect that minutes pass with no desire from Gwen to move or even to speak. In fact, she's trying so hard not to startle him away that she barely seems to breathe.

They'll have to part eventually, of course, or they'll end up watching the sunrise together in six or eight hours. But every second she spends wrapped in the warmth of his body is another second that makes it harder to pull away.

There does come a moment, though, driven by some unbearable discomfort from one of them -- a shift of a leg, an adjustment of a shoulder -- in which Gwen turns ever so slightly against his shoulder and lifts her chin. It brings her nose to brush faintly against the side of his neck, the caress of her breath... just a small inhale that fills her with his scent and sends a enough electricity down every one of her nerve endings to make the Las Vegas Strip jealous.

When that jolt of sensation has settled, she releases the breath she'd been holding, blowing warmth across his collar.

And when she speaks, her words are soft, barely above a whisper. Solemn, and perhaps just a touch sad in their honesty.

"I'm complicated."

She pauses.

"You could be anywhere in the world right now, with anyone you wanted to be, but you're _here_. And I can't figure out why."

There's another pause as she finally lifts her head. Maybe she's sensing the tension she knows she's adding to the moment... anticipating the fact that she's burning down the bridges they'd just built with her insecurity -- her own challenges. Or maybe she just wants a chance to look into his eyes again, to really see him and give him a chance to really see her.

She doesn't know what he wants from her.

She doesn't understand if there are expectations, if she's going to disappoint him, if he's just being kind to someone who was having a bad night, if he wants a friend, if he just wants another number to call in NYC in case he gets lonely, or... what this is.

Except she doesn't want _this_ to stop. She may have lifted her head, but she didn't lean away, didn't pull the slightest bit away from his arm, still savoring the bit of weight along the tops of her shoulders.

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
Absolutely perfect.

There's nothing more than Damian wants. Even if their relationship progressed not even a minute further. Even if their friendship progressed not a moment further. Even if she chose, for the rest of her days, never to speak to, hear from, or even think of Damian Wayne? That would be okay. Because he has this moment, right here. For a second, Damian even trusts enough to just slowly close his eyes...he trusts enough to just take that deep breath and smile ever so slightly.

Though he feels her start to stir. Did he do something wrong? Did he press against her wrong? Was she uncomfortable with this whole situation? He feels the warmth of her breath tease against the curve of his collarbone before she even begins to speak. Her nose touches the side of his neck just softly enough to elicit a little shudder out of the younger Wayne heir. And yet...as his scent goes right into her nose so she might memorize him, she gives him that first word they've spoken to each other in awhile.

And it's just the one to break that silence.

'I'm Complicated'.

Damian laughed a little. "Me too." He whispers right back to her, though she's continuing, and he turns his head just enough to listen to her, angling his eyes towards her so he might listen. He could be anywhere. With anyone. His eyes soften towards her. "Maybe because you feel like a real person...and I like that. A lot...and maybe I'm deeply interested in getting to know you a *lot* better."

Damian smiled ever so faintly to her. He doesn't move away from her. Their noses nearly touch. "But...if you feel like this shouldn't continue...I understand..."

He starts to lean in.

"I just...want this...genuinely..." He whispers, his breath warm against her lips.

And...

He tries to kiss her. To give her more affection than he's shown anyone before her. She didn't pull away from him before but...would she pull away now?

Ghost Spider has posed:
_Maybe because you feel like a real person._

The bubble of soft laughter that escapes Gwen's lips is so cynical, so derisive, so self-deprecating.

She was twenty-seven years old, and her own dad didn't know who she really was. In her own mind, she was one of the most artificial people alive. A different face -- or mask -- for everyone.

But she _wanted_ to be a real person. More than anything, she wanted to keep feeling the way Damian made her feel -- like she was enough. Not a disappointment. Not a fake. Not a liar. Not a bad friend, bad daughter, bad person. Not wanted by the NYPD. Not being hunted down by her own father for things that weren't even her fault.

Here, this moment, she was just Gwen, all wrapped up in the heady fog of his cologne, the warmth of his body, the brush of his breath on her cheek, the magic of his voice.

_A *lot* better._

She's a ship lost at sea in dangerous waters, searching his eyes for lighthouses to guide her to safety. They still have so much to learn about each other...

...so much to hide from each other.

Her breath is faster, more uneven, her heart racing along at a gallop.

There's just the faintest shake of her head, not enough to stir him off of his course, when he says he would understand. No. She didn't want him to stop.

And then his lips are on hers. Her eyes close and fireworks explode behind her eyelids. She leans up into him, her hand snaking up to curl around his neck, clinging to him, and what began as a soft exploration of mouths is soon a spring of desire as she curls against him.

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
Damian's father knows who he is. But that's what happens when your father is the World's Greatest Detective. How theh ell does Damian even *begin* to live up to that? How does Damian step out of such a shadow? It's a terrible thing, to know that your efforts might never be enough. But Gwen has the luxury of a secret, the luxury of people to protect. Everyone Damian cares about? It's just another person who knows the secret. There's a moment as he's looking at Gwen where he questions if he might ever be able to trust her with the knowledge that he's Robin.

That he's the Heir to the Cowl of the Dark Knight.

But none of that matters right now. He looks Gwen right in those eyes. They're ships in the night, who finally crossed paths proper. With nobody else to hold either of them back and away from one another. Ever since they first met, it's been like gravity. A simple glance, a direction of walking. Now? Now it feels as though a new chapter might open for both of them. So much to hide from each other...but so much to learn.

She didn't want him to stop...

So he doesn't. His lips meet her own in a warm, tender embrace. He feels her hand curl around his neck, his free hand lifts to cup her cheek, leaning more into the kiss after that tender embrace, making the kiss just that much more firm. A soft exploration of tender kisses changes tone as his lips slightly part to invite the kiss deeper, a gentle touch of a tongue, a slightly firmer breath. A soft sound leaves the lips, a gasp. This feels...

Amazing. Gods, he doesn't want it to end.

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Lips. Tongues. Skin. Warm. Wet. Sweet.

Hot. Breath. Heart. Pounding.

Clinging. Pulling.

Closer.

None of the rest of it mattered. Not the night. Not the stars. Not the mask, the air, the people, the trees, the crimes that were being committed _right now_.

None of it mattered.

Damian mattered.

His hand on her cheek mattered.

His mouth against hers mattered.

His arm around her, his chest so close she could practically feel his heartbeat, the way all she wanted to do was climb into this moment and live there for the rest of her life... That mattered.

"Goodnight, Mister Wayne," comes the voice of Mr. Greenfield, a playful grin in his voice as he pushes his cart past the pair, whose only care in the world in that exact moment seems to be each other. "Goodnight, Miss."

The spell is broken.

The heat is doused like a bucket of water, and Gwen's lips break from his with a sudden gasp, a flare of red across her cheeks, a tuck of her face back into his neck like that might hide her from the humiliation of the hot dog vendor having just caught her making out with... with Damian Wayne. With a man she barely knows.

"Goodnight, Mr. Greenfield," she calls back with coy laughter in a voice that's muffled against Damian's shoulder, but she still refuses to look up, to meet his gaze, to see what she knows she'll see -- that damnable knowing smile.

She refuses to budge until it seems like the hot dog vendor is far enough away that she can safely show her face, and even then, she glances over her shoulder to make sure the coast is clear before looking back at Damian, her face practically glowing with the heat of her blush.

"I should... probably be getting home." _Before this gets any more out of hand and I do something I'll regret_, she doesn't add. "You said you're staying in town for a little while? Would you... like to have dinner again? I know a couple of spots you might not have been before..."

And at least a couple of people owe Ghost-Spider a favor. Surely one of them can let her 'friend' in to have a date-night after hours.

Robin (Wayne) has posed:
It's perfect.

It's sexy.

It's steamy.

It's *hot*.

It's passionate. Tongues and lips intertwine in a perfect melody. Damian's hand curls a little bit more around her body, down the curve of her back to press her a little bit closer to himself. He can feel hear heartbeat against him, he can feel the weight of her breath as it caresses his cheek from her nose. Making out in Central Park probably wasn't what Damian had scheduled for today...but Gwen Stacy is very much so worth that particular effort. He'd kiss her for as long as she would allow. He'd memorize. He'd *touch*. He'd-

"Goodnight, Mister Wayne. Goodnight, Miss."

The fire that existed between them is almost violently put out by the old man's good intentions. The kiss breaks on the part of Gwen, who pulls away from him and hides into the crook of his neck as though to save herself from the embarassment that was sure to follow. A little smile on Damian's face, not a lick of embarassment on him. He caresses Gwen's blonde tresses with a careful touch of his fingers, just to let her know that everything is okay.

She laughs against his shoulder, a sound that earns a little bit of a laugh from the younger Wayne. Though, as she tells him she should be getting home? Damian smiles at her. "Hmm...and here I thought I ought to give my date one more kiss before the evening is out." He winks at her. "I'd love to. Something that *you* like. I'll be there." He reaches into his pocket and offers her a card with not his work number...his private one.

"I can walk you home if you want?"

Ghost Spider has posed:
The card is tucked away in her clutch, just a faint jingle from the bracelets she wasn't wearing inside -- too plain, they don't go with her outfit.

"Maybe... next time?"

For a kiss? Or walking her home? Both, it sounds like.

Her lips part for a moment, like she might try to explain... to make an excuse... to relieve some of the guilt that was building in her chest by saying _something_.

She felt disloyal to Peter for not being clearer about her feelings.

She felt disloyal to Damian for not being clearer about her feelings.

And more than anything, in that moment, she needed... space. She needed to clear her head. She needed to stop feeling like every choice she made was hurting someone else.

"I... I've had a great time, Damian." Both the words and her smile are soft and sincere, if a bit nervous, but there's not a hint of a 'but' in sight. "Thank you. For rescuing me from that torture, earlier. For spending your evening with me." A pause, then, as she touches his cheek. "I look forward to next time. Walk me to a cab?"

And it's just a chaste kiss that she'll leave him with before she ducks inside. She wasn't ready to invite him into her world, yet -- a world where Peter could be sitting on the end of her bed, waiting for her to come home.

A world where she lived in a tiny box, and he lived in a mansion.

A world where she could be herself, fully, and with Damian, she wasn't really sure who she was, yet.

EPILOGUE

Gwen doesn't even bother to take off the $10,000 dress she's wearing. It's ruined. She was supposed to return it after the play, but instead she got on a motorcycle with a billionaire bad boy and the rest, as they say, is history.

She has no idea how she'll pay for it.

Damian offered, but she can't possibly accept his money. She wouldn't even let him pay for the hot dogs. She is many things, but one thing she will never be is a gold digger or a sugar baby or a leech or a mooch or any of those other things.

It was a stupid gesture, to pay for the hot dogs.

He wouldn't even have noticed. Pocket change. Less than pocket change.

But now she has to go update her budget to make sure she doesn't overdraft -- again.

That kiss, though. That kiss was _so_ worth it, even if now the guilt flooded in around her. She and Peter had never officially 'broken up,' yet here she was, out making out with another man in Central Park.

But it had been months. Months with little contact followed by months with no contact.

She had to do something. She couldn't let this consume her. So, she pulled out her phone.

Ghost Spider has posed:
To Peter: Hey, Peter.

To Peter: I haven't heard from you lately.

To Peter: We've both been busy. Life gets in the way.

To Peter: I'm... keep hanging on to this thing between us, hoping we'll fix it somehow, but I don't think we can, anymore.

To Peter: I met someone.

To Peter: I hope you don't hate me. I hope I don't lose you as a friend.

To Peter: I hope you know I'll always be here for you, if you need someone to talk to.

To Peter: I just... I can't keep waiting and hoping for something that's not going to happen.

To Peter: I'll be here, if you want to talk.

The blue glow illuminated her face until she was done typing the last message -- until it showed as sent, like so many of the others.

Then Gwen turned off the phone and curled up on her pillow, closing her eyes as the tears started to come. Quietly, she sobbed, squeezing the pillow to her face, her body gently shaking.