maskormenacelogs | all the worlds began colliding on a backdrop of blue

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all the worlds began colliding on a backdrop of blue

WHO: Tim Drake-Wayne and Caitlin Snow
WHERE: some coffee shop in Heropa
WHEN: early June
WHAT: a depressed person and an empath getting their caffeine fixes
WARNINGS: depression, will update as needed

Any company built by Bruce Wayne is going to largely run itself, but that doesn't mean they don't need one of the owners to put in the occasional appearance. Given that Tim has experience being a public figurehead like that (and the other owner of their company actually still goes to school), he is the one who ends up doing things like heading to Heropa in the morning to see one of their locations because - something. He's pretty sure someone told him why at some point, but it's all kind of turning into a meaningless blur at this point. He's in Heropa because Bruce left him a company and he has to keep that company going.

And he's in this coffee shop because it was pretty much the first one he saw, and he'd be exhausted even if he hadn't been running around in a costume and fighting crime last night. He actually sits down with it because, even though he's gotten to the point in his "recovery" that he can ditch the leg braces, he's still on crutches and it's difficult to believably drink coffee and walk with those.

Easier to find a table, stay put, and stare blearily at his coffee while wondering if, actually, maybe he could just ditch the appointment. Maybe? On the one hand, it's probably not so important that the company will fall apart without his presence. On the other hand, he's kind of a shitty Wayne, shitty older brother, and generally shitty if he can't do something this stupid and easy. And while Bruce may not be here to be disappointed in him, Tim can be plenty disappointed in himself on Bruce's behalf. Which is good enough reason to go, he guesses.

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There's a learning curve to everything — new place, new friends, new life. Caitlin, who had survived the particle accelerator explosion and come out physically unscathed and unchanged, had never expected to have to deal with a learning curve on powers. She's watched Barry learn and grow, get stronger and faster and better. She's watched Cisco be so afraid of what he can do, then move past it, to help them in their work. She's the observer, the recorder, the measurer.

In all honesty, she's never wanted to be the experiencer.

But there's no choice in it now; she's here, she's been given something, she needs to adjust. And adjusting means learning to go without a crutch, no matter how useful that crutch is. It's a short, light day, according to her schedule, so she picks today to leave her power dampening bracelet at home. It's odd how quickly she's gotten used to the weight of it, how naked her arm feels without it. It's only the temporary measure, she shouldn't get used to it.

Standing in line, the constant wash of emotions batters her like a storm. It's as if everything is too bright and too sharp and all of it in her head. But there's something in particular that stands out to Caitlin. Or, rather than stand out, it hides in the background, darker than the rest. It's cold, it's empty, it's apathetic.

So despite needing her coffee, needing to eventually get to work this morning sometime, she steps out of line, wandering slowly. She wants to pinpoint this, pinpoint who, and sort it out.

There's plenty of possible candidates to consider on a reasonably busy morning like this. There's more than a few exhausted stares in the building, but Tim's is probably the only one that's been blankly focused on his coffee cup for the past few minutes without any actual drinking. (Stalling? Maybe a little, even if there's no real reason to.)

It takes him longer than it should have for him to register that there's someone walking around the shop slowly, looking at people like she's trying to find someone but doesn't know what they look like. It's not really any of his business, though, until she starts looking at him.

He should probably do something about that. "Can I help you?" It's polite more than an actual offer of help, but he's guessing about the most he could do is tell her if he's seen the person she's looking for, anyway.

If she was better with this, more practiced, more controlled, it wouldn't have taken this long. Wouldn't have taken her walking nearly the entire shop to stop here, in front of him. Already, a few of the patrons have stared at here, and she can feel the wariness, the annoyance.

But it all fades into the background now that she's standing here. It makes her heart hurt, a familiar ache, one she's experienced in the past few months, before here. There's concern writ large across Caitlin's face; she was never very good at concealing her emotions before, and it's just gotten worse with her gift.

"I — " She doesn't want to spook him or startle him. "Would you mind if I sat with you?"

He - well, yes, honestly. He's not sure what's going on right now, and a part of him just wants to let it pass him by and ignore it. But he doesn't really want to be a jerk, and a part of him is curious, anyway.

Maybe she just needs somewhere to sit. Instinct makes him doubt it, but it's possible. "I - sure. I guess. Were you looking for someone?"

Before she answers, she takes a seat, if only because she just asked if she could, and wouldn't it look odd if she asked and then didn't sit down? There's no move to make herself all that comfortable, though; her purse stays pushed up on her shoulder, and when she sits, it's on the edge of the seat. "I wasn't when I came in here. But — "

She looks down at her hands in her lap, a nervous laugh bubbling up. "Sorry. I haven't done this — I don't do this. Back home, I could see something and not say anything and maybe that's why I — " She breaks off again, realizing that she's rambling some. When she lifts her head, looks at him again, it's with a focus. "You're not okay, are you?"

He watches her with polite if obvious growing confusion for most of that ramble, because he honestly has no idea where she's going with this. Until she gets there, and he's just kind of stunned for a second.

"...What?" No, really, what? Even though he doesn't just leave, his eyes flick towards the nearest exit like he's making sure it's clear because this interaction got strange fast. "Who are you?"

She wouldn't blame him for being suspicious. In another life, another time, she'd have done the same with a stranger sitting down and calling her on the carpet on something they couldn't know about. But even back home, it wouldn't be so strange.

"My name's Caitlin. And ..." She licks her lips, purses them in thought before continuing. "I'm an empath. Here. I wasn't before, but the Porter, in its infinite wisdom — " She rolls her eyes, throws up a hand in frustration, as if to say you know how that goes. "I don't ever intend on picking up things, but I'm so new at this, I can't not and, so. You're not okay."

Okay.

So.

Okay. This is... weird and not at all what he expected or wanted out of today. And not something he wants to discuss with a complete stranger. He's been... maybe a little more stressed out than usual but he's doing okay. He's handling it. "I'm fine."

She watches his face carefully. She reaches out with her power to keep a feel on where his emotions are at. When he continues with somewhat denying it, she purses her lips. "You don't enjoy things the way you used to. You can't sleep or you sleep too much and still don't feel rested. You have a hard time focusing and remembering things."

It could have been posed as a question. But it isn't.

That's not - okay, some of it's accurate. But he's been a vigilante since he was thirteen, chronic sleep deprivation and exhaustion are just part of the life. And he's fine at focusing. He just has a lot to focus on. And he doesn't... not enjoy things. He enjoys things! Some of them just don't seem that important anymore.

"This isn't really any of your business."

"You're right. Absolutely right. This isn't my business." She's willing to concede that point to him. It isn't her intention to make it her business. But sometimes what she intends and what actually happens are to very different things.

"But sometimes, the people whose business it is, they're too close and they can't really see what's going on with someone they care about." Her expression is open, caring. "I'm a physician. So, just like I couldn't walk right by someone with a broken arm or a bleeding head wound, I couldn't in good conscience walk by you without trying to help."

"It's not that bad, it's just - " he says - unintentionally conceding that there's an it to be bad or not. That's not what he meant to do.

He'd say this conversation was getting out of control, but that would imply it was ever in his control in the first place. "I'm handling it."

"Are you talking to someone about it? It doesn't have to be a professional. It could just be a friend, someone you trust." She tries to keep her voice light, careful. There seems to be some traction here. At least he's not denying that anything is wrong now.

"It can sometimes be worse than we think it is. I've been through a few bad episodes myself, and one of my dearest friends is the one who told me to open up. To say something. That trying to hold it in is just going to make it worse."

(There's someone I want you to talk to. A therapist in Metropolis...)

No. He was right then, and he's - well, he's all right now. Maybe he's not... He's not great, but he can still run Wayne Enterprises (mostly) and he can still be Blackbird (more or less), and that's all that people really need out of him, right? "I'm not talking to anyone." Somehow, the next sentence (I don't need to talk to anyone) hasn't made it out yet.

"Again, I know it isn't my business, but —" There's a look on her face, one that says she doesn't want to repeat herself, that she doesn't want to keep intruding. She knows that no one can be forced into this, even if that may be close to what she's talking about here. She's not forcing, is she? She's encouraging, trying to support him.

"Here," she says, reaching into her purse. A business card is pulled out, flipped over. A phone number written on the back. "The front has my name, my work email, my office phone number. And my personal number is on the back. If you ever need to talk, no matter what, no matter when, I can listen. And just listen, if that's what you want."

"Thanks," he says, because that seems like the only thing to say (she is trying to help, after all), and takes the business card (what's he going to do, throw it back in her face?). He's not really sure what to say after that (have a nice day?), so he just goes quiet.

She feels at least a little confident that she's planted the seed. That she's given him a nudge, a place to start. If he doesn't talk to her, that's fine. Hell, there's a good chance she may never see him again, but she'd always wonder. And worry. "I'll leave you to your coffee, then. Have a better day."

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all the worlds began colliding on a backdrop of blue

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