Reporting for Duty [Babs]

[Dick Grayson]

Was it bad that Dick Grayson dreamt of sleep during a nap? While some dreamt of being the hero in their own fantastic story or the wild fantasies that the mediocre wished desperately to partake in, Officer Grayson dreamt of curling up in his own bed and having a full night's sleep. He wasn't normally alotted the chance to sleep in thanks to his extra-curriculars and being curse with a "real job" as a (pathetic excuse for a) public servant and whatnot. And when pulling two shifts because the officer that patrolled Gotham's business district had been shot (thanks to a shooting Nightwing had inadvertantly caused), the opportunity for shut eye seemed less and less likely. So, as Dick limped tiredly to his desk and plopped down heavily in his chair, he couldn't help but revell in the fact that his eyelides had become heavy.

Looking around, Dick acted alarmingly quick for one of his level of fatigue. He brought a manilla folder to prop up to stand alone on his desk. He peered around all shifty like around the opening at the top the same way a merekat would evaluate danger around his colony. When he thought he was safe, Dick lowered his head to rest on his folded arms, drifting into a nap that allowed his mind to wander and fantasize about the glories of a well earned rest.

As a few files came to Dick's desk, the messengers leaving with arched brows, he adjusted how he lay. His arms slid off the desk as he slumped forward to leave his cheek to rest on the flat surface. His dreams drifted briefly to his parents tucking he and his brother in as children. A smile surfaced to his lips as just a bit of R-E-M produced dool trickled from the corner of his mouth.

It wasn't until Dick felt a tap on his uniform-clad shoulder that he jerked awake; knocking his files clear off his work station and the folder to fall atop his head. He sat up, removing the empty folder from his mess of dirty blonde and whiped the bit of spittle from his lips. "I wasn't sleeping!" he defended quickly before rushing to pick up his fallen papers. It wasn't until then that he looked over his shoulder to see who had disturbed him.

"Oh... heh.. um...hi."

[Barbara Gordon]

It had been awhile since Barbara had stepped into the police headquarters in Gotham and with her father’s new promotion, she doubted it would be the last. Out on the town hunting for a story or a picture, she stopped by a little newspaper stand and eyed her competition. Her blue eye twinkled at the sight of candy hanging behind the man’s shoulder and she pointed to the gummy worms. A few minutes of bantering with him over the cost of the worms (5 dollars, really!), she managed to get no where and paid him the full amount – but was none too pleased about it. Turning her nose up at him, she didn’t open the bag until safely around the corner and out of his sight. Letting the worm wriggle in her mouth, she gawked at the outside of the station for a few minutes before marching her way in.

“Can I help you?” the voice spat out in a rush, stopping the redhead in her tracks on the way to the office. Blinking, she turned over her shoulder towards the woman at the desk who was burning her eyes into Barbara and ready to pounce if she took another step. Giving an innocent look of confusion before popping in another worm, she hummed a sign of recognition to the woman’s request and flipped up her newly printed journalist badge (still warm!). “You still need an appointment to see…?” the unfinished sentenced required a name and squinting at the woman, she pointed her finger to the last name on the badge.

“My father,” Barbara mumbled through her treat, trying not to sound too bratty about the situation. She gave a small smile in hopes of mending the awkwardness between the two and was immediately brushed off and pointed in the right direction. She needed stories or at least something to write about and who better to ask than the Commissioner? Yes, perhaps it was an abuse of relations … well, she couldn’t think of any justifications, but we’ll just say she really wanted to see him today. That was, until she almost passed by a certain office hoping to go unnoticed. “Hmmm,” she hummed quietly with a sly grin and stuffed the gummy worms into her purse (they’re not very conducive to professionalism) and readied the camera.

Stepping into the office quietly, she knocked on the frame of the door very quietly to test her hypothesis. Asleep – hah, she knew it! She noted the nametag before fully immersed in his napping room and felt confident enough to snap a real picture. Though not very much of a story, she decided it was going to be printed and hung in her room for whenever she needed a good laugh. Turning to the right, Barbara captured a better angle of the man’s smashed face against the desk and a hint of the folder protecting him from onlookers. A hand clasped over her mouth to stifle a giggle before she decided the poor soul shouldn’t suffer this at the hand’s of someone worse – like a co-worker. The tap on the shoulder was sufficient enough to throw him into a frenzy of waking up and she backed up, holding her camera to her chest with a slight look of surprise. His sheepish greeting gave her cause to regain herself, laugh slightly and crossed her arms (letting the camera hang from her neck).

“Is this what my tax dollars pay for, Mr. Grayson? Mini forts for daytime naps?”

[Dick Grayson]

As Dick frantically reorganized the mess he had made of his paperwork, the cop couldn't help but look over his shoulder at the redhead sheepishly. He didn't bother to mumble a 'sorry' seeing as he finally spotted the dreaded press badge. Damn it. That was one on the list of people Dick had hoped never came into his office (number one, of course being the comissioner or worse one of the detectives that scared the bajesus out of him). He straightened the pile as he stood, turning to face the reporter who had snuck into his office (though it was kind of hard not to sneak in when the door was wide open).

"Actually, no," Dick responded with a half-smile. "Your tax dollars pay for the paint that normally goes over my eyelids to make pictures of eyes to make it look like I'm still awake during briefings. If it's on the record, I thought I'd save the city some cash this month and use my folders as a fort." He chuckled slightly as he set his work down and picked up the folder he had used to hide behind just earlier. His pale blue eyes took a moment to observe the reporter warily.

He made his way back to his seat at his desk and sat, still not paying attention to the name on the nametag and that she was, in fact, the daughter of his new boss. "Is there anything I could do for you? I mean, I'm not the head of any of the recent investigations if you need me to direct you to one of the more important officers," he joked, "or something." He laughed, again never hinting that he took himself seriously (which he didn't while on the shield's clock). He stretched an let out a yawn, his body still threatening sleep considering his night and morning had been somewhat busy.

"Unless you're here for a personal interview or something... and for that you'll have to wait till I'm off the clock." A lopsided grin followed that polite statement. Grayson never thought the statement to be somewhat flirting on the line of cheeky until after he'd said it; which a blush soon indicated quickly afterwards. He had meant it in regards to being the last Flying Grayson; something that he firmly denied to the press (despite refusing to change his name) as well as refused to talk about to any sort of writer. He was a normal guy (sort of), not a freakin' human interest story.

[Barbara Gordon]

The second his eyes landed on her badge, Barbara slightly regretted letting it hang out in the open. She was not new to the treated or bad reactions to journalists, though they were certainly much less severe in college. It came with the territory of sneaking around, butting into people’s business and snapping unwanted pictures. This instance was, however, different; as she wasn’t on a storyline nor was she able to write about an officer sleeping on the job (and she wouldn’t want to, either). Her entering had really been for her own amusement, which prompted the raise of her camera and the snap of another shot. She wanted to remember this moment of him cleaning up after himself, wondering if the drool she had spotted was caught on film. Peeking over the camera’s lens, she grinned and let out a small laugh to his reply, finding him rather quick after being jolted from a nap. It would be a miracle for her to retort as smart, or at all, after just waking up.

Turning her head away to glance about the office, she hovered around his desk while he commented on her presence and she pretended to vaguely be listening. She was, however, eating every word he spat out and allowed herself a few casual glances his way. Not at all the shy one, she figured a good place of casual flirting would be within her father’s realm; the risk of getting caught was well worth the excitement in it. She set a finger on the top of the desk and walked across, dragging it with her until his own tossed out flirtatious comment caught her attention and she spun to face him full frontal. The blush precisely caught her eye immediately and she smiled brightly; this was one of those rare men in Gotham that she had heard about. Honest, not sleazy (well – so far).

“Actually,” she started while the hand moved up to grab her camera, lifting it to eye level as if she were inspecting her past photos. “I am doing a story on sleep deprived individuals in Gotham, and where they catch up on a few lost hours. I have a butcher sleeping against the wall, a receptionist sitting upright in her chair, and now an officer hidden by a fort of folders.” Her camera had inched his direction while she was spouting of lies and her fingers quickly moved to the large button at the top, pushing down and snapping another one loudly. She laughed quickly and lifted to the camera to her cheek, leaning it against her face.

“Any comments or suggestions for readers?”

[Dick Grayson]

Dick provided a lopsided smile at the young lady perched atop his desk. Officer Grayson almost never took part in the game of cat and mouse while at work (especially in the office... unless he was feeling particularly gutsy --aka Detective Gossamer wasn't around). Possibly because most of the woman that roamed about these halls of justice were very much so of the terrifying nature. But, Dick supposed that it couldn't hurt. Especially considering Dick didn't want an article depicting him sleeping on the job floating about! He flinched at yet another snap of the camera; but smiled all the same.

"Wellllll," he stretched again and grinned, "I suppose my lack of sleep is due to my dedication to... um... being awake," he finished lamely, the cool facade he had been trying to build up (and failing at) breaking. "You know, because I'm here most of the time trying to better serve Gotham. Except for today... I started out on duty and apparently couldn't hack it." He had tried to sound diplomatic and almost as if he weren't an idiot... until the last part of his statment. "For advice... well I suggest when setting up a napping fort to use manilla folders. They attract less attention as opposed to the kinds that have, I don't know, the cat from the Cheeto's bag on 'em." He added a lame thumbs up with that statement.

He read the first name, still not entirely awake enough to notice the last name (not that he would when fully conscious anyways). "So Barbara, do you always stalk around the station, going into people's ofices... or did I draw you in with my slothlike charm?" he inquired in jest. "Unless of course someone sold me out... in that case I demand names."

Pfft. Like he'd do anything about it.

He checked a few files to make sure they had been put in the right place and tried (but failed) not to look sheepish as he did so. He tried a bit harder not to slouch. It was, after all, bad enough that he'd been found dozing on the job. He thanked whatever higher power that all his family photos were kept in his apartment, so he didn't have to envision his older brother rolling his eyes at him or his father shaking his head.

[Barbara Gordon]

Barbara couldn’t help but laugh as Dick seemed to scramble around both physically and mentally, searching for words to counter, parry and disengage. Not everyone was mentally apt to flirt or even play verbal tennis, though she had certainly picked up a few hints in her training at a journalist. For men like Dick Grayson, it wasn’t necessary to keep banter up for a flash of the badge or gun would, or should, shut any smartass up – minus reporters, of course. She gave him the benefit of the doubt, that perhaps between just waking up and out of practice he wasn’t as sharp as normal. Letting the camera hang from her neck again, she crossed her arms over her chest to hide the rest of her name from him, assuming he hadn’t continued reading beforehand. Noting he didn’t act any different after saying her name, she assumed he either didn’t care or hadn’t noticed.

“No, you’re safe,” she winked with a laugh, glancing at the open door into the hallway of passers by. “Your sloth charm called to me while walking by,” she finished with a laugh, trying to keep her purpose here as vague as possible. Then she paused, staring at nothing in particular outside the office as she remembered the exact point of her coming at all. Perhaps the original route she was taking was futile (well, that was a known possibility beforehand), and the answers she needed were sitting right in this office. Turning to face him, she pointed in his direction with that gleam in her eye and ingenious smile on her face.

“But,” she started a bit quieter like a cat moving in on its prey. “I will scrap the pictures of you sleeping if you’ll give me a real story.” Her grin widened as she hoped this worked, seeing as she was desperate to get a good start in Gotham – without the help and abuse of her father’s position.

[Dick Grayson]

Dick thought for a moment. News… News… to be honest, anything big was kept from officer Grayson’s ears considering the spineless blonde was notorious for shooting off his mouth. He contemplated just what he should do while he eyed the reporter’s camera. “Well.. that would depend on what you consider to be big news. I mean, I could be like ‘I changed my socks today’ and an incredibly boring person or someone who has a locker next to me could think that was some breaking news right there.”

Nice Dick. Real freakin’ nice.

Officer Grayson cast a playful smile in the direction of the red-haired reporter and all he could think was why he found this woman to be so familiar. “Now this is going to sound absolutely creepy and like a pick-up lie, but have we met before?”

((sorry for being so lame and taking so long))

[Barbara Gordon]

Barbara’s face refused to move when the officer offered up perhaps the worst excuse for an idea in the history of mankind. (Since that might be an exaggeration, she’d be willing to lessen it to the worst excuse she’s ever heard.) When he changed the subject – which was probably the best option he had at the moment – her eyes moved upwards to the ceiling in thought. She sincerely didn’t want him knowing who she was for fear of him changing his behavior towards her. Glancing over her shoulder at the doorway, she bit on her lip momentarily before turning back to him and shrugged.

“I drop by a lot. I enjoy annoying various officers,” she offered with a hint of a grin, recalling to memory a few of the officers she had annoyed before going off to college. Perhaps revisiting them wasn’t such a bad idea. She tapped her finger on the top of his desk as she began to withdraw from his office backwards, grinning at the man. “Which I should continue on doing .. sorry for interrupting your nap. I’ll let you get back to it,” she winked and giggled before disappearing around the corner.

(( No problemo. I figured they can meet up another time. Hope you don't mind! ))