batmanschmatman | 026 [audio] backdated to last night

[Private to the Admiral]

Bring him back.

[Private to Tim]

Can I ask a favor?

[Private to the Admiral, added later.]

Since it seems like this 'inmate crashing with me for a while' arrangement is going to start being a regular thing for me, I think I'm going to need a new cabin. Change it to one of the penthouses in Gotham, I don't really care which one. Just something bigger with somewhere to hide my gear.

[Spam for Costigan, about 12 hours after the fact.]

[Dick hadn't left the infirmary since he'd brought Costigan up there. He'd changed out of the bloodstained shirt, paced, asked questions, generally gotten under foot and had finally had to been instructed to sit down or leave. Apparently his constant hovering was frustrating people, and although sitting still when he was this upset was almost impossible, he really didn't want to leave. He could go for a run or get someone to spar with him once he was sure Costigan was awake and more or less okay. This had shaken him up pretty badly, because while yes, death was something he dealt with a lot back home and here on the Barge it wasn't even permanent, that didn't change the fact that someone he cared about had gotten hurt and he should have been able to do more to help, and it certainly didn't change the fact that finding someone - especially, especially someone you knew - in that state was always brutal. With strangers, it was possible to have some level of disconnect sometimes, like when he'd helped bring Hoffman in here, but when the victim was someone you knew, it never got easier to feel less like you should have been able to save them.

So he just sat there, hands clasped loosely together, elbows resting on his knees, one knee jiggling up and down almost uncontrollably as he tried to contain the urge to get up and do something. That could wait. He was going to be there when his inmate woke up.]

[This is obviously following the events of this log.]

Threaded | Flat

Yeah, sure.

Costigan's fade to consciousness was slow and steady. His hearing began to come back first as he slowly became aware that there was noise, muffled, going on around him. As it began to clear, he could hear the sound of the instruments and knew he was not in his room, but couldn't yet understand where he was. Hell, he didn't even remember yet where he'd last been or what had happened.

The inmate let out a soft grown as he shifted to sit up just a little on his elevated bed, eyes finally struggling open to blurred light. He lifted a hand to dim the light while his eyes adjusted, finally beginning to make out objects in his peripheral. Then he moved his hand and the first sight awaiting him was the overeager warden at his side.

He groaned and let his eyes drift closed again. His brain was having trouble catching up, but he knew his throat hurt like a bitch.

[Private]

[Spam]