alwaysroomforhope | (no subject)

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The thing about working the graveyard shift Steph likes the most is that she gets to see the sun rise. It's not as lovely a sunrise as Gotham produces -- the air here is too clean, not enough pollution for light to refract from -- but it's still pretty awesome.

And then she gets to sleep all day.

There's really no downside.

However, today she's really tired for once; Mel's still downstairs, so she's signed off early and she's dragging her feet towards her suite at only two o'clock. It's been a long shift and a longer week, and she still can't quite shake the weird dreams. Not that she doesn't appreciate the change -- weird dreams are quite nice in comparison with the usual nightmares -- but they're weird, and knowing there's a reason doesn't make it any less so.

She shuts the door quietly, even though Tim's not here at the moment, and trudges towards the bedroom, already peeling off her shirt and boots.

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She gets stared at some more for a moment while Steph tries to process this.

"...Goldy?"

Steph drops her boots on the floor and does her shirt back up again, turning

"...I'm sleeping on the couch." She about-faces.

"No you're not," Goldy replies, with breezy self-confidence.

"Judging by the shaving foam and hair gel in the bathroom, and the dirty male socks, pillow and blanket bundled next to said couch, some guy who you've taken in as a lodger but not bothered to tell me about will be sleeping on it, when he gets in."

"Who says I'm not sleeping there too?" Steph points out promptly, and only facepalms internally. She should've known Goldy picks up on those things.

Goldy doesn't bother mustering a direct answer to that feeble counter argument. She just offers a flat look.

"If I thought you were actually getting some, I wouldn't be here."

Steph leans against the door frame, facing the bed again, scowling. "Would too," she points out. "...you're annoying like that."

"...I don't get it. Why're you in my bed really?"

Goldy wrinkles her nose, half-heartedly conceding the first point.

"I already told you. I'm just carrying out K's orders. You can ask him next time you see him."

A frown breaks across her features.

"It's not like I want to be here. Your bed barely meets my minimum standards of comfort."

Not to mention the fact that, if she's monitoring Steph's sleep, she can't sleep herself. Given the importance she places on regular and lengthy sleep patterns in her lifestyle, this is a huge concession.

"Since when do you do anything that anyone orders you to do?" Steph asks, eyeballing her friend. "And since when does K order people to get into other people's beds?"

"I do what is asked of me when it's official business," Goldy asserts.

"As for K, no idea. As far as I know, it could be a pretty standard requirement in their line of work. I didn't question it since it's not a terrible imposition in the grand scheme of things."

"Sure it's not for you," Steph points out, wrinkling her nose. "I'd rather share with T-- anyone else."

She did not just drop Robin's real name. She did not.

Regardless of whether Goldy caught the start of the secret name, she doesn't react to it. Instead, her frown hardens.

"And what's so horrible about sharing a bed with me, one of your closest friends? I'm not a cover hog. I don't snore. I don't smell bad in the morning. And I keep to my side unless snuggling is initiated."

"You have cold feet," Steph protests. "I bet you have cold feet. And you probably kick all night."

Admittedly, Goldy can't remember the last time she slept with someone platonically—if indeed she ever has—so the statement about snuggling was pure conjecture.

"I've never had any complaints about cold feet or kicking," she insists. "I'm a very deep sleeper."

"You snore when you're drunk," Steph accuses, but she's already giving in, grumpily. "You better not wake me up before midday."

"Deal."

"But, for what it's worth, we've already established that you are the drunk snorer," she points out. "Neither of us are drunk though, so it doesn't matter."

She scoots down the bed a little and shifts the pillow into its proper position.

"Hell, put a bolster between us if you've really got a problem with me," she adds as she starts to plump it into submission. "I don't care."

"I don't think I really know what a bolster is." Steph sighs, picks her pyjamas up and trudges into the bathroom to change, muttering under her breath.

"You better not have morning breath, either," she calls back, around toothpaste.

"It's a long sort of pillow," Goldy informs Steph, still thumping the one she intends to rest her head on at some point.

"And, as previously mentioned, I smell great after I sleep. My waking breaths have been likened to a sweet meadow breeze by some."

"Sweet meadow full of cows," Steph mutters, emerging in Goldy-sanctioned cute green pyjamas and flopping gracelessly across the bed, putting herself at grave risk of having her head plumped instead of the pillow.

"Argh! Get off!"

Fortunately, Goldy has enough presence of mind to stop her pummeling when Steph's head hits the goose down and ruins all her diligent preparatory work. Judging by her anguished expression though, her fists may not be held back for very long.

"Whose pillow is it anyway?" Steph demands, eyes defiantly closed. "Find your own."

"I'm the guest, albeit uninvited. I should get first dibs."

Goldy glowers at the petulant teen—not that Steph can see it, but she might be able to sense the daggers. The glare serves as fair warning as far as Goldy is concerned, before she jerks the pillow out from under Steph.

"If you seriously only own two pillows, you're just going to have to steal your other guest's. Or use a cushion."

Steph's head flumps into the mattress.

"Dunno where the other pillows are. I used to have more than two."

She shows no indication of getting up, or of shifting enough to give Goldy room to sleep.

"Go find me one."

"I've been here longer," Goldy protests.

"And I'm already under the covers."

One gets the feeling that the pillow she's defensively clutching to her chest might soon be used in a more offensive role.

"I," Steph points out, unmoved, "own the bed. Do you know how rare it is to wind up in bed with me without at least buying me dinner?"

"I'm honored," Goldy replies, extra-dryly. "Even though I've bought you lots of dinners in the past."

Desserts, cocktails, dinners... same difference.

She's smirking now.

"If it's such a rarity, maybe you should ease up on the conditions."

"Yeah, but your dinners sucked." Steph wriggles obnoxiously, shoving her way under the covers by brute force, choosing to ignore Goldy's last remark.