Trees: 5. Dick: 0
Takes place the morning after Trowa lands.
Dick sat in a heap, staring up at the tree he'd fallen out of. It hadn't been a bad fall; if there was one thing being a circus brat could teach you, it was how to land well. If there was one thing Batman had taught him, it was how to land better.
But the point was, he'd fallen. He'd spent the previous night training on the beach, using the sand to force himself to catch his balance better and better, and then changing to the uneven ground at the edge of the forest--close enough to the bar that if something nasty came for him, a shout would hopefully get Kisame's attention. By the time the bar had closed (Dick had stayed away, training rather than playing bartender), he was doing pretty well on the semi-flat ground.
This morning he'd moved into the trees, and learned something painful: he just couldn't remain on the branches. It took gripping with your toes as well as balancing on the balls of your feet, and, well, he didn't have toes. Landing mostly on one leg worked for a while, but not forever. At some point he'd have to be able to land on both feet and even just the injured one. The problem was, he didn't have a net. He didn't have Bruce on a zipline prepared to catch him when he fell--and he was doing a lot of falling. And he didn't have a batcave with a heavy training system filled with crash pads for when he missed or slipped and dropped. And no matter how good he was at falling, the ground was still hard--and when he got higher, there were branches beneath him. Sometimes that helped. Sometimes that broke a person's back.
The fact was, he needed a spot. He knew Kisame could do it, but bringing himself to ask for still more help from the man was just more than he could do, if it was avoidable.
With a frustrated curse, Dick dragged himself up off the ground and limped toward the bar, barefoot and barechested. He'd peeled off his lightweight armor hours before; it might help against bruising, but in tropical temperatures it'd cause heat stroke.
The pump outside took two quick heaves before cold water splashed free. Dick shoved his head under, washing off sweat and making his chest constrict with the chill, then dragged wet hair from his face. It dripped down his back, cooling him further and hopefully washing away some of the stench.
The bar wasn't open yet; he didn't bother going inside. Instead he grabbed a towel he'd found--ugly pink and orange polka dotted thing on a rainbow background--and rubbed off the worst of the sweat, debating tactics as he wandered around to see the shore.
He didn't dare ask the Chameleon, even if Kisame did trust the guy enough to cook. He was even a good cook, but... he was batshit crazy. And Dick knew about batshit crazy.
He didn't dare ask Genma, either, even if he'd known how to get ahold of the man. Maybe Iruka...? He wasn't sure. Didn't like that idea. There were blessed few people here he was comfortable showing his weak side to, and the ones he did he doubted could keep up with his aerials well enough to spot him.
He rubbed absently at his wet hair, staring out at the crashing ocean. Then he saw a little boat out to sea, bobbing just past the waves. A lithe figure made its way around easily, as comfortable there as on solid land. He smiled when he recognized Kakashi--the wild silver hair was obvious in the sunshine. Slowly, carefully erasing the limp from his step and trying not to think about how truncated his foot looked with three missing toes, he made his way down the beach to the edge of the ocean. One hand shaded his eyes against the glare off the water, the other lifting in a wave. "Nice place," he called, grinning and pitching his voice to carry over the crash of surf. "Sea monsters are better than guard dogs, huh?"