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Stephanie Brown starts growing disillusioned with the concept of soulmates pretty early on.
She remembers being young and small, sitting with her mother in the kitchen as the woman was preparing a meal for them — well, heating up, more likely. Thinking about having curry for lunch third day in a row was taking Stephanie’s appetite away. Still, she knew it was better than having nothing to eat, so she didn’t complain.
“I’m quite good at reading now,” she states proudly, swinging her legs from her place in the chair. “But I still can’t read this!” She puts a hand around her elbow, an annoyed huff escaping her throat.
Not turning away from the stove, her mother asks, “You’re talking about your words?”
“Yes! Can you do that for me, mom?”
It’s not the first time Stephanie asks, but Crystal humours her anyway.
“I can try,” she says, coming to the table. Stephanie is already waiting with the sleeve of her shirt rolled up, so her mother can examine the crook of her elbow freely. Her soulmark lays at a fairly common, accessible location — for example, one of the kids in the neighbourhood has his on the sole of his left foot.
Crystal sits down next to her and puts her fingers to Stephanie’s elbow, leaning forward. A small furrow shows up between her brows and she shakes her head, glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, honey, it still looks the same to me,” she says. Stephanie kind of expected it, but she still deflates a little hearing that.
“It won’t change in any way, will it,” she doesn’t quite ask, looking at the words scribbled on her skin.
“Probably,” Crystal agrees mildly. “But like I told you before, your words may be in a different language and that’s why we have trouble reading them.”
Stephanie hums, rubbing her thumb over the unwashable ink; she wouldn’t mind having a soulmate from a different country, she thinks. (She hopes she will like learning foreign languages more than maths.) She tilts her head, a sudden thought crossing her mind. “Or maybe…”
“Yes?” her mother prompts.
“This handwriting looks kind of… ugly. Unpractised,” she clarifies. It reminds Stephanie of her beginnings with paper, pencil and letters. She perks up at the realization. “Maybe it means they’re around my age and I’m gonna meet them soon?”
Her mother smiles at that, but Stephanie thinks it’s a little tight around the corners of her mouth. “Maybe. You will have to wait and see,” she says and goes to serve them lunch.
They don’t speak as they eat; Stephanie listens to the songs playing from their old radio, interrupted by occasional crackles of static. Outside, there are cars passing by, kids playing around, raised voices short of shouting. She doesn’t realize she’s waiting for something — for the heavy footsteps on the porch, for the front door to slam open — not until her mother puts a hand on her shoulder and reminds her, “He’s not coming back any soon.”
Stephanie’s shoulders drop, as if in disappointment, but mostly, she feels relief. “I know.” And maybe it’s a sudden burst of courage, or bravado, or simple lack of tact, that makes her ask a question she’s never had before. “Are you and dad soulmates?”
She sees her mother go still at the words, like a deer caught in the headlights. She pulls her hand back with a clouded expression. “No,” she finally answers and Stephanie doesn’t really feel surprised — she kind of expected that, but something sharp and sad claws at the inside of her chest. Sad for her mother, for herself, she isn’t sure. Crystal looks torn, unsure if she should say more, but at last, she just states, “You don’t always get to meet your soulmate. You don’t always get to keep them.”
Those words, more than anything else, remain loud and clear in Stephanie’s memory.
…
The more things change, the more they stay the same, or so they say. Stephanie isn’t sure where she stands on that, but there sure is something of an irony to it — if someone told her a few months ago she would be clad in a handmade vigilante costume, she’d just laugh and ask, Why, there always must be a dressed up lunatic in this family? Now, she’s kissing Robin, the Boy Wonder, on a swing in an empty park at four in the morning.
Funny how things evolve sometimes.
When she leans back, Robin seems... surprised. Not in a disgusted kind of way, though — Stephanie is a good kisser, she could get that in writing from many boys and girls. But Robin doesn’t exactly look starstruck, either.
He drags a gloved hand through his hair and seems to glance at her. “I don’t get you. Are you sorry for hitting me with a brick to the face that first time or not?”
His genuine confusion is enough to send Stephanie into a laughing fit, one so hard she almost falls off the swing. Robin frowns at her, eventually, his mouth breaks into a grin, too.
Stephanie uses the mask in her hand to wipe at the corners of her eyes. “You still are hung up on that brick, hm? A girl sure knows how to make a lasting impression.”
“Hard to argue with you on that, Stephanie,” he states. She watches him worry his bottom lip for a moment. “Look, I’m… flattered, that you’re… interested in me, really, that’s nice? But —”
“Please stop talking, I get second-hand embarrassment listening to you,” she groans and swings to the side, bumping her shoulder against his. “You have someone, don’t you?”
Robin shakes his head. “Not really. I guess I am waiting for my soulmate.”
“And that wouldn’t happen to be me,” Stephanie finishes for him.
“No. Sorry.”
“Eh. Figured,” she sighs. A small part of her had hoped that maybe… but no love lost there, she thinks. “Good for you, loverboy. Hope you meet them soon. Until then...” She stands up and taps Robin on the cheek. “It’s wonderful how easy it is to get a rise out of you. And sorta attractive. I think we will be seeing more of each other out there.”
Robin doesn’t actually seem displeased by the concept, but still, he calls after Stephanie, “I can think of at least one person who is not gonna like that.”
Stephanie groans at the reminder.
She’s going to worry about Batman another time.
…
Soon enough, it turns out that Batman isn’t the pinnacle of Stephanie’s worries.
“My treat. Let’s go eat,” she calls over her shoulder after one of the Lamaze classes.
Robin — call me Alvin, Stephanie, this is my disguise - would you please stop laughing? — falls into the step next to her. “You don’t have to, really.”
“Let me repay you somehow,” she says as they enter the diner. Upon a quick scan of the menu, she points to it excitedly. “Look, the double curly fries are back!”
She can feel the skepticism radiating off him in waves. “Are you sure it’s about thanking me? Or are you just craving junk food?”
“Sheesh, I have every right to be hungry. Eating for two and all that, you know?” She pats her stomach, way past visible stage now. No one pays attention to them, though. “And, for your information, I’m gonna get a salad, and you’re gonna get the fries, so I will be excused in stealing some from you.”
The conversation flows easily as they eat, except for awkward pauses when Robin struggles not to share something too personal or revealing.
“God, I wish you’d stop being so anal about this, you know?” Stephanie says, a little frustrated, stuffing another fry into her mouth. (He stopped reprimanding her after the third, so she considers it a win.)
He sputters, his cheeks a little pink. “And I wish you’d stop saying things like these,” he groans.
“Sorry, embarrassing you is too funny, boy virgin.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath. Stephanie goes back to the subject. “But really, I thought you trusted me a little more by now.”
“It’s not about trust, Stephanie,” Robin protests, sighing. “I told you, it’s...”
“Not only your secret, and you don’t want to endanger anybody, et cetera,” she repeats what she’s heard a couple of times already. She takes a sip of her water and makes an impulsive decision. “You know what? I’m gonna show you my soulmark.”
That takes him aback. “What? Why —?” he asks, watching as she shrugs off her jacket.
“Because, Robin,” Stephanie says quietly, voice solemn, “I trust you.” Then, she pushes her arm into his face. “Also, I have no idea what it says, and you’re the detective, so.”
For some reason, it surprises her that he does examine her mark with great care — she probably spurred his ambition with the “detective” card. After a while, though, her arm starts to cramp and as she’s about to voice her discomfort, Robin speaks up. “I think,” he starts, gaining Stephanie’s undivided attention, “that the last word is become. Maybe became.”
She pulls back with a scowl. “What, that’s all you got after staring at it for so long?”
Robin seems hurt at her reaction. “Hey, do you know how hard it is to decipher soulmarks because of peculiar handwriting?” He steeples his fingers together, as in thought. “You know, if you want, I can probably get a good, zoomed in picture of your words, and run it through Batman’s decrypting programs, and if that doesn’t work, we could…”
“Woah there, bird boy, slow down,” Stephanie interrupts him, suddenly nervous. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not that desperate.” Yet. Ever. “Besides, pretty sure the big guy has more important uses for such programs than finding teenage girls’ soulmates.” Still, he seems slightly disappointed, and in a painfully obvious attempt at turning the attention away from herself, Stephanie asks, “And how is your wait for the right one going?”
At that, Robin seems to withdraw into himself, very interested in the table out of sudden. “Well, actually…”
Stephanie’s curiosity is postiively tickled and she narrows her eyes at him. “Hang on, did you meet them?” When Robin buries his face into his hands, she exclaims, ”You did! Who is it? Spill the beans!” she whines, clinging to his wrists with her greased fingers.
When Robin yields and mumbles, Superboy, Stephanie doesn’t quite believe her ears.
“Superboy is your soulmate?” she repeats, incredulous and probably a little too loud, as a few heads turn to regard them. Robin kicks her in the shin under the table and she lowers her voice as she goes on, “Dude, that’s so cool! He’s so handsome and charming, and. He’s Superboy. Duh.”
“He’s loud, doesn’t take anything seriously and thinks he knows best,” he fires back, irritated. Stephanie is about to tease him, but then the tight line of his shoulders slumps and he adds, “And he doesn’t have a soulmark.”
“Oh.” Suddenly, she understands his reluctance better. “It’s because he’s…?” She doesn’t know the mechanics of how Superboy came to be, but she figures it wasn’t a regular… conception. When Robin makes an affirmative sound, she asks, “So, did you tell him?”
“What for?” he sounds weary. “He doesn’t care, the concept of soulmates is just one of many things he took on face value and didn’t think about again. We don’t even know each other well, or at all. Besides, it may also be a case of incompatibile soulmarks on my part.”
Stephanie regards him for a moment, hand resting on her belly. “You,” she starts, “must have spent a long time coming up with all those counter-arguments.” She gets where he’s coming from, though — it’s a bit more complicated case than most. Still… “You’re gonna have to tell him eventually, you know.”
Robin makes a vague gesture which she interpreters as, Watch me. “I told you. I think that’s enough of people knowing, for now.” He pauses, chewing on his fries, long cold now. When he speaks again, his voice is somewhat lighter. “Thanks for bullying me into it, though. I think… I think I needed that.”
“One day,” Stephanie promises, “I’m going to teach you how to emote properly, and it will be glorious.”
…
When Stephanie comes back to going out as Spoiler, there are some things she doesn’t expect.
Namely, for Batman to approach her — in a manner different from his usual “go home and hang the costume, Stephanie” nagging. She definitely doesn’t expect him to tell her Robin’s identity; after all the preaching Tim did, it seems kind of… unfair. She figured Boy Wonder would tell her himself soon enough, even though she hasn’t been seeing him that often lately. What was done was done, however, and that was only a tip of the iceberg.
She’s dreamed about this, of course, but when Batman takes her to the freakin’ Batcave and offers to train her, for real, properly — Stephanie has to pinch herself, to make sure it’s really happening. She doesn’t remember the last time she agreed to something so quickly.
And, last but not least, she surely doesn’t expect to be introduced to Batgirl.
Stephanie has heard rumors about her from various criminal elements, but just seeing her in action, going through one of Batman’s training simulations, she understand why she inspires all those terrified reactions. Batgirl is a beautiful yet deadly poetry in motion — no wasted movements, every strike, punch and kick precise, never missing the target, too fast for an eye to follow. She’s never seen anyone move like that, not even the big man himself.
Her costume certainly adds to the impression, especially a stitched mask, leaving no skin exposed. Stephanie thinks it looks so metal, and tells her as much, among some other, excited ramblings.
Batgirl just tilts her head and moves past her without a word or any other acknowledgment. Stephanie’s cheeks are warm with anger and embarrassment.
“Batgirl’s name is Cassandra,” Batman says. And then adds, almost as an afterthought, “She’s mute, although not deaf.”
“Wish you told me that before I made a fool out of myself,” Stephanie mutters as she walks into the training field.
Batman calls for Batgirl to stay and watch. Realistically, Stephanie knows she doesn’t have a chance coming even remotely close to the girl’s performance, but she’s determined to do her best, to show both of the Bats she has what it takes to become really good.
Sheer determination is not everything, though, and after exactly eight seconds Stephanie finds herself laying flat on her back after getting knocked down with a very real-feeling baseball bat. For a moment, she thinks the strange sound is her ears ringing, but then she sits up and finds Batgirl standing next to Batman, her shoulder shaking slightly.
She’s laughing, Stephanie realizes. Batgirl must catch her staring because she makes a quick, swiping motion with her hand.
“I think,” Batman says, and Stephanie wonders if she has a concussion after all, because he kind of sounds amused, “she’s telling you to be faster.”
…
Tim seems to be angry with her, about the whole identity reveal thing, so instead of patrolling with Robin, she finds herself hanging out with Batgirl more. That means spending a lot of the time at the Clocktower, which means seeing Oracle often, which is. Not bad, per se — Stephanie has a lot of respect for her, and she even gets to train with Black Canary occasionally, which is just amazing, but tonight?
It kind of feels like she’s caught in the middle of a family argument.
“Cassandra,” Oracle says, voice severe as she cleans an ugly cut on the girl’s shoulder with disinfectant. “Your actions tonight could have gotten the hostage killed. Or Stephanie, or yourself.” Stephanie doesn’t point out that, in the end, Cass is the only one who got hurt. Also, the property damage was kind of impressive. She kind of guesses where Oracle’s displeasure comes from. ” It’s time you started to communicate with us.”
The corners of Cassandra’s mouth are turned down, and she stubbornly turns her head away from them. Oracle sighs. Stephanie still wonders if she can sneak out without a lecture of her own.
“It’s a two-way street,” Oracle continues, patience starting to wear thin. “I relay necessary information to you, you go out there, kick people’s butts,” Stephanie almost gapes at such crude language coming from her, “and that’s good. Sometimes it’s enough. But the other times, things aren’t so simple, aren’t what they seem. You can’t resolve everything simply by punching it. Often, you can’t get crucial information just out of body language. In which case, you need to be able to read it. You also need to be able to contact me and tell me if the situation escalates, if you need help.” Oracle throws the bloodied gauze into the nearby trash can. “If Spoiler didn’t go with you, things could have ended very badly.”
“Oracle has a point here, Cass,” Stephanie pipes up. Cassandra shoots her an unhappy look; she’s still sour about Steph dragging her here and selling her out, but well, what was she supposed to do? Wait for Batman to come collect them both?
Oracle glances at her. “Let me rephrase: they could have ended even worse,” she says. Stephanie shrinks into herself, just a little. Oracle moves her wheelchair back when Cass gets up and starts gathering her uniform. “This conversation is not over, Cassandra. We will fit reading and writing lessons into your schedule, even if it means cutting down on the time you spend training.” At that, Cassandra’s head snaps to Oracle and her expression is… well, kind of distraught, Stephanie thinks. The older woman doesn’t back down, though, leaving no room for argument as she adds, “Or you will have to give up being Batgirl.”
Stephanie winces at that. Low blow. “Batman —”
“— knows she’s an excellent fighter, yes, but forgets that we are not our masks. He feels so comfortable in his, he sometimes would prefer not to take it off at all. That’s what they have in common.” There’s a crack in Oracle’s steel composure as her closed fist falls on the armrest of the wheelchair, echoing dully. “For God’s sake, Cassie, not all of us can tell everything from body language alone! Most of the time, I can’t tell what you’re thinking, let alone, feeling. You’re not on your own anymore, you need to coexist with us.”
Cassandra looks one step away from bolting from the Clocktower, Stephanie can tell. And if she does, they won’t be able to keep up with her. And if she hides, leaves — they won’t find her. Her mentor’s words seem to hurt her more than any physical injury she sustained today. How can Oracle not see that?
“You can’t force her,” Stephanie finds herself saying. Cassandra’s outstretched foot stills. Oracle looks at her with a weary frown. “To talk, I mean. To be like us.” She’s a little surprised by her own words because there were many times Stephanie wished Batgirl would say something, instead of just doing the thing or disappearing into the night. “It’s not fair to her. She does different things, in a different way, and that’s fine.” She inhales, doesn’t pull her punches even at the end. “You, out of all people, should get that.”
For a moment, Oracle looks both as if she’s been slapped and as if she wants to slap Stephanie herself. Despite that, Stephanie stands her ground because she thinks it’s the right thing to do.
If Cassandra doesn’t want to speak, it’s okay. Stephanie will be her voice.
“Wow,” Oracle breathes out, pushes her hair out of her eyes. “I… must have sounded like a condescending, inconsiderate bitch, haven’t I?”
Stephanie can’t help a nervous chuckle escaping her at that. “Yeah, a little.”
Oracle turns to Cassandra, who stands rooted in the spot, caught half-way to escape, and holds out her hand. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I shouldn’t push you like this. You’re not less for being the way you are. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise, least of all me.”
Cassandra stares at the outstretched hand for a moment, but instead of taking it, she leans down and forward, in a clumsy but sincere attempt at a hug. It takes stunned Oracle a few seconds to compose herself, but she wraps her arms around Cass, too. “It’s okay, kiddo. We will make it work another way.”
And Stephanie doesn’t want to ruin such a heartfelt moment, but she can’t stop herself from noticing, “Yeah, ASL is a thing that exists.”
“...You’re right,” Oracle says as Cassandra straightens up. “We should have started with that, actually. I know some of it, Batman a lot if it. I’m sure Robin and Nightwing could also easily pick it up.”
Stephanie rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe you people are so smart, but also like. So stupid.” Oracle’s mouth twitches, as if despite itself. Cassandra looks between the two of them, still a little wary, but not longer like she’s about to run. Stephanie explains, “Sign language is a way of talking with your hands. It’s about movements. I picked up some basics back in the day.” She pauses, trying to recall the figures from her memory, and then raises her hands. She can feel Cassandra’s eyes on her, following the movements intently.
Oracle chuckles. “Did you mean to spell Batgirl as Badgirl?”
“Okay, I’m a little rusty, and what about it!” Stephanie huffs. She glances back to Cass, struck with another great idea. “You know, if you’re gonna start learning it, I could do that with you. It’d be easier and more fun together.”
Oracle hums approvingly and addresses her charge, “How about it?”
Cassandra nods, with some hesitation, but also anticipation. And the smile she gives Stephanie makes jumping on and almost falling of a speeding train she went through tonight kind of worth it.
...
Training with Cassandra is one of the highlights of Stephanie’s newly funded routine.
Sure, she gets her ass handed to her plenty, and it hurts, but she’s learning something from it, or so she’d like to think. Cass isn’t exactly your standard teacher and she gives no verbal feedback or tips, but she’s patient, if a little bored times, showing Stephanie how to execute necessary moves, step by step. It looks so fluid and effortless when she does that, yet Steph struggles to make her body even bend in certain ways. She didn’t know some of her joints could hurt like that.
“Mercy,” she calls one afternoon, laying spread out like a starfish in Batgirl’s cave. “Spare me. I can’t even move anymore.”
Cassandra stands over her for a moment, hands on her hips, before she leans down and pinches Stephanie on the thigh. Hard. She yelps, scrambling backwards and sitting up. “What the hell —”
“See? You can move,” Cass states with a smug little smile. She hasn’t even broken a sweat while Stephanie feels (and probably looks) like she just took a part in a triathlon.
“Well, not thanks to you,” she mumbles, but without a bitter edge to it. “Water?” she asks.
Cass throws her the bottle and Stephanie catches it, gulping down greedily. Cassandra doesn’t pester her anymore, instead choosing to go through more moves on her own, light figures, good for stretching, Stephanie thinks. She knows she should, too, but instead, she keeps watching as the other girl spins around on her tiptoes, arms raised. Now that she thinks about it, it kind of looks like…
“You’d make a good dancer,” she finds herself saying. Cass pauses, glancing at her with a small frown. “A dancer,” she repeats. “You know? Especially ballet.”
That makes Cass looks… soft? Stephanie thinks there’s something vulnerable about her pensive expression. “Azrael said so, too,” she signs. (At least, Steph thinks she meant Azrael, regardless of the misspelling.)
“Well, you should try it one of these days,” Stephanie encourages. She gets up to grab a towel; her hair still feels damp. “You know, between kicking my butt during the day and kicking criminals’ butts at night.”
“Want to see it first. Ballet,” Cassandra admits, looking almost embarrassed, tucking her hands behind her back. She stands as if she’s confessing to a crime and Stephanie doesn’t really get it; then again, it’s probably the first time she’s seen her express interest in something that is not related to being Batgirl.
“Batman could arrange that, I’m sure,” she notices wryly, toweling her hair. “Pretty sure he’s like, kind of rich, looking at his toys.”
Briefly, Cassandra’s face looks troubled. “He is… busy,” she just says. Steph is about to make a remark on that matter, but then Cass adds, “And I like you.”
That gives Stephanie a pause. “You like me?” she repeats, despite knowing how stupid she sounds.
It’s just — she kind of figured, that Batgirl didn’t hate her, considering that she actually put up with her. All that Stephanie did was disrupting her lonesome training by being a hopeless case at martial arts, a better-yet-by-no-means-perfect case during their ASL classes, and an overeager patrol partner. Yet...
You’ll never be that good, Batman told her, matter-of-factly. She was just Stephanie Brown, a girl from poor part of Gotham, who tried so damn hard to act like she had any idea what she was doing. Cassandra was — many things, most of them nothing like Stephanie herself.
Was what they had in common enough for them to build on?
Cass ducks her head and clarifies, “Like kicking your butt.”
“Aw, Cass, I thought we were going to have a moment,” Stephanie complains, dramatically putting a hand to her chest. She tells herself she isn’t disappointed. “A heartwarming, profound moment of friendship.”
It’s just a blink of an eye, really, but suddenly Cass is in front of her, hair spilling out of the loose bun. She briefly touches Stephanie’s hand where it lays, pressed over her heart. For some reason, it’s beating too quickly, the rush loud in Stephanie’s ears. She doesn’t move.
“Friends,” Cassandra just signs, gesturing between the two of them, her face hopeful, and well. Busted, Brown.
“That’s what we are,” Stephanie agrees, sees how Cassandra’s eyes light up at that. Cute, she can’t help but think, tapping her on the nose and chuckling when her friend’s face scrunches up at that. “Gotcha. Spookygirl.”
“You’re still on.”
...
Stephanie hasn’t felt this… not sad in a while, she realizes as she drops down next to Cass on the rooftop, panting heavily after another game of tag.
“You never go easy on me,” she exclaims, pulling off her mask, “but I won! Ha!”
Cassandra also pulls down her cowl and gives her a crooked smile. “By cheating. Doesn’t count.” Stephanie wants to be affronted, but then Cass reaches to her belt and gives her a protein bar, so she lets her get away with it for now.
They sit on the edge of the roof and Stephanie, half-signing, half-speaking, tells her friend about the recent happenings in her life — Batman refusing to continue training her and effectively firing her (which Cass knows about, but from Batman’s point of view only), the strained interactions with her mother, finally, the apparent death of her father. Cass mostly just listens and watches, her dark eyes finding out everything Stephanie doesn’t say, anyway. Even so, it feels good to talk to someone; she feels like Tim’s taken to seriously sharing Batman’s opinion on her activities as Spoiler.
“I’m sorry,” Cassandra says, only that and nothing more, but it’s enough for Stephanie.
“Thanks for listening to my rambling,” she replies. Her friend smiles.
“I missed you,” Cass admits. “After we stopped our training sessions. I liked to hang out.”
Stephanie feels warm inside at that. Cass likes to spend time with her, Cass doesn’t see her as useless, as a waste of resources and efforts. “Me too,” she agrees. And then, before she can think twice about it, she adds, “It’s going to be my daughter’s birthday soon.”
Next to her, Cassandra makes a strange noise. “Daughter? You have a baby?” her fingers move so quick, Stephanie mostly guesses the context.
“I had,” she clarifies with a bittersweet smile. “I gave her up for adoption.”
Cassandra blinks owlishly at her. “I didn’t know,” she replies, and her hands still in the air for a moment. Then, almost tentatively, she adds, “You never talked about her.”
Steph blows hair out of her face. “I guess because it hurts. I did it for her to be safe, but…” She rarely lets herself think about her baby, somewhere here in Gotham, with another family. What kind of mother that makes her?
(None.)
(Exactly.)
Still, she can feels Cassandra’s curious eyes on her. “What, are you thinking less of me now?” she asks, feeling defensive.
But her friend shakes her head. “No, I’m just surprised,” she explains. “We are around the same age, yes? You have a baby. I… I haven’t even kissed anyone yet.”
Defensive tension bleeds out of Stephanie, replaced by some sort of... curious anticipation. She could make a joke about having at least one thing up on Cassandra, but that seemed a little cruel. Besides, it’s not where her interest was right now.
She would be lying if she said the possibility never crossed her mind. Cass spends so much of her time being Batgirl; with the mask on, she seems unapproachable, aloof, unreachable by any means, even (especially) to Stephanie. However, underneath it is a girl sitting next to her. A pretty girl, as Stephanie came to realize at some point.
But masks and appearances aside, above all, Cassandra is Stephanie’s friend and she doesn’t want to misstep and do something that would change that. Her track of ruining her relationships with other people is bad enough as it is.
Yet, as she finds herself leaning in just a little closer, Stephanie thinks that maybe free-falling doesn’t sound so bad.
“You know, if you want…” she starts, watching as Cassandra’s eyes fall to her lips for a split second before lifting.
Stephanie doesn’t get to finish the sentence, interrupted by a sudden scuffle between two female gangs down the street. And she sure as hell doesn’t want to finish it later, when Cass ends up taking Batman’s side.
So much even for friends, she thinks bitterly.
…
The next time Stephanie sees Cassandra, she’s clad in green, red and yellow, and her heart is soaring in her chest as she leaps among the buildings, proud to be given this uniform, to be the Girl Wonder, the very first one.
What feels like no time later, Gotham is starting to crumble because of Stephanie’s one too many, way too big mistakes. Then, even Cass openly tells her to put the Spoiler uniform away and go home. But she can’t do that. Not until she fixes this.
After that, Stephanie doesn’t see Cassandra, or Tim, or Barbara, or her mother, for a long, long time. Truth be told, she doesn’t expect to see them again at all.
…
One moment Leslie is handing her a new pack of suture, the next thing she knows, Stephanie’s vision swims and goes black. She doesn’t remember hitting the ground.
When she comes to, she feels confused and weak, but her body reacts on instinct, hand shooting up when she senses somebody leaning over her. She must be slow, though, as her wrist gets caught, and a sense of panic starts to build up in her stomach.
“Stephanie,” a vaguely familiar voice speaks up. “Focus your eyes on me. It’s Leslie.”
Stephanie does so and finds Leslie’s wrinkled, worried face in her line of vision. The bundle of dread inside her slowly untangles.
“What happened?” she asks, sitting up on a cot.
“You fainted. We moved you to our tent,” Leslie explains. Stephanie looks around, struggling to remember; right, they’re in a village in west Kenya now. A bottle is pressed into her hand. “Drink up. I suspect dehydration.” Stephanie doesn’t think so, but she unscrews the cap and drinks anyway. “Any other symptoms?”
“I’ve been feeling kinda weak and queasy for the past hour or two,” she admits. Leslie frowns at her, so she adds, “I didn’t think it was anything serious, though. Chalked it up to getting less sleep recently.”
“Your insomnia is a matter we will also discuss,” Leslie says, though not unkindly. “But later. Let me take a sample of your blood now.”
“I feel bad. I made a scene in the middle of working,” she remarks, trying to play it off like no big deal.
“It’s fine. We were almost done for today, anyway.” Leslie is about to swipe a gauze over her skin, but suddenly stops in her tracks. “Oh.”
Stephanie follows her eyes and sees what caused Leslie’s shock — the words in the crook of Stephanie’s elbow, still undecipherable, are now imprinted on her skin in a pale shade of grey instead of black.
She knows what that means.
“No,” she chokes out, her heart dropping to her stomach. “No, no, no.”
“I’m sorry,” Leslie says quietly, sitting down on the cot next to her. “I think this is the cause of your fainting and general fatigue.”
Leslie’s words go over her head, but Stephanie doesn’t cry or trash around; she just stares at the faded soulmark on her arm.
She thought that she had accepted it a while ago, that it’s unlikely she’ll ever meet her soulmate. She so rarely spared her soulmark a glance these days; it became a part of her, and that was it. But in truth, it wasn’t hers only; there was a person out there who gave her those words, and being presented with an undeniable proof they’re dead — it was unfair. She didn’t even get to meet them once.
Leslie just sits with her in silence for a while, as Stephanie ponders that she’s never found out what the words were. Maybe she should have let Tim take a shot at deciphering them, maybe she should have paid more attention to people’s first words to her, her first words to them — maybe, maybe, maybe. All pointless now.
And it’s only because Stephanie’s eyes are still fixed on her arm, that she notices when the words change yet again. She blinks rapidly a few times, to make sure she’s not imagining it — but no.
“Leslie!” she exclaims, disbelief clear in her voice. “Look! They’re — they’re back to normal!”
The older woman startles at that and examines the soulmark from up close, adjusting her glasses. She mutters something before glancing at Stephanie with a small smile, patting her arm. “It’s okay, Stephanie. They made it, after all. They are alive.”
This time, Stephanie does cry, but it’s out of enormous relief, a twinge of happiness, hope. “But I thought —” she starts, rubbing at the skin, to make sure. “Have you seen something like this happen?”
Leslie raises an eyebrow. “Quite a number of times. People come back from being clinically dead.” You would know, Leslie doesn’t say, but Stephanie twitches anyway, startled — did her soulmate experience something like this, too, that night she, by all means, died? She’s never stopped to think about that, with everything that happened afterwards. “And besides,” the woman’s expression is thoughtful now, “there are other cases of death not being as... final as I’ve been taught.”
It takes a moment for the woman’s words to sink in. “Are you… are you suggesting my soulmate is a cape?”
Now Leslie looks a little amused. “You say that as if you have never considered the possibility yourself.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“It’s hard to be sure,” Leslie agrees. “Have you ever experienced something like this before?”
“You mean my words fading? No, no way,” she replies immediately. Pauses. “Well, I’m pretty sure I didn’t, but… I often wear long-sleeved clothing. And it’s not like I look at them all the time.” But she’d know, right? The way she felt today, even before losing consciousness — it was terrible. Briefly, it made her remember her first morning sicknesses back when she was pregnant. Or that night Cass went to fight Shiva and Stephanie was a bundle of nerves nested at the Clocktower.
“There are many things about how the marks work that we don’t know, or are learning just now,” Leslie says, in a tone of voice she uses to talk about new research results. “For example, take Master Jimiyu, who delivers us supplies sometimes.” Stephanie nods; she knows who Leslie is talking about, the man stands out even around here, being six feet nine. “His wife, Hawla, is deaf. They communicate exclusively through sign language and other non-verbal ways. They both don’t have any words. It isn’t surprising, since, if one’s soulmate can’t hear them, there’s no mark on their body.” Leslie glances at her, pausing. “I suppose you’ve never thought about that,” she says mildly.
“No, not really,” Stephanie admits, a little ashamed. “In my case, mom and I always figured my words are either foreign or my soulmate has a terrible handwriting. I haven’t considered that disability may be the cause.”
“It’s not so uncommon,” Leslie states. “I’m by no means an expert, but I’ve encountered a number of cases of similar kind during my life. Most of people don’t even realize how many flaws there are in this soulmate system.”
Maybe so, but Stephanie isn’t most people, or she’d like to think so. And what does it say about her, having Cass for a best friend? While her hearing isn’t impaired, Cass is mute — it’s likely her soulmate doesn’t carry any words.
And what about Cass herself? Last time Stephanie checked, she still has been rather slacking off on her reading lessons.
“Have you… Have you ever seen Cassandra’s soulmark?” she finds herself asking, before she can think better of it.
The look Leslie gives her makes Stephanie squirm in place for some reason. “You mean you haven’t?”
“Well, it never really…. came up?” she finishes, aware how lame it sounds.
Leslie shakes her head, looking exasperated. “In those rare instances I’ve treated her injuries, I haven’t seen any words,” she answers. It’s phrased kind of weird, in Stephanie’s opinion, but before she can pick the words apart, Leslie orders, “Drink the rest of your water and take the rest of the evening off. Tomorrow is going to be another hard day.”
“Alright, doc,” Stephanie agrees amiably.
...
Ultimately, Stephanie comes back. It doesn’t mean she’s coming back to the state of affairs she left, though.
At one hand, good, because, well, gang wars, destroyed city, and so.
At the other? Barely weeks later, Gotham is in chaos again, Dick becomes Batman because Bruce is dead, Tim leaves because he thinks Bruce isn’t and the man’s biological child with Talia fucking al Ghul is new Robin, anyway. Cass literally drops the Batgirl suit at her and also disappears before Stephanie gets a chance to talk, to ask, to apologize.
You’re out of your depth, Brown, she thinks to herself as her mother talks about their new house, working at a different Mercy hospital, and other changes that took place during Stephanie’s absence.
And then, Like it has ever stopped me before.
…
Stephanie’s fingers almost close around Cassandra’s tattered excuse for a cape — it suits her Black Bat look, though — before the girl is out of her reach again. She huffs, but she’s grinning, leaping after Cass to the next rooftop.
She isn’t sure which one of them initiated the game of tag and they’re probably too old to play around like this, but Stephanie doesn’t care. She has reconciled with her friend a while ago, talked about faked deaths and passed down legacies over a, frankly embarrassing, amount of ice cream and tears (and one broken nose), and it’s been a few weeks since she last saw her, with Cass being busy wrapping up some Batman Inc. business in Hong Kong. For now, Stephanie is just content to let the two of them have fun, like old times.
Well, almost like old times.
She quickens her pace, to keep up with Cass, even as her mind’s eye, unhelpfully, replays the conversation she had with Tim on the phone the other day. (Reconciliation with him has been a whole different affair, but she thinks they’re back to normal. Normal-ish. They’ve both changed from the people they used to be.)
Tim, you two have been through so much shit, involving death and resurrection, and you still haven’t told the clone boy about the soulmates thing? She was amazed, but then, again if she knew someone who would torture themselves like that for years on end, it was Tim. Freakin’ talk to him finally or I swear I will shove an ice pick up your ass, and not in a sexy way.
Only when you talk to Cass, Tim shot back before hanging up, and well. Stephanie could play dumb, pretend she doesn’t know what he meant, but. That would be chickening out. She’s used to confronting things head on.
Still, it’s a little scary, she thinks as she hooks her ankle around Cassandra’s, sending them both to the ground in a mess of limbs and laughs. Cass is the one who can read people like (ha) open books, not her, so she must know, or at least suspect, what Stephanie is feeling, has been feeling for some time now, right? And Cass is —
She’s laying under Stephanie on the roof, head bracketed by her hands, short black spilled around like a dark crown, and she’s laughing still, lips arched in a grin.
“You got me,” she tells Stephanie.
(And Stephanie can’t help but think, No, you got me, and I can’t pinpoint when or where, or how, or why, but you did, and I’m so glad.)
She pulls down her cowl and then takes off Cassandra’s mask. Brown eyes blink up at her. Stephanie leans down.
The kiss itself is short, a sweet press of lips, not free of their noses bumping together, and then Stephanie is sitting up, Cassandra following after her as if on a string, looking a little dazed.
“I should have done it a long time ago,” Stephanie says and, although there’s still so much they should, need to talk about, she drops her hands into her lap, nervously wringing them together.
Cass puts a finger under her chin, to make their eyes meet. “You kissed me,” she signs. “Because… you like me?”
A laugh bubbles in Stephanie’s throat. “Yeah, Cass, I like you. Like, a whole damn lot, thanks for noticing.”
Cassandra scoots closer. “Good,” she says, looks at Stephanie from under her lashes — and where did she pick it up from? It does funny things to Stephanie’s already elevated pulse. “More kisses?” she asks.
Well, who was she to refuse?
...
It takes Stephanie a week to remember her conversation with Leslie, from what feels like a lifetime ago, and then another few days to build up the courage to bring it up. She does it one lazy afternoon, when they’re sitting at Cassandra’s cramped couch, a silent movie playing in the background.
“Cass,” Stephanie says, to get her attention. When Cass looks at her, she signs, with certainty she doesn’t feel, “Can I see your words?”
A flicker of surprise crosses Cassandra’s face at that, quickly replaced by something sad, troubled. Stephanie doesn’t know what kind of reaction she expected — she’s probably selfish, so selfish for asking about it just now, after all those years, looking for confirmation or absolution. Does she really wanna know? She has half-mind to take the request back, but as she raises her hands again, Cass seems to make a decision, turning her back to Stephanie and taking off her shirt.
Stephanie feels her cheeks heat up and for a long second she’s completely confused — she knows Cass doesn’t have a problem with nudity, and she is wearing a sports bra, but still, this seems a little forward and sudden. Then, her dumb brain catches up with her and Stephanie realizes Cass is doing what she asked her of. For some reason, it makes sense, Stephanie thinks as she leans in closer, that Cass would have the words at her back.
Then she freezes.
The expanse of Cassandra’s back is covered in scars. Stephanie knew that, of course, caught glimpses over the years they spent around each other, dressing and undressing, treating injuries. However, it’s still morbid to see all those old scars from bullet wounds and sharp blades, a grim testimony to Cassandra’s childhood.
There’s a burn around her left shoulder blade; a rather large patch of skin covered by ugly scar tissue, ragged and stretched around the edges, meaning the wound had been old, deep and deliberately not treated properly. Stephanie puts her fingers to it, surprised by how rough it is, and she rather feels than sees Cassandra shudder.
“What —” she starts to ask. Cass turns to her a little and signs, “I don’t remember. He must have burned them. When I was little. Only found out what it was from Leslie.”
Not for the first time in her life, Stephanie feels a ripple of deep, unadulterated hate towards David Cain raising in her heart like a tidal wave. She controls herself, though; Cass probably doesn’t want Stephanie getting angry on her behalf over something she made her peace with a long time ago.
Still, as she draws her knuckles along the curve of Cassandra’s shoulder blade, Stephanie wonders. What were the first words she’s ever spoken to this girl sitting next to her? She thinks it was an introduction, and an an enthusiastic compliment about her fighting style. Her mask? Or maybe asking for advice? She doesn't remember.
Stephanie’s heart aches for Cassandra, yet selfishly, she’s also glad.
“I’m so sorry,” she says at last, withdrawing her hand.
Cass sits facing her again and pats her knee. It’s okay, the gesture means, even if it’s not.
And Stephanie thought it would be the end of it, but then Cass signs, “Show me yours.”
Stephanie feels her eyebrows raise up. “You’ve seen them a lot of times,” she feels the need to point out.
“I know”, Cass agrees. “But. To be even.”
That’s fair, Stephanie supposes. She takes off her hoodie and stretches her arm out to Cassandra who studies it with interest. Cool, nimble fingers crawl up Stephanie’s forearm and she has to fight the urge to pull her in for a kiss. Instead, she starts talking, saying what Cass already knows, “I don’t know what it says. Can’t read it. No one can, and believe me, I asked a lot of people over the —”
“How essential to me you have become,” Cassandra reads — says. Her voice is a too loud and it wavers here and there, double s soft, become rushed out at the end of a breath.
It’s not the first time Cassandra said something out loud — a stray word or two slip out when she’s comfortable enough or if the situation calls for it — but it’s the first time she said something to her, directly.
Somehow, it’s the most beautiful thing Stephanie has ever heard.
They look at each other for a moment. “I —” Cassandra makes an aborted, almost choking sound, as she drops Stephanie’s arm, rocking back on her heels. She starts signing so fast Steph has trouble following her.
“It’s from something I read recently. Jason gave me some historical letters to read. Told me to widen my romantic vocabulary.”
Stephanie looks back to the words in the crook of her elbow, no longer a mystery to her. No wonder, she thinks, amused and so, so light, that I used to think it was like a child’s handwriting. Cass still writes chicken scratches.
She laughs, shaking her head. “To think I gave up on ever finding my soulmate. And it’s been you, all along.”
Cassandra mouths the word silently. Soul-mate.
“I am…” A pause. “I am your soulmate?” Cassandra asks, the movement of her hands slow, almost tentative. There’s something heart-wrenching about the genuine wonder on her face.
“Yes, you are,” Stephanie says. Then, she adds, “And even if you weren’t, I’d love you all the same.”
Stephanie is already waiting when Cass throws herself into her arms. As they tumble on the cushions, their lips meeting in a kiss which somehow feels like a very first one, she thinks they will be just fine.