Chapter Text
The first time he saw her, he almost hadn’t recognized her. And why would he, he’d later ask himself. He’d been living here for well over a year now, and it’d been months since he’d stopped checking every shadow he walked past for clowns. Gotham, as it turns out, wasn’t nearly as bad as its reputation. It may have been a city the size of New York with a violent crime rate like Monroe, Louisiana, but from what he’d read in the comics, he’d expected to be cowering behind the rubble while Batman and his Rogues duked it out on a weekly basis. Until he met her, he hadn’t so much as seen a Robin. Hell, a little part of him - the same little part that wondered if his old memories were just some sort of psychotic break - had started to wonder if his fellow Gothamites were right, and the resident pack of vigilantes really were just the local urban legends.
“Cass!” He’d thought it was funny, briefly: The beautiful face looking up at him calling her name, dark messy hair and darker eyes, bleary with sleep, could have been a shoe-in for playing Cassandra Cain in a live-action adaptation. Regardless, as he called once again, “redeye for Cass!” and she pulled herself to her feet, nothing about her suggested ‘secretly dresses in black leather and knocks sense into supervillains.’ He’d tried, idly, to guess her job; the first thing that came to mind was model, maybe a dancer. She certainly had the face for it: She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, the kind of beauty who, with some makeup and care, could have been on the cover of a dozen different magazines. Even as clearly exhausted as she was, she moved with a kind of uncanny grace, but nothing he hadn’t seen on some date or another, watching the ballerinas and trying not to fall asleep.
No, even as she took her drink with a mumbled “thanks,” her voice dark and smoky with just a hint of hoarseness to it, he’d just brushed it off as one of those funny Gotham things. Until he saw her hands, saw the bit of her well-muscled arm as her sleeve slipped down when she took her chai. Until he saw her scars. He’d never seen anyone with those many scars, let alone those kinds of scars: Countless little cuts and scrapes, all healing as well as they could, none of them well enough to disguise the trauma those hands had endured. She looked like she’d spent her entire life fighting, like she’d been punching everything from flesh to leather to metal. That was when all the pieces clicked, when all those little half-remembered clues he’d learned a lifetime ago came together, leading to one inexorable conclusion: She didn’t just look like she could play Batgirl, she was Batgirl. He’d just served Batgirl an overpriced cup of hot caffeine.
Her dark eyes began to narrow, and his stomach dropped somewhere through the floor and kept tumbling. Because, of course, she wasn’t Batgirl the commissioner’s fangirl daughter, or Batgirl the supervillain’s heroic heir. No, this was Cassandra Cain, the girl raised by a psychotic assassin as a science experiment. He knew her backstory, the comic book bullshit that left her verbally stunted but able to read body language easier than he could read the chicken-scratch Bob scrawled on the specials chalkboard this morning. The moment he realized who she was, she’d known - she had to know - that he’d just seen straight through her secret identity. A thousand fragmented thoughts started to swirl through his brain, icy and terrible, freezing him down to the hollow in his guts. Would she think he was a stalker? A villain intent on taking her out? Would she take him down? Take him in? He knew she wasn’t going to kill him, Batgirl didn’t kill, but desperate times called for desperate measures and…
“Hey,” she murmured, eyes softening as she reached out and putting a rough hand on his. Slowly, as he met her dark eyes, she forced a little smile on her narrow lips, and gave him a squeeze. The primal terror whirling its way through his mind and body began to slow, until finally, he was able to take a breath again. Then she inclined her head towards her table, looking back towards him, eyebrows raised questioningly.
“I-I just started my shift,” he protested. “I’ve still got a few hours before-“
That was when Bob cleared his throat. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” the big man’s deep voice rumbled. “Go. I’ll cover you.” Then, quietly, “and don’t fuck this up. Lucky bastard.”
His face went crimson as he looked between the two of them, an amused smirk spreading across Batgirl’s - across Cass’, he forced himself to think - narrow lips. She tugged at his hand, and, with one last pleading back look to Bob, who waved him off, he followed her back to her table. She’d picked the perfect spot: Beneath the second level, tucked next to one of the big pillars, away from the hustle and bustle of the morning crowd. He figured she chose it for the quiet, but it was also as good a place to have a clandestine conversation as he was likely to find. She let go of his hand and slipped into her seat, leaving him to stumble into the one across from her. Then, she folded her hands beneath her heart-shaped face, and cleared her throat. “You know me,” she murmured. Silently, trying to force his gorge down, he nodded. She stared at him until he met her gaze, then quietly asked, “how?”
He paused for a few seconds, then shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he finally said.
A little frown crossed Cass’ face, then her dark eyes flicked to the television behind him. She nodded towards it, and he looked over his shoulder: An air liner had nearly gone down in Metropolis, only to be saved by their own resident superhero. As the camera zoomed in on the tiny blue dot at the bottom of the plane, at the hero grimacing as he struggled to balance hundreds of tons of metal, not to lift it but to keep it from buckling or spiraling as he slowed its descent, Cass cleared her throat, waiting for him to turn back to her. “That man just flew,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“That’s true,” he admitted, looking back again at Superman - THE actual Superman, if just in broadcast format - saving the day. This wasn’t his original reality, where things like what he was about to share were just the stuff of stories. This was a reality where Santa Claus existed, one where he gave coal to Darkseid every year and lived to do it again next year. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to Cass, who met his gaze, waiting patiently for him to begin. “Okay, but if you get an existential crisis out of this, it’s on you. Got it?”
She nodded, then gestured for him to continue.
“So,” he began, “how are you on multiversal theory?”
———
I’ve got to say,” he told Cass, after he’d finished his explanation and she’d asked her questions, “you’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”
She shrugged. “I don’t like Kelley Puckett,” she admitted. “Or Bob Kane. Joel seems fun, though.” Then, with another little smile, she looked down her nose at him. “You broke down?”
“Yeah,” he admitted, chuckling to himself, “I basically locked myself in my bedroom for a week, flinching every time I heard a noise.” When she looked at him questioningly, the amusement evident on her face, he sighed. “Look, I was only familiar with the Gotham City I’d read about. You know, the ‘everyone gets murdered in Gotham’ Gotham, where you can’t walk five feet without getting embroiled in some supervillain’s plot. The ones the guys in Metropolis think we live in.”
“And now?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It’s kind of like Los Angeles. Except the celebrities are a more likely to murder you for fun, I suppose. Present company excepted.”
She laughed at that, a warm, dark melody that sent shivers down his spine in all the best ways. Her smile had slowly been warming as they’d kept talking, but now he felt like the sun had peeked out of the ever-present gloom and clouds - seriously, was the weather here also cursed? - and started shining just for him. She raised an eyebrow, then motioned for him to continue, but it wasn’t until she cleared her throat, amusement back on her face, and continued her gesturing until he finally began to explain what he meant.
As they continued to talk, as a somewhat terse conversation slowly evolved into something he’d begin to get lost in, he felt butterflies continuing to building in his stomach. Of course, the moment he realized what was happening, he immediately clamped down on them, trying to pop the fluttery feelings as fast as he could. No, he thought to himself, he wasn’t stupid enough to start crushing on fucking Batgirl. Even if she wasn’t a superhero, even if she wasn’t the adopted daughter of a guy who could beat Lex Luthor in a money fight, who, by the way, happened to be Batman, she was so far out of his league that asking her out would be like Bane trying to pick a fight with Superman. Never in a million years would-
“Hey,” she said, breaking him out of his reverie. She reached over and took his hand, locking eyes with him, and continued, “this is fun. Again?” He blinked, uncomprehending, until she gave him one of those amused little smiles again. “Lunch? Not today. I need to go. Tomorrow?”
And there went those butterflies, carrying him away somewhere towards the stratosphere. “You, um, you want to get lunch? With me?” She nodded slowly, an almost weary look on her face, locking her eyes on him and squeezing his hand. “Oh,” he managed. Then. “O-oh! Oh, yeah! Of course! I’d love to! I mean, if you-“
“I do,” she said matter of factly, giving his hand one last squeeze. “Noon?” she asked; when he nodded, she stood up, grabbing her backpack and pushing her chair in with one smooth movement. “See you then,” she said, smile wide and genuine. And then, without any obvious rush but faster than should be possible, she was gone, leaving him sitting there, wondering if the Scarecrow both had a grudge against Jitters and managed to get his formula reversed somehow.
It wasn’t until a big hand clapped him on his shoulder that he was jolted out of his reverie. “Lucky. Fucking. Bastard,” Bob grumbled, as he stumbled to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over in surprise. “How you got a girl that cute to go out with your sorry ass…”
“I don’t know if…” he began, then flipped around, a look of horror on his face as his heart started pounding out of his chest. “You were listening in!?”
Bob shook his bald head, a smile on his craggy face. “Nah, can’t hear a damn thing. But it’s pretty obvious you just got a date with that cutie. You owe me, you realize.”
He felt his heart starting to slow, and gave Bob a wry look. “She’s the one who asked me to get lunch,” he replied.
Bob scoffed. “Yeah, but if I hadn’t covered for you, you’d still be hiding behind the counter. Speaking of,” he said, gesturing to the door, which had just swung open, a throng of ravenous coffee-crazed office workers shuffling in like zombies, “mid-morning rush is all yours. I’m gonna go get a smoke.”
“Hey, wait a second!” he snapped, as Bob started heading out the break room door, and he began to race the many, many customers back to the counter. “Bob? Bob! This isn’t a fair deal, man!”
“I know it isn’t,” his coworker chuckled back. “But unless another hottie like that struts in here, I’m gonna call it even.”
———
He jumped when he saw her there, waiting for him, as he headed out of Jitters and into the cold winter air. Cass raised an eyebrow, a little frown wiping away the smile which had started spreading across her gorgeous face the moment she saw him. He, in turn, he felt his cheeks heating up, so hot he could feel them radiating in the cold winter air. He’d been certain she wasn’t going to show, that she’d either come to her senses and stand him up, or that he’d hallucinated the whole thing. He knew it wasn’t fair to her; she’d shown every indication of genuine interest, and, well, she wasn’t the kind of girl who’d just stand a guy up. He just hadn’t believed that a genuine superhero - the goddamn Batgirl - had asked him to go grab lunch, let some meant it.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, cheeks so hot he wondered if steam would be rising off of them; she huffed, then slipped her hand into his, giving him a firm squeeze. Now fully luminescent, he mumbled, “so, um, where were you thinking?”
Cass shrugged. “Somewhere with food,” she replied, unable to hide the playful look working its way across her face.
“Food it is,” he said, fighting off a chuckle. “How about burgers? Park Row Speakeasy’s always good. I’ve been meaning to give this month’s special a try.”
She thought for a moment, then nodded to him, walking beside him with so little hesitation he wondered if she’d been there before. She shook her head when he asked, though, another wry little smirk crossing her lips. He wondered, briefly, if she was showing off for him; then she winked, and he stopped wondering.
Soon enough, they found themselves at the faded brick building, so old he had no doubts it, at least, had been standing back during prohibition. He doubted the gaudy neon sign was an original, but wasn’t so sure about the deactivated guns and copper stills. Cass raised an eyebrow at the declare, and a brief moment, he felt a weight building in his chest; was this really the kind of place he wanted to take Batgirl on a date? But if she had any problems, she certainly didn’t voice them. She just slipped into the seat across from him at the dingy wooden table they settled on from him, gave giving menu a quick look-over, then huffed and set it to the side. “Special?” she asked, looking at him expectantly.
He blinked for a moment, then flushed. “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking over at the plastic stand listing the burger of the month. “They call it the Full House: Half-pounder topped with pulled pork. Is that something you’d-“ he began, but stopped when he noticed her enthusiastic nod. “Alright, anything else you’d like? I can go through the sides if you’re interested.” Once again, she nodded, listening carefully as he went through the various options, until she’d settled on enough different options to make a meal of their own. Silently, he said a prayer of farewell to his paycheck; one of the Speakeasy’s big appeals was how affordable the food was, but there’s only so much affordable can do when you’re feeding a hungry superheroine.
He’d honestly been wondering if Cass could actually fit all of that food into her lithe frame; those doubts were instantly quashed the moment they received their meals, and she made a whole-hearted effort to jam the entire massive burger into her petite mouth. She greedily scarfed down the first bite, then the second, not even noticing his astonished look until she’d finished and started moving on to the fries. “Wuh?” she mumbled, between chews, a look somewhere between irritation and embarrassment on her face.
“Nothing,” he said honestly, shaking his head. “Sorry, I guess I forgot how physical your job is. How’s it going, by the way?”
She chewed thoughtfully, for the first time since she’d started, then gulped and shrugged. “Busy,” was what she settled on. “Lots of problems. It’s getting better, but there’s a lot to do.”
“Really?” he asked. “I’ve always heard-“
Cass scoffed. “Gotham’s better than they write it,” she grumbled. “People focus on the worst parts.”
He nodded. “Not a lot of stories about ‘and then nothing bad happened.’”
She chuckled wryly. “I’d like some of those,” she admitted. “Maybe they should write some like that about me.”
For a moment, he struggled to find the words. “Does it-“ he began, then thought better of it; she waved him on, and he continued, “does it bother you? The comic book thing?”
Cass thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I’m real,” she said, reaching out, taking his hand, clasping it hers, then bringing it to her beautiful face. She was warm, warmer than the heated air in the restaurant, and softer than he would have imagined. She smiled softly as he stroked her cheek, ran a thumb across her lips, wondered how those lips would taste, how they’d feel against his own. She met his gaze, her dark eyes sparkling and bright, then continued, “how doesn’t matter. So,” she continued, letting his hand go, letting him retreat to safety, “how’s life at a made-up coffee shop?”
Despite the fluttery feelings dancing through his stomach, he couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Also busy,” he said, “but I wish I could say things are getting better. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of customers I had this morning.”
“Bet mine are worse,” she replied with a wink.
“I don’t know,” he teased, “have you ever had to deal with a Karen?”
“Pam,” she shot back, without even a moment to consider her answer, and he found himself laughing again.
For someone so quiet, Cass was remarkably fun to talk to. No, that was understanding it. They fell into a rhythm so easily and naturally that he almost forgot language wasn’t her first language. Any nervousness he’d had about having lunch with a girl who’d have been out of his league even if she wasn’t Justice League material melted away; all that mattered was the two of them, talking about anything and everything, having a good time together. Once again, he felt the warm flutters returning, but this time, he didn’t push them away. Instead, he lost himself in those dark eyes, letting ridiculous thoughts dance in his head as they chatted and joked and teased. At least, until his phone began blaring while they were in the middle of discussing the few hobbies they managed to hold down, carving through his reverie with all the subtlety of a chainsaw. There was only one number he let go through do not disturb, not counting the ones from home they he’d kept in his phone just in case. “Shit,” he mumbled to her, as he fumbled for his phone, “that’s gotta be my boss.”
“You are damn lucky I like you,” came the gruff voice of his supervisor, once he’d managed to get it to his ear. “You have any idea how long this lunch break’s been going on for?”
He looked down at his phone, almost boggling. They’d been together for almost two hours! “Shit!” he hissed, then quietly mumbled, “Sorry, I totally lost track of-“
“Bob told me,” he grumbled. “Lucky bastard. Anyway, get your ass back here before the two o’clock crash, and don’t think you don’t owe me a closing.“
“Got it,” he said, then hung up the phone. “Sorry,” he mumbled to Cass, slipping out of his seat and standing up, “I-“
She grabbed his arm, and for a moment, he thought she was about to remind him of the check. Then he saw the way she was gnawing at her lip, the way she couldn’t meet his eyes. “You said you liked hiking? Back home?” When he nodded, she turned her eyes up at him, hope shining in them. “Robinson Park?” she asked, a quaver in that husky voice of hers. “Maybe this weekend?”
“I’d love to,” he said, without a second thought. “What time were you thinking?”
“Sunset,” she replied immediately. “More romantic.” He stared openly, wondering if he’d dreamed her response; she met his gaze with an exasperated look on her face, then leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I like you,” she murmured, as the world dropped out from under him.
“I… wow,” he mumbled, completely flabbergasted. “Yeah, okay, I…” He struggled for words, but they were completely unnecessary; an adorable smile had started spreading across her flushed cheeks. As far as she was concerned, he may as well be jumping for joy. “Yes,” he finally said, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “Sunset. Romantic. Words.”
She chuckled, and pressed a finger to his lips. “Words are hard,” she murmured. “They get in the way. Go on, before he gets mad. See you Saturday?”
He nodded, then jolted as he remembered the check on the table. “Oh crap,” he sighed, “give me a-“
“I got it,” she interjected. Before he could protest, she shook her head. “It’s fine.” Then she leaned up to his ear, and whispered, “Bat credit card.”
He blinked, then blinked again. “What. That… that’s not real, right? You’re teasing me, right?”
Cass winked, a smirk slowly spreading across her face.
“Okay, but seriously-“
“I’ll never tell.”