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“Cassandra,” Bruce said, exasperated, “is it really within your best interest to patrol tonight?”
Cass glared at Bruce from across the platform, and even from her distance he could see the red blisters on her face and neck. “Yes,” she said shortly.
“Even if…?”
“Yes.” She threw up her hood.
“And—”
“Yes.”
“I just…” Bruce sighed, rubbing his chin. “I worry, Cass.”
Cass didn’t move for a moment, before she crossed the cave, stopping before Bruce, staring up at him. “Worry.”
“Worry,” he confirmed, “About you. Just as much as any of my children.”
Cassandra, he found, had not been exposed to as many diseases and infections as the rest of his children, and with a lack of medical records they had been left playing catch up to find what she was immunised against. Surprisingly, they had found this time, it was something that was nearly entirely standard in everybody else’s childhood: chickenpox.
The last time Bruce had encountered the disease had been when he himself had caught it, a lifetime ago, when he still had both his parents to dote and care for him through it. All of Bruce’s other children had come to him either having previously contracted it (Dick, during his time at the circus; Jason and Duke, having grown up living in the Bowery and Narrows respectively) or been vaccinated against it (Tim, with pristine and extensive medical records, including any booster shots; Damian… being Damian), so this was a new experience for not just Cass, but him too.
He had to admit, Cass was a model patient. She had initially sequestered herself away until the others told her they weren’t at risk of infection. Even then she had remained quiet and complacent, politely requesting taking her meals in private, something Alfred was more than happy to oblige with.
Her rash had hit the worst of it the day before, blisters starting to break, leaving large swathes of her skin red and raw, but Cass had barely scratched at them.
Still, Bruce could see how much the itchiness bothered her, in the way her expression was terse, the way her hands flexed or she shook out a limb in the hopes of alleviating some of the feeling.
“I can handle myself,” Cass said, staring up at Bruce.
He exhaled, something fond riding on the breath. “I have no doubts in your abilities, believe me. But your rash hasn’t scabbed over yet, and I don’t want you to—”
“I wear a mask,” she said. “Fully covered. Won’t… infect.”
“That’s not what I’m concerned about,” Bruce replied. “I’m worried about you.”
“I can handle myself,” Cass repeated, more emphasised than before.
Bruce set his hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. “Cassie,” he said, “you’re unwell.”
“Never stopped me before,” Cass shrugged, though Bruce’s hands didn’t leave her shoulders. “Was… encouraged, even.”
Bruce pressed his lips together. “By…?”
She nodded.
Silence fell between them, though that had never been unusual. Neither of them had ever needed to speak to understand each other.
Bruce gave Cass’ shoulders another squeeze before he drew back. “I am not your father,” he said. Cass gave him a flat expression. Bruce returned it with one of his own. “I am not David Cain,” he corrected, “I am not going to force you to fight when you’re not in peak condition.”
Cass tilted her head to the side, thinking. “Training. To not rely on… abilities alone.”
Bruce’s lips pressed together again. “Please do not consider operating while sick as training.”
She scrunched her nose at him for a second, but otherwise didn’t respond.
“I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Won’t.”
Bruce sighed, moving away to a workbench, bracing his hands against it. He stared down at the gear he had been tinkering with earlier, just to give him something to focus on instead of Cassandra, fists clenched by her side and a determined spark in her eyes– though it was half hidden behind the haze of illness.
“Will you at least take some medication?” Bruce asked slowly, picking up a smoke pellet and rolling it between his fingers.
Cass’ silence felt pointed this time, glare directed at the back of Bruce’s head. He didn’t turn to face her still, rolling the pellet again.
“Nothing too strong,” he clarified, “Plus, I can work out a combination with the least amount of components, if that’s what you so desire.”
The silence continued to drag out, though Bruce became aware of some other sound punctuating it, almost as if—
“Cassandra Cain-Wayne,” Bruce said, warning leaking into his tone, halfway to the voice he dropped into whilst wearing the cowl, “if you are scratching at your lesions…”
The sound stopped abruptly, confirming his suspicions. He set the smoke pellet down once more, turning around to give Cass his full attention, arms folded and leaning back against the bench behind him. Cass still had one hand gripping her other arm, where she had presumably been rubbing at it over her suit. She at least had the decency to look a little guilty, expression half hidden by her hood as she turned her face down towards the floor.
“Painful,” she muttered.
“I know,” Bruce replied. “But please, Cass— don’t feel as if you have to force your way through. You are allowed to make it easier for yourself.” She had his stubborn streak— perhaps even more of one, and Bruce could see the way her face shifted at his suggestion.
“Medicine,” Cass said. “Dulls senses. I don’t like it.”
“Wouldn’t it still be preferable to this?” Bruce urged, using his chin to gesture to her.
Cassandra was not one to crack so easily under pressure. He knew it was against everything she had been raised believing, everything that was trained into her. It had been a long journey, helping Cass unlearn it all, and clearly there were still some lingering pieces, as much as they fought it.
Bruce stepped forward, gently prying Cass’s hand from her arm, holding it between both of his. “There is no virtue in suffering.”
Cass’ jaw tightened, brow drawn, “What medications?” she asked, levelling a hardened stare onto him before he could open his mouth to respond. “Not agreeing. Testing waters.”
Bruce hummed. She was willing to hear him out, that was good. He had to approach this logically, explaining the thought process behind each choice.
“Guanosine, first and foremost,” he started, “Antiviral; it should help shorten recovery time. It would’ve been best to take right when the chickenpox made its presence known, but better late than never. Then… I'd say fexofenadine. It’s a slower acting antihistamine, but won’t cause drowsiness, which I’m assuming is something you’d look to avoid.”
She nodded at that, squinting a little. Bruce took that as a sign to continue.
“Paracetamol. General painkiller. And pramoxine, topical.” Bruce ran a thumb over the back of her knuckles. Gloved, he couldn’t see the scars over Cass’ hands, no doubt hidden beneath new sores, blistered and aching, but he knew they were there regardless, and kept his touch light so as to not irritate them. “It should numb the worst of it.”
“Anything else?”
“Aside from Alfred’s coddling and my prayer that you’ll try for some bed rest?”
Cass let out a startled giggle at his quip, slipping out of his hold. “No promises.”
Bruce gave his own chuckle in response. “Well, will you consider it?”
She nodded again, slowly. “I will…” she said. One of her hands drifted to scratch at her arm again before she caught herself, pulling away. “The cream, yes.”
That was a start. Bruce pointed Cass towards the medbay with his chin. “You’ll have to take off your gear,” he noted, “I’ll give you a few minutes and let the others know.”
As Cass pulled the privacy curtain closed, Bruce turned to the Batcomputer, pulling up commlines. He shot a quick message to all units explaining that Shadow would most likely be absent for the night, Batman taking to the streets later than usual. What immediately followed was a ‘duh.’ from Jason.
‘Acknowledged.’ Tim responded a moment later, ‘will account for gaps in patrol routes.’
Satisfied, Bruce made his way to the medbay. Cass had taken residency on the cot, stripped down to shorts and a sports bra, uniform thrown into the laundry basket for contaminated clothes. When Bruce parted the curtain to step inside she jumped to her feet, tucking her hands behind her back.
Bruce’s eyes crinkled in sympathy as he washed his hands, before he moved over to the medical storage to peruse the labels. “You know,” he said, pulling out the painkillers, setting the bottle to the side. “I have pockmarks from scratching when I was a child.”
Cass didn’t reply, and he cast a sidelong look at her. She watched him in return, settling back down to sit on the cot once more. Bruce returned to his task.
“They’re uncomfortable,” he continued. “Distracting. Even to someone with your focus.”
He found the tube of ointment, tossing it to Cass. “Apply that to what you can reach, I’ll do your back after.”
She dutifully unscrewed the cap, and Bruce started to sort through the selection of antihistamines, taking stock of the ones they were low on as he pushed them aside in his search. “Who is setting empty bottles back on the shelf without replacing the contents…” he mumbled to himself. He finally found the fexofenadine at the back of the stores, the bottle almost empty, setting it beside the painkillers.
Cass had placed a smear of cream over each blister on one arm, dutifully working on the second. Bruce watched her for another moment before turning to find the guanosine.
“How fast?”
“Hm?” Bruce looked back over his shoulder, and Cass held the tube up. “A few minutes,” he said. She nodded, pulling a leg up onto the cot. Bruce watched her with some amusement. “Provided you rub it in.”
“Don’t want to miss any.”
Bruce went back to his search.
“How often?”
“Three times a day.” He pulled down a bottle, squinting at the label before putting it back. “I’m going to have to rehaul this catalogue system.”
“Disorganised?”
“I’m sure this makes sense to whoever did this,” Bruce said, rubbing his chin. “I can see the reasoning. Like by like. But within the groupings, there’s no further reasoning. It might benefit us to alphabetise them.”
Cass started to rub in the dabs of ointment on her arms, staring at the shelves as she did so, seemingly lost in thought.
Bruce set aside his search, taking a few strides to close the gap between him and Cass. He held his hand out, and Cass set the tube of cream in his hand, shifting to show her back to him.
“Thank you,” Bruce said as he smeared cream over each mark in turn. “For allowing me to take care of you.”
Cass shrugged the shoulder Bruce wasn’t working on. “There is no virtue in suffering,” she said, echoing his words from earlier.
“Still,” he shifted the strap of her top slightly to check underneath it. “You have always valued your independence.”
“Independence does not mean… denying help when needed.”
“You’re right,” Bruce said, dipping his head in agreement. “You’ve learned that lesson much earlier than I did.”
Cass turned to look at Bruce over her shoulder, something like curious surprise in her expression. “I… had a good mentor.”
A burst of warmth bloomed in Bruce’s chest, and he felt it push at the corners of his mouth. He moved to dab some of the cream on the tip of Cass’ nose. “Hey now,” he said, “don’t discredit Barbara for all she’s done.”
Cass rubbed at the cream, breathing out a laugh. “Maybe I was talking about her already.”
Bruce continued to apply the ointment to her face. With the tube occupying his hand, he held Cass’ hair back from her forehead with his wrist so that he could gain better access to the blisters there. “Maybe,” he mused, “but I’ll claim it.”
Cass swatted him away to hold back her hair herself, rolling her eyes.
“You look like you’re feeling better.”
She hummed an upwards note, moving an arm. “Taking effect. Less painful.”
“That’s good.”
Cass repeated the same note.
“Will you take the rest, as well?”
A different note, descending this time. Bruce raised an eyebrow, giving her a deadpan look.
“Can’t find the one you wanted most,” Cass said, as if that explained everything.
Bruce placed one final dab of cream on the side of her neck, screwing the cap back onto the tube and setting it down on the cot next to Cass, before going to wash his hands once more.
“That doesn’t mean you should dismiss the others,” he said as he scrubbed the feeling of the ointment off his fingers. “If you’re feeling better with just the pramoxine, then think about how much the rest would help.”
Cass let out a long exhale, cheeks puffing out as she did so. “Only if I can patrol.”
“Are you negotiating with me?”
“Yes.”
Bruce dried his hands.
“Fully covered. Won’t infect,” she said, repeating her sentiment from earlier.
She truly was the most stubborn out of all of them, which was somewhat of an achievement, considering how inflexible Bruce himself was.
“I won’t be able to convince you otherwise, will I?”
Cass shook her head, a certain sharpness in her eye.
“Hn.” Bruce pulled a sealed water bottle out from the slab kept beneath the cot, passing it up to Cass. She took it and he straightened again, moving back to the medicinal stocks to once more search for the missing bottle of fexofenadine.
“Who sorted this?” he mumbled to himself.
Cass cracked the cap of the bottle, taking a sip as she watched him peer at labels. “Alfred.”
Bruce paused. “... it can remain this way, then.” He grabbed the two bottles he had found, giving them to Cass. “Two of the paracetamol, one of the guanosine,” he directed.
When she didn’t move, he blinked. “Right. Medication labels are still too complicated, aren’t they?”
Cass nodded. Bruce tapped the lid of the jar of painkillers. “Two of this one every four hours,” he said, before tapping the other the same way. “And one of these. Same interval, so you don’t have to worry about keeping track.”
Cass lifted the bottles to eye level, observing the contents and committing the appearance to memory. She took them as directed, chasing them up with the water, before hopping down off the cot and fetching her previously discarded uniform. As she started to pull it on, Bruce made a small sound of success.
“There it is.” Bruce pulled down the bottle he’d been searching for, shaking it to find only one pill remained of the contents. He frowned momentarily, before internally shrugging. “This one is once every twenty-four hours,” he explained, “it’s the final one, so I’ll make sure we have some more the next time you need to take it, alright? As for the others…” An olive branch. A request, not an order. “Finish your patrol by then so you’re back for the next dose?”
Cass pulled up her hood, effectively throwing half her face into shadow. She moved to exit the medbay, pausing by the curtain to turn back to Bruce. He was worried for a moment that she would reject him, before he made out the way her eyes creased in the corners, soft and fond.
“Yes.”