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When she saw him again, it was the one peaceful moment in a sea of chaos. He was badly hurt, freshly pulled from the timestream by Rip Hunter and feverishly patched up by the League. She was surprised he was on his feet at all. People were everywhere, shouting and running and making her head spin. When she laid eyes on him she stepped up to him, close, and stared straight into his eyes. The rest of the world fell away.
“Cass,” he said. She blinked. Not the formal Cassandra, as he normally called her; one syllable, familiar, short, round. Cass, whom I recognize, Cass, whom I know as part of myself, Cass, who is mine, my girl, my child.
She read all of these things in his one word, and stood tall, and beamed. This was all she needed.
And so Cass was surprised when he crushed her in a hug. A small gasp escaped her. She hadn’t reacted. Cass, who was the blade of a knife, whose business was reacting, who reacted instantly to every tiny thing on instinct. She hadn’t even moved. She was frozen, Bruce’s arms wrapped around her and pressing her against his chest.
She tentatively lifted her two arms and wound them around his back, touching lightly. After a few seconds, she thought better about it and squeezed him back, hard. He felt solid. Real. Steady.
She allowed herself to acknowledge that he was alive. She allowed herself to believe it. This was not easy. Cass had been certain that he was dead, that she would never see him again. She’d felt it. Not even Tim’s firm certainty had swayed her. And here she was, wrong , because he had been alive and lost in time all the while she’d given up on him. She had failed him. What kind of Batgirl stopped believing in Batman? Why hadn’t she known? What had Tim felt that she hadn’t?
Cass counted the seconds in her head. She was relatively certain this was the longest she had ever been held before.
She let nearly a minute go past. Neither of them had moved a muscle.
“I missed you,” she mumbled into his chest. It was all she could think to say.
Bruce released her, drawing back. He lifted an arm, touching his knuckles lightly against her cheekbone. “I missed you ,” he repeated.
She swallowed thickly.
“Sorry,” she said.
His right eyebrow raised slightly at her apology. A question.
Cass’s eyes flicked down to the ground.
“Didn’t come to find you,” she said, very quietly. “Didn’t help. Left you...out there. Alone.”
There were two fingers under her chin, gently lifting her face upwards.
“I was in the past,” Bruce reasoned. His voice was firm and logical and rational. “It would have done no good to come look for me. There was nothing you could have done, and it would have been foolish to try.”
Cass let these words wash over her. She nodded, once, tightly. It made a sort of sense. How would she have found him, anyway? How would she have gotten them both home? And who would have taken care of Gotham in her stead? Well, Dick, yes. And the others. But she had been needed here.
Still. She could have tried.
As if he could read all this on her face, Bruce reached a finger to tap at the cowl. It was pushed back from her head, hanging down her back with the rest of her suit. She had taken it off when he arrived: this had been a moment for Bruce and Cass, not for Batman and…Batman.
He withdrew his hand, still staring at it. “I’m told,” he said. “That you…”
“Yes.”
Bruce’s eyes crinkled slightly at the edges. Nearly, nearly a smile.
“You wear it well,” he said, and Cass thought she might melt. Just a little bit. She tried to smile and she tried to say Thank you but all she could do was nod, once, seriously.
“Thank you,” Bruce added, almost like an echo of her own thought. She blinked at him. “You took care of Gotham while I was away. Thank you for that.”
Cass nodded again. What could she say? You’re welcome? Of course? I’m not sure if I did it for you or me?
“Don’t leave again,” Cass said softly.
“I will not,” Bruce replied. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Or I will try my best not to…Batman.”