Let me be lonely, but not invisible

If you asked Stephanie Brown who Batgirl was, she’d say it depends. 

Barbara’s Batgirl was strong, brave, and cunning. A pathfinder, a wonderful hero who saved countless lives and gave everything she had to the life. She was a pioneer, a champion who pathed the way for the rest of them.

Cass’s Batgirl was different, a fresh take on an old hero. Though she’s quiet, though she’s vicious in her fighting, she’s still heroic.  She brings a calm sort of comfort wherever she goes. 

But if you asked her about herself, she’s not sure what she’d say. She’s a civilian amongst gods, someone dressed in a knockoff costume playing pretend while the others do the real heroic work. A cheap imitation of the real thing.

As far as hero-ing goes for her, she already feels that she doesn’t have much going on. Not that she needs the reminder.

Entering the Batcave, already exhausted from her lack of sleep and the incredibly long day she’s had, she’s not sure what to expect. Maybe the usual arguing amongst Bats, Tim and Damian trading insults like a normal day while Cass sits quietly and reads in the corner.

Definitely not the scene that comes to play out in front of her—Barbara and Cass teaching someone new to spar, someone she’s never seen before who is very much dressed in a rendition of the Batgirl costume. She blinks, rubbing her eyes like the scene will disappear when she does.

It doesn’t.

Her lips purse into a frown. Another Batgirl? Something ugly twists in her chest. She’d fought like hell for this mantle, had done it all on her own against the will of pretty much everybody, and here’s someone new, wearing it with the support of both her predecessors.

She shakes her head, blonde hair bouncing. No, that’s not fair. She forces a smile, stepping up to the mat to watch.

She watches quietly for a few minutes while you trade blows with Cass, watches you fight as hard as you can to keep up with Cass who’s very clearly restraining herself. Cass sweeps a leg, taking you down to the mat easily, your mask bouncing off your face.

You squeak, sitting up and rubbing the back of your head where it hit the mat. 

Steph’s eyes widen slightly. You took that hit like a champ, and now, seeing you without the mask, she can’t help but think how pretty you are. That twistiness inside of her only grows heavier. 

“Hey, good timing,” Babs calls, waving her over.

Steph tugs down her hood and mask. “Hey, guys.” She strains to keep her voice as cheery as usual, “who’s this?”

Cass introduces the two of you, and Steph can’t help but note the way she already seems warmed up to you. How long has this been going on? 

You smile and step forward, offering her a hand. “I’ve heard so much about you!!”

“Hi.” She takes your hand, that same strained smile on her face, and shakes it. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

She can’t help but notice the softness of your palm against hers—not yet calloused by night after night of hard fighting and acrobatics—and the purple sheen on your nails, almost perfectly matched to her costume. Her hand lingers just a moment too long.

“She’s helping us with this drug trafficking operation at the docks,” Barbara explains, and Steph wonders if she can see through the facade she’s putting on. “Cass and I are helping her brush up on her fighting skills.”

She nods thinly, “right.”

“The Batgirl thing is just temporary,” you explain. “I just needed something to conceal my identity and Babs—”

Stephanie winces at the way the nickname rolls off your tongue, like you’ve always been friends.

“—just had this one laying around.” You finish.

You do a little twirl in the costume, the long cape splaying out as you do. Steph can’t help but look you up and down, examining the way the costume seems to fit and accentuate every curve on your body. Her eyes widen slightly. It fits you like a glove.

The three of you get back to your training, leaving Steph to watch on the sidelines. Slowly, she edges her way out until she’s back outside in the Gotham rain.

If you asked Stephanie now who Batgirl was—her version at least—she could only tell you one thing: replaceable.

The Batgirl thing, it seems, is not just temporary, and Stephanie can’t seem to escape you.

She’s gotten used to your presence now—the way you linger nearby on missions, the way you spend more time with Cass than without, the way your eyes occasionally meet hers only for you to look away quickly like it never happened. She’s never quite sure if you’re judging her, or trying to get her attention, or some other third thing she hasn’t thought of yet. 

It would almost be sweet, if it didn’t have her feeling so self-conscious. 

It’s after patrol one night, the summer sun just beginning to kiss the horizon of Gotham City, when you catch up with her.

“Steph, hey, Steph, wait up!” 

She’s tempted, if only for a moment, to speed up and pretend she hasn’t heard. And yet, for some reason, she can’t. You’ve never been anything but perfectly nice to her, and this jealous mean girl act of hers is so high school.

She tugs down her mask, turning to face you. “What’s up?”

“I think Cass and I were going to this cafe this morning for breakfast, do you want to come?” You smile awkwardly, tilting your head to the side, “they have amazing coffee.”

She considers it for a moment, gears whirring in her head. Some coffee and breakfast would be amazing right now, as well as some time with Cass. But you’ll be there, like a constant reminder of everything she isn’t, and she knows she won’t be able to keep up her positive mood the whole time.

She flashes you a weak grin, “I think I’m just gonna go to sleep.”

“Oh,” disappointment flashes behind your eyes. “No worries, sleep well.”

You turn on your heel to leave, approaching the edge of the old warehouse rooftop you’ve been standing on, when suddenly you look over your shoulder. The golden light of the rising sun reflects off your skin, making your eyes glow and your skin shimmer. You look so pretty like this, Steph can’t help but be a little grateful she only sees you at night.

“I’ll get Cass to text you the address,” you say, that familiar hope back on your face, “y’know, in case you change your mind.”

“Thanks.”

Despite what she said, an hour later Steph finds herself freshly showered and digging through her closet. 

She pulls out a casual pink sundress and tries it on, standing in the mirror and examining herself. She frowns at her reflection, smoothing her hands over the dress like that’ll make it fit better. It doesn’t.

Discarding it in the growing pile of clothes on her bed, Steph goes back to the drawing more. She pulls different garments out, trying them on only to drop them back in the pile. She always never struggles this much getting ready, least of all for a casual breakfast with friends.

Sighing, she lets herself flop onto her bed, sitting on her mountain of clothes. It’s just a casual outing, Steph, she tells herself. Just pick a damned outfit,

But she can’t, because all she can think about is what you’re going to be thinking. Are you going to look at her with those eyes like you usually do? She wonders what you’ll be wearing, if you’ll be dressed casual or cute or comfortable. Knowing you, it’s probably some perfect combination of the three.

Her eyes flutter closed as she pictures it. You, wearing some comfy practical outfit, hair perfect, sipping on some fancy drink from the cafe. She thinks about how your face will light up when she walks into the cafe, the way you’ll smile and wave at her when she approaches the table.

“Glad you can make it,” you’ll probably say, or some other line of the sort.

Her heart speeds up at the thought, stomach doing a whirlwind. You’re so…perfect, and here she is, sitting in her mess of a room, unable to pick a damned outfit. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. 

Tears prick at her eyes. One minute, that’s all she asks. One minute where you’re not constantly on her mind, where she’s not constantly wondering about what you’re doing, who you’re with or how you’ll replace her next.

She doesn’t end up going to the cafe.

Steph’s not sure how she ended up here.

The two of you, trapped in a burning warehouse, surrounded by low level lackeys. She’s not even sure who they work for, their outfits a mess of colours and patterns that she can’t quite make out through the steadily thickening smoke.

Your back is pressed to hers, the warmth of your body seeping through both of your costumes, acting as a comfort. At least, it would be a comfort, if the two of you were in any other situation.

The masked men close in, the roar of the distant fire burning gets louder. Steph’s nerves catch fire, buzzing with the impending promise of action. She bounces on her heels, loosening up her muscles just like she was taught. One more step, one more step and she’s ready.

The heel of the closest man inches forward. Steph pounces. All hell breaks loose.

It’s a blur of action, of fighting her way through the seemingly neverending wave of goons. Her muscles ache, every punch and kick only making the burning under her skin worse. The warehouse gets hotter, the smoke rises, clogging her senses.

Behind her somewhere, the sounds of your own violence echo off the walls. You’ve always been a good fighter—probably better than her—but something in the back of her mind buzzes with worry. Like something bad is going to happen, like she needs to look out for you.

She shakes it away, diving back into the action, trying to ignore the constant nagging in the back of her mind.

She finishes off the last of her men, freezing at the sudden silence. She can’t hear you fighting anymore, can’t see you through the smoky haze. Her heart hammers in her chest. Where on Earth could you have gone?

One second. That’s how long she’s distracted for, maybe less. But one second is all it takes for someone to come up behind her, a forearm pressed over her throat and a leg hooking over her ankles. She’s taken quickly to the ground, back thudding hard against the hard ground.

Stars explode behind her eyes, the wind knocked out of her. Through the haze, she just manages to make out the masked goon above her and the gun barrel shoved inches from her face. She cringes, bracing herself to duck and roll, to do anything but lay here and take it.

And just like that, he’s gone, slammed into the ground by a familiar figure. You’re breathing heavily above Steph, eyes wide behind your mask as you reach a hand to help her up.

She grabs you, letting you tug her to the feet, and the way your hand lingers on hers reminds her of the day you met. Your jaw is slack, worry written across every feature. Steph blinks, letting the air come back to her lungs.

“T-thanks,” she gasps.

“We need to get out of here.”

Steph nods curtly, letting you tug her after you as you search for the exit, only dropping her hand when you brace yourself against the emergency exit and shove hard. Cold night air greets her, filling her burning lungs with sweet relief. 

She’s dizzy from the smoke, dizzy from the hit she took. Her lips purse into frown. It’s surely going to leave a big, ugly bruise. Goodbye sundresses.

Standing on the rooftop of the burning warehouse, she watches you approach the edge, scoping out the ground below for any sign of the goons who almost overwhelmed you.

You turn to face her. “Tim called the fire department, they’re on the way.”

She braces her hands on her knees, still lightheaded from the fall. The fall. She forces herself to stand up straight, peeling off her mask and hood. “Where did you go back there?”

“Huh?”

“You—you disappeared, it distracted me. Where did you go?”

She cocks a hand on her hip, waiting for an explanation. She was too busy worrying about you, about your safety, to take care of herself. If it weren’t for your impromptu disappearance, she wouldn’t be coughing her lungs up like an amateur right now.

You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly. “One of them tried to get away and—”

“You couldn’t have told me that?” She snaps, walking towards you, closing the gap until you’re inches away. “We’re partners, you’re supposed to tell me these things.”

“I didn’t think I had time!”

“Or you just wanted the glory for yourself,” she spits bitterly.

You pause, lips parting in confusion. She tugs at her hair. Even now, a slight cut on your cheek and sweaty from battle, you still look perfectly cute. She’s sure she must look a complete mess, sweaty and dirty and bruised.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She tucks a sweaty strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Nothing, just—nevermind.”

You shake your head. “No, what did you mean?”

“I mean it’s—it’s—” Frustration bubbles up in her chest, muscles pulling taut like she’s about to enter another fight. She’s not even sure where she’s going for it, what word vomit she’s about to shove in your face now. You’re inches away, staring at her like a deer in the damn headlights, and she’s the lone car on the road with the choice to hit you or not.

“It’s what?”

“It’s you! Always being so—so perfect about everything, being everyone’s favorite, having everything come naturally to you and—and—”

And that urge buzzes beneath her fingertips, that urge she’s always felt just beneath the surface. The one she felt that day you met, when she’d had that fear you’re replacing her. The one she’s felt every day since when you’re around, the same one she gets before a big fight.

She raises a hand and you don’t even flinch, looking up at her with those damn wide eyes. She’s not sure who’s more confused by what she’s doing—you, or her.

And then she’s kissing you, the taste of smoke heavy on both of you. Her hand reaches to cup your cheek, thumb swiping over the length of your cheekbone. It’s hot and tense and she feels more that she’s trying to eat you alive than kiss you.

She pulls away, taking a big jump back like she’s been burned.

“Steph,” you breathe her name.

She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “No.”

“Stephanie—”

“No, okay? I don’t—I don’t want to talk about it.” She’s shaking slightly, her voice breaking on the words, “I don’t even—I don’t want to see you right now. Okay? Just…just forget it.”

She spins on her heel, bolting over to the far end of the rooftop. She can still taste you on her tongue, like smoke and leftover chapstick and something else buried beneath. She wipes at her mouth and the taste still lingers, follows her down the fire escape at the edge of the roof, chases after her on the way home.

It’s only when she’s in the shower, desperately trying to wash it away, that she feels she can breathe again. What on Earth was that?

Your soap isn’t enough to wash away the smell of smoke on your body, or the taste of Steph’s chapstick lingering in your mouth. You stand under the water for what must be an hour, scrub every inch of your body twice, and still, it doesn’t help. Stephanie’s voice still rings in the back of your head.

You disappeared, it distracted me.

You just wanted the glory for yourself.

Always being so perfect about everything, being everyone’s favorite, having everything come naturally to you.

I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to see you right now.

Coming from Steph of all people, someone you’ve looked up to, pined after, tried to forge a friendship with, the words hurt. They leave you cold and numbed, a new weight in your chest that wasn’t there before the mission.

She’s always been the sun in your eyes, warm and scalding, bright and beautiful, painful to look at. You’ve always gravitated closer to her, done your best to accommodate her, and this is where you end up. With a bitter kiss and more distance between you than there was to start.

You blink the thoughts away, staring into the steam rising from your kettle on the stove. Your phone buzzes, an unfamiliar number popping up on your screen.

Hey, it’s Steph. Can we talk?

You pick up your phone, contemplating opening the message and answering, and yet you can’t. What do you even say to her right now?

You turn off your phone. Let her sit with it for a while.

A while turns into a week. A week of unanswered texts and calls, of attempts by Barbara and Tim and Cass to get the two of you to talk. You shirk your duties as Batgirl, spend as much time as you can locked away at home, far far away from your double life.

Still, Stephanie isn’t one to give up.

The knock at your door comes early in the morning, so early, it rouses you from your sleep. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up in bed, the pink hue of the rising sun greeting you.

Another knock at your door sends you stumbling down the hall, slippers barely on your feet. You squint through the peephole, stomach syncing when you see who it is.

Steph stands there, dressed in low rise jeans that suit her just a little too well and a baby tee. Her hair is still wet, curling slightly at the ends where it’s started to dry. She must have showered and ran over here right after patrol.

You sigh, turning away from the door, fully intent on ignoring her.

“I can hear you,” she calls.

You stop in your tracks.

“I know I screwed up,” she says, “please just hear me out.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I almost just died, c’mon.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath. Deep down, you know she has a point. You almost wish she didn’t, if only so you could stop seeing it from her side.

Despite yourself, you turn around and unlock the door, inviting her in.

She looks sad, undereyes sallow like she hasn’t been sleeping properly. She steps on the backs of her shoes, peeling them off before falling you inside.

“Do you want something to drink?”

She shakes her head, blonde strands falling into her face. You settle in on the chair in your living room, Steph settling in on the far end of your couch—the distance between you hurts, but you’re not sure you could take it right now if she was sitting any closer.

“I’m sorry,” she starts.

You nod, tight lipped.

“About everything.”

Everything. She doesn’t say it outright, but you can hear what she hasn’t said: I’m sorry for kissing you.

“I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have said what I said, I was scared and-and frustrated, and I took it out on you and it wasn’t fair.”

You always take it out on me, you’re tempted to say. It lingers on your tongue like her lipgloss from the other night, heavy and toxic and yet filled with something sweet.

“It’s hard, you know?” Her voice cracks on the word, pretty eyes brimmed with tears, “I’ve been Batgirl a while. I-I fought to be Batgirl even when nobody wanted me to be.”

You remember Barbara telling you about that, heard whispers about it from Tim. It was strange to you, you couldn’t possibly imagine a world where Steph isn’t Batgirl. Someone as wonderful and capable as her.

“But then you show up and it’s like, what’s even special about me anymore? And you do everything so well, you’re so—so perfect all the damn time, and everyone loves you and it’s like…what’s even left for me?” Tears brim at your lashes and Steph’s face drops. She frowns, reaching forward like she can stop them from coming. And then you’re laughing, the sweet feeling of relief flooding your chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make yo—”

“Do you think I don’t feel that way?”

Her lips part, shock clear on her face. “No,” she mumbles out.

“Do you think I don’t find you perfect and capable and honestly, really fucking intimidating?” You shake your head, “you left some big shoes to fill, Stephanie and—and it hasn’t been easy.”

She laughs, equally as wet and filled with emotion as your own. “You really think so?”

You rise to your feet, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down next to her. She’s so close, you can smell her strawberry scented body wash and the vanilla lotion she put over top of it. 

“Yes, god.” You giggle, and it tastes like relief, “I wish you would’ve just told me this before. We could’ve had this talk a long time ago.”

And she laughs with you, the sound like heaven and sunlight and everything you thought you could never reach, and her laugh makes you laugh more. You let your eyes flutter closed, leaning your head back on the couch, ribs starting to ache from the laughing you’re doing.

And then she’s cupping your face and kissing away the laughter, vanilla flavoured chapstick heavy on your tongue. She moves against you, body pressing to yours and pressing you further into the couch.

She pulls away, cheeks flushed. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

You press a hand on the small of her back, pulling her in again. “You might need to do that a few more times.”

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Two other students are here, but they’re more focused on chatting with each other than getting any actual work done. Unwise considering you had to reserve a place in advance. In a few minutes, their hour was up. It was going to be just you and tall, blonde, and nerdy.

You attempt to focus on your work, maybe in an insecure way, to try not to look like the other two. Especially since your crush was always diligently typing away at whatever class work he was doing.

The two other’s computers log out at 5:30 and they notice. Picking up their bags and leaving, continuing to chat away. It seems their misuse of a study session didn’t matter much to them. You stand up as well, though not to walk towards the door.

“Hey.”

You engage first. He doesn’t budge.

A flash of irritation hits you from being seemingly ignored, but you continue. Maybe he was just in the zone from studying.

“Hey, uh, blondie?”

His body tenses up, then slowly he looks behind himself and up towards you.

His expression looks… confused. It’s only a for a moment before he ‘steels’ himself. It’s not a serious expression. You think, instead, he’s trying to (poorly) feign a neutral one. His eyes can’t seem to land on you, flickering between you and the wall.

“Hey?”

It’s less of a question and more of an unsure response

He turns his head to scope the room, and realizes you two are the only ones in here. Your irritation from earlier disappears and settles into something more… excitable.

“I see you in here a lot.”

“Oh uh, yeah?”

Awkward pause.

You inwardly sigh. It’s okay.

Maybe he sucks at talking but it just makes you want to push him harder. You introduce yourself and ask him a simple question.

“I was wondering… what’s your major? Not everyone here needs to use the lab this much.”

He seems to relax, but only slightly. He must have realized this is just small talk. That’s how you wanna start it, at least.

“I’m Jean. It’s uh, computer science, I’m studying it, I mean,” he answers much too hastily. His sentence stilted in bursts of short information. The slurred combination of words sound more like ‘commuter-since.’ You stand there a bit confused, but eventually you can figure it out from the context clues. Plus, you finally got a name!

“Ohhhh, that makes so much sense. That’s really cool, not everyone gets how computers work yet. People think it’s all just one button and the machine does the rest, but there’s a lot of logic put into it.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Another pause of silence.

Despite how dry he is, you still want to push things along.

“Yknow, I’m trying to get into medical coding myself.”

The common ground makes Jean’s eyes soften just slightly behind the thick lens of his glasses.

“That’s- really cool. And helpful.”

He takes a moment to look away from you before continuing, as if staring at you too long was like looking at a bright light.

“Youd probably be set after university too. I have no idea what I’m doing.” He cringes.

“Hey- that’s okay. That’s what college’s for, right?” You attempt to reassure him, and he eases again. Alright, perfect, time to make your move.

“You know, I’ve been having a bit of trouble studying some languages, maybe you can help.”

You look at Jean expectantly, which he responds to with a red face and wide eyes. Cute.

“Me? I don’t know, I’m not a good teacher-“

“No really!” You insist.

“I think it would benefit the both of us if we could study together. Here’s my AIM,” you pass him a sheet of paper ripped straight from your notebook. Okay, maybe you were being too eager now, but you only asked for a study session.

He takes it between his fingers and eyes the slip of ripped paper like it’s got the world’s deadliest secret on it.

“Uh-“ he sits up, pocketing the paper quickly, “thank you. It was nice meeting you!”

Jean walks out of the computer lab hastily, the time reserved on his computer not even finished.