#roverjamball

I sigh in contentment, dead tired. 

I feel like I need match sticks to keep my eyes open, like the cartoon cat on screen. Besides me on the other end of the sofa Cass lays her head on the round armrest. Her bronze eyes half lidded, watches the screen as the matchsticks snap and the animated cat in outrage prepares to retaliate on the cartoon mouse. 

Regardless of her gaze, I can feel her attention on me. I should be sleeping. The rest of them are. Damien, Dick and Jason are home for once, sleeping in their, less used rooms. Soreness throbs at the thought. 

I, who lived in poverty, have my own room I could be sleeping in, instead is considering a booster to stay awake longer. If my trembling hands can manage the shot. 

My room, like many in the Manor is airy, spacious and warm. I've added my eclectic eggplant air to the elegant functionality. And I love that space. But my favourite place in the BatMansion is the mini theatre, in an alcove I am currently in. Mid-way from Cass’s room and mine, we fitted a 30’ inch tv, dragged old couches and rugs to create a warm, cosy haven with dark wood floors and no windows. So comfy. I think the cushions have actually moulded themselves to my body shape. As has Cass’s side to her, I think after all the time we spend on it. Which is any time we're not out patrolling or in classes or at our respective extracurricular. For Cassandra Cain, that means ballet and for me - martial arts training. 

When I started my mission all that time ago, I thought I was all that. Falling in love with superhero life, I grew stronger, faster, more agile, learnt computer, mechanics. 

Then, after Batman’s training, I again thought I was all that. Until I met Cassandra Cain. I learnt what peak agility and being an exceptional martial artist was. 

I am often asked why a train so hard. My skill is not less. And with the other BatGirl at my side in the field, do I really need to improve? 

The thing is, I'm not trying to compete with Cass as Damian believes. What I want, what I truly believe in is a safer Gotham. It is my passion. My mission in life. And so I must always draw stronger and be a successful BatGirl, a willing partner and friend Cass can rely on. 

I'm still in my fighting outfit. At least the body suit part of it, which could conceivably mimic exercise clothes in a pinch. This is not by coincidence. Barbara designed it to be so. We’ve all learnt the hard way to leave our recognisable gear in the BatCave. 

It's not that I enjoy being in this sweaty stinky outfit. But after a week of catching cat nap here and there, while in emergency mode that we were. I've not had time to do laundry. 

Alfred did our laundry. But when we shucked our teenage self, we decided anybody above 20 could cook and clean and take care of themselves. Which gives Alfred a bit of a reprieve and us some real life experience. Which is good because I was growing reliant on him, and I'm playing with the idea of moving out. Besides, this last week or so was particularly hard on Alfred. 

I sit up straight. The least I could do is look awake. I try to. But the only thing that changes is Cass’s attention on me, earlier cursory, has sharpened. 

I treble. At her attention or the exhaustion. Could be either or both.

I fear she may tell me to go to my room to get some rest. She would be right to do so. That is what I should do. I find myself reluctant to leave even for much needed recovery. The time we have together is precious. With me, thinking of moving out - I don't want to squander even a moment of it.

Instead of speaking, Cass gets off the couch in one sleek, smooth, graceful, move. 

She walks over to me. Standing in front of me. At my wide eyes, she only smiles. I draw myself up with some attempt at dignity, and she looks me Sq in the eye. Offering her hand. 

I'm dead, tired. 

The exhaustion in its extreme  rushes up to me all at once. My head is swimming, but I steal myself. I push my blonde unkept curls behind my ear with one hand and with the other eye clasp Cass’s. 

For years Cassandra Cain, daughter of Lady Shiva - not that she’d been aware at the time, and Mr. Cain, trained in total silence by her father. Even in my mind, I spit the word out like a curse. Father. What a complicated term. 

A product of her upbringing, Cass reads body language with absolute accuracy. 

And it informs her actions. Instead of using vocabulary, she helps me up. Taking my not so inconsiderable weight on her shoulder, her dark eyes, survey the room in quick darting glances. 

Satisfied she leads me over the Persian rug, we pass by handcrafted tables, desks, broom closets. The mansion is massive with identical furniture commissioned by the ancestors and long uniform passageways, it's easy to get turned around. That's why it takes my sleep addled brain a full minute before it realises Cass is taking me towards her room, not mine.

At the questioning look in my blue eyes, Cass looks down at me and smiles. 

I feel a sense of warmth at her attention. I am usually an inch or tow taller than Cass, but the way she shoulders me, I can only look up at her.

I know the corridor as well as I know myself, and I find myself holding her gaze longer. Reluctant to break the contact. The emotional connection. 

I hope she feels as I do.  

Touch is how Cass expresses her affection. Cass is a sensitive, of that I am sure, maybe in a magical way, I don't know. 

What I do know, is that consciously or unconsciously she keeps a physical distance from others that are not family. Except with me when I find myself often touching her, grooming her hair, helping her with her skin routine. Adjusting her clothes. Which I realise our subtle ways of closing the physical distance between us. Cass smiles. She doesn't step away. Like how she’s looking into my eyes as we walk to her room, a light flush on her cheeks, up to her slanted unturned eyes. Eyes like dark pools, all pupils, I am like always captivated by her presence. 

I wonder what she reads when Cass looks at me. Am I obvious to her? 

I smile back. 

She hasn’t said a word since she grasped my shoulder, taking my weight and guiding me. We are almost to her room and I have no idea why. Is Cass inviting me to sleep? Why not out me to bed in my room I wonder. The alternatives as I think of them leave me breathless. She releases me in a bid to open the room’s door and I'm afraid I'll pass out. 

Cass is quick to grasp my swaying form, hugging me to her. 

More mussel and mass than you’d think at first glance. I notice yet again, I’m not much taller than her, bulky though, compared to her leanness. But we are similar in size, having swaped our vigilante cuniform in a pinch or to confuse our opponents. 

Keep them guessing as Barbara always says.

Every time I enter her room, I feel a smile on my face. This morning is no different. A mirror of mine. But it couldn't be more contrasting. Having never expressed herself in her childhood, Cassandra Cain's room is a sample of everything a teenage girl could potentially enjoy. 

She has bars installed by Dick, to keep up her agility without leaving her intimate space. 

She has a chest of drawers at the foot of her bed filled with every plated weapon known to man. 

A dresser, with a bench and a mirror on top filled with Polaroid photographs - Batfamily in their civilian identities filled to the brim with make up accessories, diaries, cute stationary.

Walking across her room, I noticed I feature the most in the pics, and I hope it means what I hope it means. I don’t dare ask. Respecting boundaries is crucial in our relationship. 

The other side of the cosmetic filled dresser is a wardrobe with privacy screen to the side. A basket rest on the floor filled with freshly laundered clothes waiting to be put away. 

When did Cass find the time? I wonder.

Unconcerned by my musings, Cass pushes me behind the privacy screen near her wardrobe, clearly asking me to strip. 

She opens the door to her wardrobe rifle around.

I stand there, behind the screen. But after I strip, I’ll - what? Not body shy I remove the suit Babs designed for me. and cringe at the smell. Not rank yet, but not too far from it. With the last of my Energy, I push it off. 1 foot out, and then the other. And now I am done.

I'm not sure how long I stand there only that when I look up gas standing before me, her hands filled with clothes, some in plastic wrapping. 

She makes a motion for me to raise my hands, which I do without question.

I'm too tired to do much else, and my eyes rest on her face. This slide smile playing on her lips.

I hear a rust of plastic and then something is hugging my chest blocking the cold air. She hugs, me, and I feel the zipper clasp up my back. I smell, fresh cloth smell. And I think the object of my affection just put a zip spots bra on me.

I’d cringe in embarrassment if I had the energy. 

The hair on the back of my arms, the back of my neck is standing up. It seems I can react. I'm not sure why I am lifting a leg, and then the other. Cass must've asked me in that silent way of hers, barely conscious, her directions I obey. 

And then it is dark and safe and wad and soft. 

Next thing, I know, I open my eyes and stare up at the high ceiling of the BatMansion. 

It takes me a moment to note the warm colour palette and cluttered functional aesthetic of Cass’s room. 

I’m in Cass’s bed, the thought jerks me wide awake. And I’m sitting up, cover at my lap. 

I am in Cass's room. 

In her bed, the colour of the T-shirt I spy with my eye is any indication, she shared her clothes with me.