"What do we got?"

"Homicide. Single stab wound. Victim's in her teens."

Detective Nick Gage sighed and downed a sip of his coffee as he shuffled from his car towards the crime scene. An officer lifted up the caution tape and he ducked slightly to get under it. "This seemed like such a nice neighborhood, too." He put his hands on his hips and sighed. "We know whose house this is yet?"

"Working on it, Detective," Officer Jackson replied. "Computer's running a bit slow."

"Let me know when you've got it." He stepped across the threshold of the suburban house and straight into the crime scene.

The entrance was small, with a staircase to the left and a hallway that led to a decently sized kitchen. There were two unfinished plates of waffles on the table, along with orange juice. Somebody had been home when this happened. The doorframe behind him had splintered when somebody kicked open the door. That meant they were dealing with a home invasion.

The victim was lying dead center in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by the forensics team. He ventured closer.

"Cause of death?"

"She was stabbed," Dr. Maria Valencias answered with her trademark bluntness, raising an eyebrow as if to ask whether or not he was kidding.

Maria was relatively new to the department; newer than him, even. She was a medical examiner who, unlike the old standby Ghoul, was not afraid to actually go out to crime scenes instead of waiting for the bodies to show up at the morgue. Of course, she spent plenty of time down there, too.

"So I see." Ordinarily he would have come back with a lame remark, but this close to the corpse he did not feel like joking. Several facts presented themselves as he looked over the body, and he filed them away for further analysis.

The victim was a white female, no older than nineteen. She was dressed in a school uniform, complete with a vest, skirt and stockings. Her long brown hair had been done up in a ponytail, and she had just enough make-up to appear presentable and not enough to be compared unfavorably to a street-walker.

Oh, and she had a samurai sword sticking out of her belly.

"That's weird."

"What is, Sir?" asked one of the CSIs.

He pointed to a spot on the floor, where blood had impacted in one long streak, as opposed to the large black pool beneath her. "See that blood right there? It couldn't have come from her getting stabbed. It hit the floor at a downward angle, meaning somebody else got slashed."

He took another sip of his coffee. "Which means she was the one using the sword in the first place."

Maria glanced down at the body, then back up at him. "You think a pretty little teenager like that was trying to kill whoever lives here?"

"Look at her knuckles." He pointed. "They've got calluses. There's scars running all down her arms and legs, and you can see where some bruises on her face still haven't healed. That indicates either physical abuse, which I doubt, or hardcore martial arts training. She's definitely got the muscle definition for it. Somebody trained this girl to be an assassin."

She stared at him with extreme skepticism.

"Get fingerprints on that handle," he ordered the nearest CSI, ignoring her. "And get blood samples to analyze. I'm betting you'll find two different DNA matches."

"Sure thing, Detective." He began at once.

"Speaking of which, do we have an ID on the victim yet?"

Dr. Valencias shrugged. "How the hell should I know? I just get paid to find out what she died of."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Since when has that stopped you?"

She sighed. "We don't. She's old enough for a driver's license but she doesn't have one on her. We took fingerprints and dental impressions but... well, this isn't a TV show. It'll take some time before we know."

"Keep me posted." He glanced over at Officer Jackson, who had just entered. "What's up?"

"Computer search came back, finally. House belongs to Agnes Bellinger. Lives here with her daughter."

Nick nodded. "And where is she right now?"

"No clue. Might not have even come home last night."

"Call me as soon as you know." He started walking towards the door. "Get the crime scene wrapped up and get that body back to the lab." Stepping outside, he emptied the rest of his coffee on the pavement.

"One more thing, Detective!" Jackson told him, coming out of the house. "We got a report of an explosion in an apartment across town, and several bodies wearing the same uniform as the victim in there. You think it might be connected?"

"It's Gotham. Everything's connected. Let dispatch know I'm on my way." He started walking back towards his car.

He sighed. As cliché as it was, he had a bad feeling about this. A cloud had been hanging over him all morning, and he could feel the rain coming.

And there were never any umbrellas in Gotham City.


The tension in the cargo bay was thick enough to trap any knife that attempted to cut it. Stephanie counted three more members of the crew than just the pilot and copilot, probably hired to load and unload the plane. One of them had loaned Jason some spare clothes, which he had changed into about twenty minutes ago. It consisted of black jeans, a gray tee-shirt and a brown leather jacket, along with matching boots. He would not be strutting down any fashion runways, but the look suited him.

He was standing in the middle of the bay, scanning around as if he sought to remind everybody that he was the one in charge. From what he had explained immediately before they "hijacked" the plane, the private jet was essentially a decoy. He would still take it as a first option, but his years of working with Batman as well as his own sense of self-preservation had taught him to always have a backup plan. He could let his enemies destroy the jet, because they would not expect him to keep a second plane stashed at the airport.

These men, it turned out, were smugglers on his payroll, who had been keeping him supplied with weapons and tech after he lost control of the Kord Corporation. Of course, since this connection was a secret one, it needed to appear as if the crew had been commandeered against their will.

Wendy had chosen to stay in The Compact with Jolisa, while Steph hung out on one of the benches on the side of the bay. Everybody remained silent by some tacit agreement, collectively holding their breath until the danger passed. In this case, the danger was capable pursuing them at speeds far greater than the cargo plane could ever hope to match. As far as they could tell, however, no fighter jets had even been scrambled.

Jason ducked briefly into the cockpit and exited a moment later with a whisper of a smirk on his face. "Okay, ladies and gents, we're over international waters." They all breathed easier. "We got the supplier to change the meet to Zurich, so we should be there in roughly eight hours. Until then, do whatever the hell you feel like."

He strode over to her and took a seat on the long bench. "Why the long face?"

Steph raised an eyebrow. "You're seriously asking me that after the morning I've just had?"

"Not seriously, no." He grinned.

"You're taking it well."

Jason shrugged. "I've been through enough sudden changes in my life that I've learned to just roll with 'em."

A dark chuckle escaped her. "I think I've been through too many."

"Yeah, no kidding. You've had what, three secret identities by now?"

She nodded. "Sorry I blew up your apartment, by the way."

"Don't be. You weren't the one holding the rocket launcher."

"Yeah, but they only came after you because I went to you for help."

"Hey, I did say you could come find me any time."

She smirked. "I thought that was your way of letting me know you were down with a booty call."

"That too," he admitted with a chuckle, gripping the netting that lined the walls when the plane experienced a brief bout of turbulence. "But since you're pretty much the only member of the Bat-Family who hasn't tried to arrest or 'reform' me, I'm willing to help you any way I can." He stared hard at the other end of the bay. "Especially now that we're in the same boat."

"I appreciate that," Steph replied, releasing her own hold on the netting once the air was calm again. "Thanks for not making me regret it."

"Not a problem."

A few minutes passed in silence, and Stephanie quickly fell victim to the monster that was introspection. The events of that morning welled up inside her like mental bile, and she sought any sort of distraction to keep the dam from bursting.

"So," she began, running her fingers through her hair and leaning closer to Jason. "You said we've got eight hours until we get there, right?"

Jason nodded.

"And you also mentioned being down with booty calls."

"Yeah..."

"Do you think this plane has a bathroom?"

Jason seemed to understand what she was driving at, and smirked. "Mile high club?"

"Oh yeah."


News of the airport fiasco soon reached Oracle's ears and computer screens at Kord Tower, especially since she had calibrated the news feeds to bring her anything related to Stephanie Brown. A private jet had exploded at Gotham International Airport, and a purple blob of pixels that only she would recognize as The Compact had been briefly captured by nearby security cameras. The jet was owned by a holding company that was several shells deep, and it would take time before she could trace it back to the source.

And now every news outlet in the country was calling her a terrorist.

To be fair, they did not have her name yet, but it was only a matter of time. Oracle was hesitant to jump to the same conclusion that the reporters had, since their lives resembled action movies so much that being in the vicinity of an exploding plane was not too surprising. She just had to find the reason.

Barbara pulled the airport's flight records and discovered that only one plane had managed to take off following the explosion, and she pressed further to find out who the pilot was. The Compact had not been sighted at the airport since, and Steph would not have gone there if she didn't intend on flying out one way or another. The search returned the name Clyde Johnson, and she dug into his personnel file to rummage for clues. Nothing in particular seemed out of the ordinary, so she tapped into her other resources to try and uncover his secret.

She hit paydirt about half an hour later.

Clyde Johnson was an airline pilot by day, but he had been investigated by US Customs agents way more often than normal. He always came up clean, but several sources implied that he had been paying off the agents as a way to conceal his smuggling. She looked through his list of known employers, pulling up a few mobsters and drug kingpins, as well as one name that made her hair stand on end.

"Son of a bitch," she whispered, then dialed up Bruce's frequency. "Batman, we have a situation."

"Just a minute, Oracle." She waited until he was ready. "Go ahead."

"Stephanie just left the country."

There was silence for several moments. Then he responded: "You're certain?"

"I haven't been able to raise her all morning, and Firewall went offline three hours ago. She got on a plane at Gotham International and it's outside any radar networks. I'm searching satellites but I'm not having any luck so far. She's gone."

She heard him sigh on the other end. "Damn it."

"Do you think this has anything to do with Talia?" Dick's voice chimed in. "I don't imagine she'd be too happy that Stephanie shut down her school."

"That's what I figured, and she said the St. Hadrian's girls are the ones who blew up Firewall. She also told me Wendy Harris and Jolisa Windsor are with her, and that they're getting help from someone else."

"Wait, how did she tell you this if you haven't been able to raise her?" asked Tim.

"She left me a message. I tried calling her back but she must have ditched her phone. I've been trying to locate her ever since."

"And you found something," asserted Bruce. It was not a question.

She nodded, even though none of them could see her. "I know who she's getting help from."

"Who?" inquired Dick.

Oracle sighed. "Jason Todd."

There was a long pause. "WHAT?!" Dick and Tim exclaimed at the same time.

"How do you figure?" Bruce replied more calmly.

"I pulled the records for the guy flying the plane and came back with the name Clyde Johnson. I did some digging, and..."

"You discovered that he's one of Red Hood's oldest associates," Batman finished for her.

"Exactly."

"Wait, I thought Jason left Gotham," protested Tim. "When did he get back?"

"It doesn't really matter, since he's gone now." Barbara frowned. "And so is Stephanie."

"We should be back in about twelve hours," Bruce informed her. "Stay where you are until we get there." He disconnected.

Oracle rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right." She began wheeling herself over to the elevator. There was one other person she needed to apprise of the morning's events.


The landing went as smoothly as Stephanie could have hoped, and before she knew it the cargo ramp was opening and Jason was ushering everybody off the plane.

"Okay, here's how it's gonna go down," he announced as they all walked down the ramp. "Me and the boys here will go meet the supplier and get the cargo onto the plane." He turned to Steph. "You take the girls into town and have fun for a couple hours, then meet me at the hotel. Bank's closed till tomorrow so we've got a little time to kill before we have to go."

She nodded. That sounded fair to her. Jason and the rest of the crew piled into a black SUV that was waiting for them on the other side of the tarmac, while she climbed back up the ramp and entered The Compact.

Wendy had moved to the front seat during the plane trip, but had not left the vehicle. Steph's highly trained detective instincts told her that Proxy was not very happy with their current situation.

"You okay?" She received a sideways glance and a raised eyebrow in reply. "Jason says to take you guys into town while they meet their client and move the cargo onto the plane."

"What kind of cargo?"

"Didn't ask." She backed The Compact down the ramp and onto the tarmac. "I assume it's some sort of contraband, though."

Wendy spotted the black SUV that was driving away and glared after it. "We should follow them."

She wanted to. Something about this did not sit right with her, and if she was still in Batgirl mode then she would not have hesitated to keep a close eye on him. But she left Batgirl back in Gotham.

She shook her head. "Nah, that sounds boring. Besides, do you really wanna go this whole trip without leaving the car?"

The short-haired girl with anger management issues boggled at Stephanie like she had sprouted purple fairy wings and started doing the Macarena. "Are you serious? You know this guy's a criminal, and you don't want to at least keep an eye on him?"

Steph shrugged and started driving. "Okay, first of all, he's a vigilante, just like me. He's just a lot more trigger happy."

"Then why did he hijack a plane and fly it to the capital of Switzerland to pick up contraband? And he doesn't arrest criminals; he kills them. Not to mention what he's done to the rest of your family. You can't be okay with that."

She looked out the window guiltily. "I wasn't around for most of what he did to Bruce, Dick and Tim." She followed the curve of the road leading out to the gate. "I was kinda busy faking my death in Africa. I don't really have anything personal to hold against him."

Wendy rested her forehead in her palm. "So let me get this straight. Just because you've got no personal beef with this guy, you're going to excuse what he did to the people you care about?"

That was not it at all. She decided to play dumb with Wendy anyway, if only to keep from revealing the real truth.

"Sorta?"

"That's bullshit. The Stephanie Brown I know—"

"Is trying to survive right now." They passed the gate and pulled out onto the only road into town, a few car lengths behind Jason's SUV. "Jason knows Talia better than you or I do, and he might be able to help Jolisa too. He's our best chance at staying alive, and if that means looking the other way, then I'll do what I have to."

She glared at the road in front of them. "I'm not Batgirl anymore," she continued. "I can compromise when it keeps me alive."

Proxy stared at her like she did not recognize the person she had suddenly become. "Jesus, Stephanie. What the hell happened to you this morning?"

She sighed. "I don't wanna talk about it. But let's just say I don't have as much room to judge him as you seem to think I do."

The SUV turned at the next intersection, and she did as well.

"You're still following them."

"Yep," she confirmed, and they said nothing else to each other for the rest of the trip.


"So what do you think it is?" Wendy asked as she peered through a set of binoculars at the meet below. It was an abandoned farm house just off a side road that had taken them two hours to drive to, and they were parked on a hill above. "Drugs? I'll bet it's drugs."

"Nah." Stephanie looked through her own binoculars, one of the few gadgets she had left after the raid on Firewall. Another was the directional microphone that was built into the hood and wired into the speaker system. "From what I've heard, Jason lets other people manage the drug trade and offers them protection. Or at least he did before he just started killing everybody, anyway."

Proxy lowered the binoculars and glanced over at her. "I thought you were away for all that."

"I'm a pretty good student when it comes to Bat history."

"Unlike actual history."

"Hey, I'll have you know I managed a solid B average in that class." She wagged her finger in protest. "Even though I don't actually remember anything from it."

"And here I thought all that scholarship money was going to waste."

"It is now. Can't exactly go to school when I'm on the lam, now can I?"

"You could try taking online classes."

Stephanie was about to launch an appropriately witty retort when the people she assumed were the suppliers pulled up in two white vans and started unloading several large boxes.

"Okay, it's definitely not drugs," admitted Wendy. "Looks more like... weapons."

"Yep," she agreed. "Big weapons."

Jason strode closer to one of the boxes, and Stephanie turned up the volume on the directional mic.

"That's everything?" he asked, and the supplier nodded. "You don't mind if I inspect it a bit first?"

"Not at all. Long as the check clears."

She could see Jason's smirk from here. "Not to worry, Dominick. You'll get what's coming to you."

"Uh-oh," she whispered. There was no way that sentence did not have a double meaning.

He opened the crate and pulled out an AK-47, sliding a magazine into it and pulling back the bolt to check the ammo, then hammered it back into place with his palm.

Then he opened fire.

The sound of gunshots nearly deafened them, and she had to turn the speakers off. Within seconds, the arms dealers were lying dead on the ground, and she turned the microphone back on.

"Okay, boys." Jason leaned the assault rifle against his shoulder. "Let's get this loaded up and back to the plane. We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

The men nodded their assent and got to work stuffing the crates into the SUV. Steph and Wendy stared at them dumbly.

"You still wanna look the other way?" Proxy asked venomously.

Stephanie sighed. "If we go down there now it won't end pretty," she said. "Right now we need Jason's help. That's all there is to it."

"Can't believe I came back from Nanda Parbat for this."


Detective Gage's phone started ringing as soon as he got to the second crime scene.

"Gage."

"Got some more info on the homeowner after I checked with the neighbors," Officer Jackson's voice informed him. "Agnes Bellinger was her birth name, but she goes by Crystal Brown. Turns out she works at West Mercy Hospital."

"That explains the whereabouts."

"Yeah, but here's the weird thing: her shift ended eight hours ago. She was most likely home when the incident occurred."

"Okay, that is a little weird." He started to apply the brakes. "I'll stop by the hospital later anyway, just in case."

He stopped his car a few yards short of the fire truck and ambulance that had arrived on scene some time ago. An officer named Gerald Conrad came to meet him as he stepped out. He was mixed-race, the son of an African-American mother and Irish-American father, and his name tended to lead people to expect a... different person before they actually met him. Nick was a little embarrassed to admit that he had committed that mistake.

"Fire under control yet?"

"Fire units were the first ones to respond to the scene, so it's just about taken care of."

"Good. We know who the apartment belonged to?"

He shook his head. "To be perfectly honest, Detective, everyone in this part of town is pretty much a glorified squatter. Property manager's lazy as hell and doesn't keep good records. All she could tell me was the tenant was a white male, six-foot-three, two-hundred-thirty pounds of rock hard muscle. My guess is he would've defended himself."

"Which explains the bodies in the alley." It was a simple conclusion really, considering that the first victim had been an assailant who was repelled. "They must have come after him. Any distinguishing features?"

"Not really," Officer Conrad replied. "She didn't even know his name, and nobody in Crime Alley uses their real one anyway."

It wasn't much to go on, but he still had other leads to chase. "I'd like to examine the bodies while we're waiting for the fire to go out."

"By all means."

He knelt down over the bodies of the two victims. One had been impaled in a similar manner to the first victim he had seen this morning, while another was pinned to the asphalt by a sword that had been stabbed through her shoulder. Neither was alive.

There were bloodstains all over the pavement, which suggested a large battle had taken place. "What the hell happened here?"

"Hey, don't ask me."

"Have you at least asked the neighbors?"

"Yeah, but they didn't see much. All they saw was him running down the hallway with some blonde girl in the same uniform as these girls just before the apartment exploded. By the time they got down the fire escapes they found these two lying in the alleyway and everybody else was gone."

"Blonde?" he repeated out loud, and was about to ask him for further details when he spotted movement behind a trash bin. "Wait here." He drew his sidearm and advanced.

He got in front of the trash bin and lowered his gun when he saw what was behind it. It was another schoolgirl, and she was bleeding quite profusely near her neck. Her once white blouse had been stained a deep scarlet, and she was cradling a knife in her hands. She did not seem to be in great shape.

"Get the paramedics!" he ordered. "I found a survivor!"

Officer Conrad obeyed and relayed the request over the radio. Nick stepped closer to the girl.

"It's okay," he said soothingly, holstering the gun. "You're safe now. I know you must be in shock, but can you tell me what..." He stopped talking when she rose up and came straight at him with the knife. "Whoa!"

Despite losing at least a pint of blood, she tackled him with almost inhuman speed, far too quickly for him to draw his pistol again. "We are dead!" she shouted in a crazed voice, raising the knife above her head like some kind of ritualistic dagger. He raised his arm to shield himself.

Bang!

The girl dropped to the side with a bullet hole through her temple. He sat there for a second before scrambling to his feet and looking over at Officer Conrad, who had drawn his weapon and fired on instinct. "Thanks." He looked down at the girl. "Too bad, though. I wanted to ask her some questions."

"Wouldn't have gotten the opportunity anyway if she'd killed you."

"Good point." At least this confirmed his suspicions that the schoolgirls were trained killers.

"Cancel the paramedics," Officer Conrad said into the radio. "Send the coroner."

"Detective!" one of the firemen called from the entrance of the alley. "Get over here! Found something you might wanna see!"

He acquiesced, jogging to the end of the alley. "What is it?"

"We found this in the apartment." The fireman handed him a bright red helmet, covered in soot and slightly warped by the heat. "Mean anything to you?"

Detective Gage froze. He may not have been in Gotham as long as some of the force, but he had done his homework. He knew exactly what this was.

"Well, we've got an ID on the apartment owner, at least. But how is this connected with...?" He turned to Officer Conrad. "You said the neighbors spotted him with a blonde woman, right?"

He nodded.

"Son of a bitch." He finally remembered the last time he had heard the name Brown. A young, very blonde college student had once walked in on him snooping through Barbara Gordon's files, and had introduced herself as Stephanie Brown. The same Stephanie Brown, he was sure, whose house had just been broken into this morning.

The pieces were starting to come together. "Get the bodies bagged and tagged and delivered to the GCPD forensics lab." He started racing back to his car. "I've got one more stop to make."


"Well, here we are," said Jason as he opened the door to their hotel suite. "Pretty good place to pass the night, wouldn't you say?"

She had to admit, it did look pretty luxurious. The floors and walls were tiled with white marble, and the size of just one room easily dwarfed her house. A giant television screen was the first thing that caught her eye, as well as the dark red couch. There was a door on the right that led to the bedroom.

They had met at the lobby of the hotel after Jason and the crew had finished transporting the guns back to the plane. She did not mention that she and Wendy had been spying on him.

"I guess," She walked further inside, spinning around to examine the room some more. "But did you have to tell them we were newlyweds?"

He shrugged. "Only way to get the honeymoon suite. Besides, it makes a good cover story."

"And where did you get the money for this room if the bank's not open till tomorrow?"

"I didn't. They don't bill you here until you check out."

"Well in that case, why didn't you just go for the penthouse?"

"Don't want to attract too much attention." He sat down on the couch. "Besides, I gave your two girlfriends that one."

"Ah." She plopped down next to him.

"So what do you say we break this place in like proper newlyweds?" he suggested with a grin. "You know, to keep up appearances?"

Stephanie shook her head and looked away.

He frowned. "Something wrong?"

'Yeah, I was just reminded that you're still a super-criminal and I have no idea what I was thinking getting myself involved in this.' Steph decided not to say it. She had gotten better at keeping her monologues internal, at least.

"No, it's just... I'm really tired," she told him instead. "Let's just have dinner and go to bed."

Jason laughed. "Now you're acting like we're married."


Barbara wheeled herself into West Mercy hospital with her brow furrowed. She had not had a very nice morning, and she had a few words for Mrs. Brown. She did not care that such anger should have been directed at Stephanie herself; she could not reach her, so she had to make do with her mother. Then again, Crystal would probably end up getting just as angry with her daughter.

Good. She needed company.

She proceeded up the elevator to the third floor Nurse's Station. "Can I help you?" the nurse behind the desk inquired.

"I'm looking for Nurse Brown," she uttered tersely.

The nurse frowned at the mention of that name, but proceeded to ask her the standard battery of questions.

"Name?"

"Barbara Gordon."

"Relation?"

"Friend of the family."

The nurse sighed and passed her a clipboard. "Sign this." She did so, and handed it back. "She's in room 302. But she's got a visitor."

Barbara blinked. A visitor? Why should that matter? "Who?"

"Police Detective," the nurse answered. "Cute one, too." Her frown persisted. "You'll have to wait 'till he's done."

She glared. "I don't know if you caught the last name, but I'm the Police Commissioner's daughter." She was not in the mood for any delays. "I'm going in there now. Stop me if you can."

The nurse shrugged. "Whatever."

With that obstacle vanquished, Barbara propelled herself into room 302, ready to unleash the fury that had been building up all morning. When she opened the door, however, whatever words she had planned to say slipped away from her like ashes in the wind.

Crystal Brown was lying on the bed in front of her, attached to a respirator and heart monitor. Her torso was heavily bandaged, and at the moment she was unconscious.

"Hey," Detective Nick Gage greeted as soon as he saw her. "What brings you here?"

She had forgotten. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Murder investigation," he answered. "A teenager was found dead in this woman's house this morning with a sword through her gut." He paused, frowning. "Guess somebody must have avenged her."

Barbara stared at the barely moving body on the hospital bed, and in that moment she understood exactly why Stephanie Brown had chosen to flee the country.


Jason's eyes opened slowly, and he examined the darkened room to see if anybody was watching him. Once he had determined that the coast was clear, he sat up, trying to think. He usually slept like a log unless there was some reason for him to be up. Most of the time it involved someone staring at him, but he had already ruled that out.

Some of his mind's sharper faculties had returned by then and reminded him that Stephanie had been lying down next to him when he went to sleep. He stood up and ventured across the room to investigate. As he neared the bathroom he heard noise coming from within, and when he pressed his ear to the door, he discerned that it was running water. He waited for several minutes for her to come out, but the water continued to run far longer than it should have.

He sighed. Privacy be damned; if she was in trouble in there, he would never forgive himself. The door was unlocked, so he turned the handle slowly and opened it. Stephanie was standing in front of the sink, scrubbing her hands obsessively. He could see that some of her skin had been rubbed raw, and would bleed soon if she did not stop.

She turned to look at him, and from the redness around her eyes he could tell that she had been crying.

"It won't come out," she said in the form of a squeak, continuing to rub her hands vigorously.

Jason sighed again and stepped forward, turning off the sink. Stephanie stood there for a moment before completely breaking down, wrapping her arms around his torso and sobbing violently into his chest. A few moments passed before he embraced her in return, running one hand up and down her back as she continued to weep.

"It's okay," he whispered as he held her tighter, not caring what had brought about this fit of emotion, only that she was hurting and needed comfort. "Everything's going to be okay."