Hey sorry for the long delay folks, and that this is a bit of a shorter chapter. Hope everyone's doing well!
I remember it now, it takes me back to when it all first started
But I've only got myself to blame for it, and I accept it now
It's time to let it go, go out and start again
But it's not that easy
-Kodaline, "High Hopes"
Now.
When Stephanie emerged from behind the clock, the first thing she spotted was a giant portrait hanging over the fireplace, depicting a smiling man and woman: Bruce Wayne's deceased parents, most likely. Her head poked out cautiously, marveling at how majestic the manor's interior was. She approached an expensive-looking crystal ornament on the desk, and was about to pick it up to admire it when she heard a voice clear its throat reproachfully behind her:
"Ms. Brown, I presume?"
Steph fumbled in alarm and hastily aborted the action; nearly dropping the item by accident as she frantically stabilized it and whirled around to face what appeared to be Bruce Wayne's butler, judging by the elderly man's neatly pressed suit and stiff, distinguished aura. He elevated an eyebrow at her antics, but remained composed as he addressed formally to inform her:
"There is a guest waiting for you in the parlor. If you would please follow me."
Steph blinked in confusion, but nevertheless complied as he led her down the hall. She wondered who he could possibly be referring to. As her mind ran over potential candidates one by one, nerves began to steadily race, heart thumping at a panicked pace. Surely it wouldn't be her mother…?
When she saw the person standing there though, she immediately arrested, freezing cold in flustered recognition. While it wasn't her mom exactly, it might as well have been game over.
"O- officer, I can explain. I swear this isn't what it looks like…"
Her arms flailed wildly as she prevaricated, painfully aware of the Commissioner's pupils concentrated on the costume she was wearing. Barbara simply smiled softly.
"Please, relax, Stephanie. I'm not here to arrest you. I just came by to lend you these."
She presented a set of civilian clothing, to which Steph stared in surprise.
"If there's one thing I learned out in the field, it's good to always keep a spare change handy somewhere available you can easily access. Never know when you might be caught needing one."
Stephanie tentatively took the officer's extended offering, still completely bewildered by it.
"I… don't understand."
Barbara cocked her head.
"You mean you haven't figured it out yet?"
Stephanie gazed blankly at the woman before her, studying her expectant expression and auburn hair, before the pieces gradually began to come together, clicking belatedly into place. Her jaw plummeted to the floor, as the bundle nearly did from her hands as well.
"You're Batgirl," she gasped, gaping wide open as she pointed straight at her and turned to the butler; dreamily repeating the deduction in disbelief, as if seeking second confirmation. "She's Batgirl."
"And I thought Batman was the detective."
He drolled, distinctly unimpressed by her latent logical reasoning.
"Took you long enough," Barbara chuckled mildly.
Stephanie reeled in reverence at this revelation.
"I have – so many questions."
The redhead held up her hand to pause the conversation, putting it temporarily on hold.
"There's a lot we should probably discuss. For now though, why don't you get changed first. Then we can talk."
Stephanie nodded dumbly, and the butler directed her to the privacy of the nearest washroom, where she promptly did as she was told and shed her vegetable skin as fast as she could, donning the unfamiliar attire instead – which consisted solely of a plain black T-shirt and pair of jeans, plus a GSU sweatshirt for insulation. When she returned to the room, the outfit's original owner was seated on the sofa, sedately sipping a cup of tea as the butler poured another and placed it on the opposite side of the square table.
"Oh good. They fit," Barbara relieved as she looked up. "They're my old clothes from back when I was in college, so I wasn't sure if they'd be the right size."
Stephanie sensed they were probably a little looser around the chest area, but she didn't dare point that out.
"Come. Sit down. Have some tea."
Steph obeyed the charitable beckon and took a chair, mutely accepting the drink without actually downing any. She continued to gawk at the other female across from her, struggling to find words, where to even start. Swallowing, she eventually settled on something else that had been bugging her brain.
"So, does this mean Dick Grayson is…?"
"-Was Nightwing," Barbara answered duly – dully – without delay. "Previously the former Robin."
Stephanie amazed, still in awe at it all.
"I mean, I kinda figured, since they were both adopted by Mr. Wayne. But this, I mean – meeting you – I never even realized – wow." She inclined forward, eyes sincerely shining. "You were like, my idol as a kid."
A small partial smile manifested on Barbara's face, before being supplanted by bitter sadness as her tone hardened significantly.
"Now you've seen where that idol worship led Tim to."
Stephanie lowered her visage in acknowledgement, lamenting into the liquid.
"I take it you know most everything now."
She nodded slowly.
"…Batman showed me the tapes."
"And? What do you think?"
"I think…" Steph bit her lip as she reflected, realizing to her horror the sheer amount of inadvertent injury she had to have unwittingly caused. "…I must have hurt Tim a lot without knowing."
Barbara set her saucer down on the counter, folding fingers firmly on top of her crossed kneecaps as she regarded the newly made accessory with frank seriousness.
"So what do you plan to do now with this information?"
Stephanie gulped at the gravity in her tenor, rolling over her tongue as she mused and mulled over everything she'd just witnessed. Endeavoring to choose precisely the correct phrasing as she crafted her response with care, before raising her chin resolutely.
"I… want to tell Tim… that it's okay. It's not his fault. It doesn't change the way I feel about him at all."
A reassured beam radiated from Barbara's countenance.
"I'm glad to hear it. And," she added, indicating towards the creased uniform lying beside Stephanie on the couch, "What do you intend to do about that?"
Stephanie laid a palm on the purple ensemble that she had been so proud of making, gently smoothing over folds.
"A part of me – stupidly – thought that… maybe it might give Robin some – some hope. If he saw it, it'd inspire him to come back from… wherever he went. But," she closed her eyes, sighing. "Tim was right about one thing. If it causes him this much pain to be reminded of, then it's not worth it."
Barbara softened at the sacrificial gesture.
"You know it's also because he's worried about you. …We all are."
"I know."
Stephanie quietly surveyed the older woman, who certainly wore the worn look now not of admonishing authority, but of a concerned guardian purely wanting to keep her kids – people she cared about – safe. Supervisor before superhero. …Who had failed in that protective role once before, and regretted it ever since. She may not have been her mother per se, but Steph was acquainted with that alike, apologetic air all too well.
"To be honest, I'm kinda relieved a bit. I mean, I almost assumed you were a past girlfriend or something at first."
She admitted sheepishly, sinking her blush into her beverage as she finally took a sip.
Barbara's mouth twitched marginally in her own embarrassment.
"Rest assured, nothing of the sort ever occurred between us. …Although I was in fact his first kiss," she openly confessed, leaning a cheek coyly into her palm.
There was a loud clatter as Stephanie instantly plopped the mug back on the platter, sputtering and nearly spitting onto the rug as she choked, beating knuckles forcefully against her breast.
"It was nothing more than that though," Barbara quickly consoled. "We were both intoxicated, and I was the one who initiated it. Tim was a total gentleman about it, he prevented it from going any further."
Stephanie couldn't help but receive some minor amount of amusement from the anecdote.
"That sounds like Tim all right," she managed to hoarsely giggle through clogged windpipes.
Barbara shared a semi-mirthful smirk.
"Don't worry, I would never consciously pursue that kind of relationship with him. Believe me, I'm done dating guys outside my age range."
Her sight shifted, flicking subtly towards a photograph of the master of the house on the bookshelf. Stephanie stunned again.
"You don't mean – you and Bruce Wayne?"
Barbara said nothing as she traced the teacup's porcelain rim before lifting to her tightened lips again, though a tiny tic tugged at the corners. Stephanie sank back into the cushions in shock. She felt like her skull was just about to explode from all the exposition. Talk about information overload.
"This is… a lot to take in."
"Welcome to our world, Ms. Brown."
Barbara declared with a measuredly calm demeanor.
At that moment, the lady's eyes lit at something over Steph's shoulder, and she swiveled her neck to see Tim had materialized like a ghost in the doorway behind her. He stood there in utter silence, shuffling his feet reluctantly and rubbing his scruff, looking half-scared to enter, half-stupefied to see her still there.
"Steph, I-"
Stephanie flew off the furniture and raced towards him before he could finish, flinging her limbs around him.
"It's okay, Tim." She whispered, burying deep into his collar and crying candidly as she squeezed him as tight as she could, refusing to let go. "It's okay. I'm just… glad you're okay."
He was far from okay. But he let her hold him like that for as long as she needed. As he needed. Wrapping shyly in reciprocation, feeling the light pressure and warmth of mirrored heartbeats connect to the core, until the resonating rhythm convinced that they were both, at the very least, alive and near each other.
When she broke away from the melted contact and dried her tears at last, Tim's narrowed vision slid past, locking with Barbara's as she stood up and walked towards him on the way to the exit. She stopped right beside, neither quite honestly meeting the other's eyes.
"…You knew this would happen, didn't you?"
"He pulled the same trick with me and Dick, remember." Barbara exhaled, slanting irises aside. "…Do you hate me now?"
Tim shook his head.
"I don't know." He clenched his fists, experiencing a (justifiably) muddled mix of hurt and anger and frustration over blatant betrayal – double-cross – but also an overwhelming sense of release to ultimately no longer have to hide secrets anymore. "I just… need some time to talk to Steph. Alone."
"I understand."
She started to leave, and Stephanie called to her to halt.
"Wait, before you go… Can you take this for me too?"
She hurried back to the lounger and grabbed the discarded garb.
"Of course," Barbara agreed, tucking it into her bag to replace the garments she'd let the other borrow. "I'll hold onto it at my house. You can come pick it up when you return those; ah, there's no rush, whenever you like. …If you still care for it, that is."
Stephanie shook her head, clearly making a show of relinquishment for Tim's sake.
"Keep it. I won't be needing it anymore."
Barbara nodded and headed out ahead of them, and the butler bowed on cue to escort her to the door as well, leaving the two be for the time being. Tim took a step forward as he absorbed the homely atmosphere of the living room, occupying the very spot on the carpet where he would once lazily lie on his stomach with a propped pillow and bowl of popcorn, doing his "homework" while casually watching television. Bruce would come by to switch the distraction box off to his annoyance and launch into yet another lecture, coldly scolding on poor academic performance, only to be cheekily chided back by a mere child.
"You don't know the first thing about the American justice system, do you?"
"I know it's bogus."
"And how did you come to that well-thought-out conclusion?"
"Watching you."
Tim crossed over to the bookcase, examining the number of framed photos as he hoisted one containing a memory of a beaming young Bruce with his mother and father. He wiped absently at the glass, taking note there were no similar records of his – or Dick's – presence, as if all trace evidence of their stay had been erased, save for the mourning memorial cases downstairs.
"You were just a boy when you lost your family. But you keep trying to create a surrogate family for yourself. To destroy you, I need only destroy that. Perhaps your… beloved surrogate son."
Tim recalled the still image – freeze frame – of Freeze's ray gun being aimed directly at him, the frozen fear he felt at that time (to be caught without costume or cool gadgets to bestow him courage), and Bruce's big, strong paw moving to draw him defensively behind his broad back. His shield and shelter. Savior.
Stephanie crept towards him as he positioned the picture glumly back on the ledge. She could only imagine what must be going through his head and heart right now, but she could tell he was hurting just by being here. Determinedly, she took his hand in the heat of hers, comforting cold and shivering skin (despite the mansion's cozy conditioning), committed to getting him away from this toxic environment. …If not for good.
"Come on," she stated as she dragged him towards the grand staircase the other two had taken, guessing they would eventually guide to the entrance. "Let's get out of here."
And in my dreams, I meet the ghosts
Of all the people who have come and gone
Memories, they seem to show up so quick
But they leave you far too soon
Naïve I was just staring at the barrel of a gun