Commitment (Part Three)
By TheLostMaximoff
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. Happy Thanksgiving to all and hope you enjoy this new chapter that I'm typing up instead of working on my paper. R/R.
Last night hadn't been good. Cass shook her head slightly. Put bluntly, last night had sucked. She tried to stop remembering the nightmares that plagued her sleep. She had nightmares sometimes, it was a given. But usually those nightmares were about the man she had killed years ago and they usually didn't make her this apprehensive. But these were . . . jumbled. She couldn't quite remember them clearly. Something about Tim and her being scared. There was plenty of her being scared, she remembered that part. But why Tim? Cass shook her head and hit the punching bag again. Training helped her focus, helped her clear her mind. Two more punches followed the first and then a roundhouse kick. The images from her nightmares were still there and she tried to concentrate harder on the bag. She needed "the zone" now. She needed to feel at home. She hit another punch-kick combination and then gave the bag a few short jabs. Right cross then left hook. Focus. Cass forced herself to focus but it didn't seem to work. Images flashed behind her eyes. Tim, fear, crying, blood. She tried to focus. Her style was off now, gaps forming in her combos where there should normally be only smooth perfection. She went for another roundhouse but suddenly the bag wasn't the bag anymore. Suddenly, she was kicking at Tim. Her mind panicked and she curved the kick away. She stood there gasping and staring at the bag. It wasn't Tim anymore.
"What's wrong . . .?" panted Cass in disbelief, "What's wrong . . . with me?"
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"And you're sure they stayed in the cloud long enough?" asked Scarecrow.
"Yeah, timed it just like you said," replied one of the goons from the bank robbery, "Plenty of exposure." Scarecrow nodded, a mirthful grin playing across his lips. Delicious, very delicious indeed.
"We'll have to see it in action," stated Scarecrow giddily, "I want to make sure they got enough exposure."
"You want us to stage another heist?" asked the thug skeptically.
"Not stage one, dear boy," corrected Scarecrow, "I believe it's time to throw away the theatrics and get down to business." He was almost salivating at the thought of what the second dose would produce. The moment of truth was almost at hand. At last he would have his escape from his weariness.
"There's an armored car coming in tonight," said the thug, "Hit it?"
"Whatever works," replied Scarecrow dismissively, "Go for the money this time. I'm sure Cobblepot will be pleased if you up the return on his investment." The thug nodded and left to get in touch with more men. Scarecrow turned back to the small workspace he had set up in the warehouse he was using while in Bludhaven. He stared at the bubbling beakers and strange vials of liquid. Was this really all of Jonathan Crane's life here on this paltry table? What a waste of brilliance. He checked himself. The play was not yet finished. One final act, the grand finale. He would leave with a ringing chorus of screams. He would leave with everyone whispering his name in fear forever. He was nothing before he became the Scarecrow. He would end his criminal career as a god, the new god of fear.
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He opened the door to his apartment and almost jumped out of his skin to find Cassandra Cain sitting on his couch. He had been on edge all day but he couldn't figure out why.
"Geez, Cass," said Tim as he tried to catch his breath, "Gimme a heart attack here." Cass gave him a worried look but didn't know why it was worried.
"Hey, it was a joke," said Tim as he saw Cass frown, "C'mon, you know I was kidding."
"I know but . . .," said Cass as she shook her head and tried to explain. In her dream, something bad had happened to Tim and it scared the hell out of her. She still wasn't exactly sure how to deal with that.
"Something wrong?" asked Tim, "That why you're here?"
"I dunno," explained Cass, "Not much else . . . to do."
"Oh," said Tim. He realized suddenly that Cass lived a very solitary existence. He wondered if she was lonely. He felt the apprehension creep over him again. Maybe that's what she was trying to say by getting him the present. Maybe that's why she was here now. But he couldn't be with her, not like that. The thought of it alone made him extremely nervous. It was too soon, much too soon.
"You're nervous," stated Cass, "Why?"
"It's nothing," assured Tim as he tried to calm himself, "Just stress."
"Oh," said Cass, not wanting to tell him that she didn't buy it. To tell the truth, she was suddenly nervous too. She kept thinking about the dream and it scared her. She didn't want to lose Tim. He was one of the few real friends she had left and she really cared about him.
"I . . . uhm . . . I got your present," said Tim with a little grin.
"Oh?" asked Cass, "You like?"
"Yeah," said Tim, "I mean I've seen the movie before but it's been such a long time ago. Now I can watch it whenever I want." Cass smiled, pleased that he was happy. She liked seeing him happy again.
"Thanks," said Tim, "It was really nice of you."
"No problem," replied Cass, "Couple hours till dark. You wanna watch it?" She noticed the sudden shift in his demeanor. Apprehension, nervousness, uncertainty. He was . . . afraid of her? He never was afraid of her before, why now? Had she done something wrong?
"I can't," said Tim, "Homework." There was some truth to that. He knew though that it was mostly a lie. He was nervous about . . . about being with another girl. He knew what Steph would've called it. They had fought about it a few times. Fear of commitment, fear of being tied down. He was afraid to be with another girl. He was afraid in general right now. Best to retreat, return to his reclusive ways, ways that he had learned from a master. He was not proud that he used some of Bruce's methods or that he had picked up some bad habits from his mentor but they worked.
"Okay," said Cass simply, "See you later." She moved to the door as he retreated towards his bedroom. They both stopped and lingered, turning to look at one another but trying not to let the other know.
"Cass, I . . . I didn't mean it that way," explained Tim dejectedly, "You know I'd love to watch it with you. But you know, duty calls and stuff."
"I know," said Cass quietly. Tim felt liked it wasn't enough.
"Come out with me tonight," said Tim, "All night, you and me. We'll do everything together. We kick butt, crack jokes, stop the bad guys, and then watch the movie when we get back. Is it a date?" He barely was able to phrase the question in those terms but he forced it out anyway.
"Okay," said Cass with a small, nervous smile. She couldn't shake her dream. What if something happened to him tonight? What if she lost him? What if when she walked out this door she never saw him again? She choked out the doubts. It was a dream and nothing more. She had to stop this.
"You okay?" asked Tim.
"I'm fine," assured Cass, "Gotta . . . get my costume. I'll be back . . . later."
"Okay," said Tim, "I promise I'll be done soon."
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Tim had been true to his word and had finished in an hour. Cass felt oddly strange to be swinging around with him. Was it . . . what were those things called? Was this like a date? She didn't exactly know; she had never been on a real date before. She wondered if anyone in her line of work went on real dates.
"Having fun?" asked Robin as the duo perched on top of an office building and stared at the streets of Bludhaven. Batgirl smiled under her mask. Only Tim could make a place like Bludhaven cheerful.
"Sure am," replied Batgirl. It had been a good night. There hadn't been anything out of the ordinary, nothing they couldn't handle if they had been alone. It had been a good night, something they both seemed to need.
"There's an armored car coming in," said Robin, "Could be trouble."
"We'll manage," assured Batgirl. She almost hated it that they had work to do. She never thought she would hate being Batgirl. But tonight, she just felt like being Cassandra Cain. She regretted now that she didn't have enough time as Cass. She missed being Cass.
"We should stay with it," said Robin as he eyed the car, "Just to make sure."
"Alright," agreed Batgirl. Robin smiled. He was enjoying this. Honestly, this had been the most fun he'd had in a while. It was weird to think that swinging around in spandex was fun but tonight it was. Until, of course, he saw the hooded men suddenly appear and begin brandishing their firearms.
"Damn," muttered Robin, "Never a dull moment." He hooked his line to a building and began to swing down into the fray. Batgirl followed suit.
"Man, you guys are impatient," said Robin as he landed in the middle of the goons, "You couldn't even wait for it to get to the bank."
"You won't talk so tough after I blow your head off," said one of the thugs as he pointed his gun at Robin's head. The thug let out a spray of bullets as Tim quickly tumbled and ducked behind a car. He heard someone cry out and saw one of the security guards clutch his chest and go down.
"Hell," muttered Robin, momentarily noticing that his language was getting worse, "These clowns have cop-killer bullets." It was always a nasty scene when thugs got their hands on armor-piercing ammunition. He knew he had to disarm them quickly.
"Batgirl, these guys have cop-killers," warned Robin as he popped out from behind the car and let some tangle grenades fly as he made his way over to the fallen security guard, "Watch your back." Batgirl nodded and flipped to dodge a spray of bullets. She hated guns. They were cowardly. She heard the pop of Robin's tangle bombs and jumped towards the goons. She nailed one in the jaw with a flying kick and then turned, spin-kicking the other thug.
"I hate . . . guns," muttered Batgirl as she dove for cover to avoid gunfire. Robin finished checking the guard, grimacing that he was already dead. His insignia darts whirled through the air and disarmed the men. He leapt into their midst and began taking out his anger as his bo staff began slamming against skulls left and right. So far so good, minus the dead man of course. He wondered when things were going to get really tough. They always got worse. He felt a slow dread crawl and creep over him. What was going on with him lately? Why was he so nervous all the time? It couldn't be a coincidence. It had to mean something.
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She was getting sloppy. Batgirl didn't' know how or why it was happening but she could see it clearly. Just like with training earlier that day. There were gaps in her style, gaps so big you could drive a truck through them. She punched a thug in the face and he didn't go down. The hit should've been harder. She couldn't focus. Batgirl fought the nervousness, tried to keep from shaking. She hit the man again and this time he went down.
"Batgirl, move!" She whirled to her right and saw it. The thug had the pistol pointed straight at her head. Only the thug wasn't a thug anymore. It was . . . Robin?
"Tim?" whispered Batgirl, "No, not Tim." Her mind flashed back to when they had infiltrated one of Penguin's meetings. Robin held the gun at her and pulled the trigger. It was play-acting, just like the fight between them that preceded the shooting, but it didn't mean she wasn't scared. She was taught to resist flinching when someone shot at her. When Tim did so that night, however, she had flinched. Her father wouldn't have been proud of her for that.
Batgirl remembered all this and it made her freeze as she once again saw Robin with a gun pointed straight at her. She tried telling herself that it wasn't really him, telling herself to attack, telling herself just to move in general. She couldn't though. She was paralyzed and she was going to die. The crack of the pistol, however, wasn't the only sound Batgirl head. She heard the sound of her body hitting the ground as someone tackled her to the pavement. It was all she could do to keep herself from having a panic attack.
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Robin tackled Batgirl to the ground mere seconds before the shot was fired. He didn't check yet to see if she was okay. One of his darts quickly disarmed the man. Robin grabbed the thug by the collar and slammed him up against the armored car.
"Take another shot at her and I will put you in the hospital," said Robin as he stared the thug in the eyes menacingly before delivering the knockout blow. He sounded tougher than he actually felt. Inside, Tim Drake was a nervous wreck. Robin quickly went back over to check on Batgirl.
"You okay?" asked Robin, "No wounds?" He noticed that Batgirl was shaking, trembling. He never saw Cass gets scared before in his life.
"I . . . I'm okay," said Batgirl in between ragged breaths. She knew she was shaking and saw Tim was too.
"Something is wrong," stated Robin, his hands trembling, "Something is really, really wrong." Batgirl could only nod, too afraid to speak.
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They went back to Tim's place. Cass felt bad. Everything had been going so well and then this had to screw everything up. Then she had to screw everything up.
"Okay," said Tim, trying to calm himself, "Okay." He knew that something was amiss. Nothing had felt right all day.
"Something happened to us," explained Tim, "Drugs?" The question was more to himself than Cass. He was in thinking mode now but it was being undermined by his fear.
"Tim, I . . .," said Cass. She didn't know what to say. He saved her life. But there was more than that to the story. In those few seconds before he saved her, Cass realized something. She didn't know exactly what it was. She and Tim were . . . connected. It wasn't friends. It was . . . something more, something better.
"Had to be some chemical," said Tim to himself, "But how did it get in us?"
"Tim, I . . . I have to tell you," said Cass, "I don't . . . don't know how to."
"How to what?" asked Tim as he looked at her, "Cass, something wrong?"
"Tim, I was about to die," explained Cass, "You . . . saved my life. You do . . . so many things . . . all for me." Tim stared at her quizzically as Cass tried to make the things in her head into words. It was so frustrating for her.
"Cass, what are you trying to tell me?" asked Tim. She didn't care anymore. Forget words and sentences and syllables. Cass knew one language and one language alone: the language of movement and action. So she acted. She quickly moved to him and kissed him. She didn't know how it was done and didn't care. The kiss was forceful, demanding. Cass wanted Tim to know what she felt. She poured all her emotion into one kiss and let him have it.
"C-Cass?" asked Tim as he suddenly pulled back, "What?"
"Love you," whispered Cass, "I love you, Tim." He couldn't say anything. He just stood there for a few moments, too stunned to say anything.
"I'm always . . . scared," struggled Cass, "You . . . I don't want to . . . you can't leave like Steph. Not like that, please."
"Cass, I . . .," began Tim, "I care about you too but. . .."
"Not care," corrected Cass, "Love. I love you. Big, huge letters."
"Cass, I can't deal with this right now," explained Tim, "Besides, there's some chemical inside us and it's screwing with our heads. You had to have felt its affects all day like me."
"Not that," said Cass as she shook her head violently, "Tim, this is . . . this is real and I . . . I want this, want you."
"I can't," said Tim, "You know what happened to Steph and my dad because of the fact that I'm Robin. Everybody who gets close to me dies."
"Stop being scared," snapped Cass suddenly, "You keep everyone . . . you push them away. Stop being scared because . . . I won't leave."
"You almost died tonight," stated Tim, "You said it yourself. Everyone's going to leave some day." His voice shook as he said it. It was true and every day he made himself remember it. He was scared to love someone again.
"I feel," stated Cass, "I'm scared too. You . . . you let it run your life. Stop." She wanted this so much, maybe as much as being like Bruce. Maybe she wanted this more than the mantle of the Bat. Why couldn't he see the things she could? She knew he cared for her. She could see it and could tell it scared him. But she couldn't hide this any longer and she knew it was time for him to stop running away from it.
"You don't know how it feels," said Tim sorrowfully, "You don't know what it's like to wake up with her lips still on yours. You don't know what it's like to hear the echo of her laugh or see the faded image of her smile. You don't know . . .."
"I have blood . . . on my hands too!" snapped Cass as she put her mask back on and moved to the window, "Don't tell me that . . . I don't know what that's like." She opened the window and shot out a line. She didn't care anymore. Cass couldn't fight with words and she didn't want to fight Tim with fists. So she backed down for once in her life.
"Cass," said Tim as he moved to the window and she swung away, "Wait." It was too late, too late to stop being an idiot. Tim put his head in his hands as he sat down at a table. Why did he have to be such an idiot? He was a detective for God's sake. Why did he have to be so stupid?
"C'mon, Drake," said Tim to himself, "Get it together and suck it up, you pansy." Where had the chemical come from? It had to have happened some time yesterday. What happened yesterday?
"The bank robbery," muttered Tim, "The smoke bombs?" That had to be it. If he wasn't so damn nervous about everything he would've figured it out sooner. If he wasn't so afraid then maybe he could've handled things better back there with Cass. Afraid. Tim pondered that. Fear. Chemical warfare. Two plus two still created four.
"Oh God, Crane's in town," muttered Tim. That had to be it. It had to be the Scarecrow's work. Tim figured the psycho must've cooked up some new toxin and hidden it in the smoke. Crane was a master at chemical warfare, it wouldn't be beyond his skill.
"Gotta find Cass," muttered Tim, his hands shaking as he moved to the window and shot out a line, "Gotta make sure she's okay." He had to find her. If the Scarecrow had some new weapons, who knows what he could do if he caught her off guard. He wouldn't let that happen, not again. Nobody was going to die because of Tim Drake.