{{So I've been pretty gloom and defeat on the few times I have posted as of late. Life hasn't gotten much better and the story isn't exactly reflecting a cheerful shift (this isn't a recent development, my personal life has never altered any of my plans for this story.) But on the matter of some good news: I've actually just finished my first publisher-ready fantasy novel, 320 pages, 80,000+ words. So, you know, something with my own characters, my own symbols and ideas and it's extremely exciting! I'm sure I'm still a long way from having a product to sell, as I now have to deal with publishers and stuff, but it's coming along beautifully. More on that if I get more good news on the matter.}}

With the cast off and rehabilitation complete, Cassandra only had one thing left to do before she took to the streets again. It was early November, the air had just become brisk and she traveled to Saint Michael's by bus. It was a Thursday afternoon, reconciliation would begin at four.

Cassandra had not said much to her friends and family about her experiences alone with the radio day and night. She quieted it any time Alfred came with food or Bruce checked her reflexes. Get well letters from Barbara and Dick arrived. In the first week, Stephanie examined the cast for the perfect spot to sign and said, "Hey, did Sadie sign this thing yet? I kinda figured she'd be the first."

"… I didn't tell her. Yet," Cassandra said.

From the beginning it seemed Stephanie knew something more was off, but she didn't interrogate. Most of her and Tim's visits were often frustrated venting about how much Bruce had hounded them about the use of their bunker. When Tim eventually admitted the thing was being impounded and had to be destroyed due to a break in, it was hardly a surprise.

Cassandra's body felt heavy as she stepped off the bus two blocks from the cathedral. The time had come, she knew, to put the past behind her. The defeats weeks before had put her on the road to revival, the day had come for reconciliation. Her mind lingered on all the sermon she'd heard from Cameron Gram and the lessons he had left her with.

The cathedral was warm and comfortable as ever, even with memories of the past Christmas Eve. Cassandra consecrated herself at the central font and slipped into the nave. She arrived early, so there was only one other parishioner outside the confessionary she always knew Monsignor Ryan took. There were at least two other priests in the other booths, but it was the monsignor Cassandra wanted to talk to. She knelt and prayed next to the young man who sat next to her and her sins swiftly rose to the surface.

Forgive me she said silently. Know what I did. Know I was wrong. Please, make me right again.

The door of the confessionary creaked open, the young man next to her departed. Cassandra looked up toward the massive, stained glass image of Christ upon the cross toward the back of the cathedral. It almost broke the tension a little to remember the time she'd been forced to break it. As if she could hear Gram's stern voice criticize her in the back of her mind, Cassandra stopped quickly and remembered the purpose in the image. God gave his only son to suffer at the hands of man to give them redemption. Compared to that, Cassandra's burden was easy, and the very least she could do.

Two more members of the congregation sat further down the pew. The man before her only took a few minutes, and soon sat in the row in front of her to do his penance. Cassandra's heart sped a little as she looked to the open door, but she kept stable, stood and stepped through. Inside the confessionary, she pulled back the curtain as she always did.

Father Ryan beamed. "Goodness, hello there Cassandra! I see you're walking again."

"Thank you for sending the hosts with Tim," Cassandra said.

"Of course, it was good to see him so much. I'd have brought Snowball to say hello, but I've been needed here a lot these last few weeks." Father Ryan contained a small laugh for a few seconds before he looked back to Cassandra. "Well then, let us pray."

The two spoke together, Cassandra a word or two behind Ryan. "In the name of the father and the son and the holy spirit. My last confession was three months ago."

From his side, Father Ryan raised a sheet of white paper and recited, "Whoever is in Christ is a new creation: the old things have passed away; behold, new things have come. And all this is from God, who has reconciled us to himself through Christ and given us the ministry of reconciliation." Father Ryan looked up to indicate the next words were hers.

Despite the determination that had brought her to the confessionary, Cassandra peered downward as she clutched her hands. She anticipated the impact with all her being and braced for the worst.

"Father, I have sinned. Badly. Terribly."

Even without looking at him, Cassandra could sense some kind of physical shift in the old monsignor. "Terribly, you say?"

"I knew," Cassandra said. "Knew it was wrong. But wanted… I don't know…"

"Cassandra, what's wrong?" Father Ryan said. "I've never seen you like this."

"The boy, from before?" Cassandra looked up.

Father Ryan seemed to struggle for a moment, but then it came to him. "Yes, I remember now. It bothered you how he was touching."

Cassandra looked down and nodded slowly, her hands still in a tight prayer clasp. "Yes… not a boy."

When Father Ryan remained silent, she reluctantly looked at him again. He looked perplexed. "What do you mean? You mean he was an adult? He was much older than you?"

Cassandra breathed a heavy sigh. She wasn't sure if he asked in earnest or was intentionally trying to force her to say it herself. It seemed she had no choice. "He was a she."

Father Ryan still looked confused for a moment before his body clenched and he nodded. "I understand now."

"Knew it was wrong. She doesn't even believe. Was confused, just got hurt."

The old monsignor opened his mouth to say something, paused, and appeared to decide against it. "Are you feeling better now?"

Cassandra managed half of a smile. "Much better now."

"I don't know anything about this other person you had this… experience with, but we must remember to pray for her too."

Cassandra looked to the side and lingered, as if she was conflicted. "… Yes."

"Was there anything else?" Father Ryan asked. "Did anything more than you told me before happen?"

The memory of the last night at Sadie's house crept into Cassandra's mind, but she pushed it away as fast as she could. "No. Told her no."

"You did the right thing," Father Ryan said. "You might still be hurting—"

She responded swiftly. "I'm not."

Father Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose and looked toward Cassandra until their eyes met again. "I'm sure it took a lot out of you to tell me that. You've committed a sin, but when you've done your penance, it will be washed away." The two briefly sat in silence before he asked, "Was there anything else?"

Cassandra looked away again and briefly squeezed the arm of her chair. "Most of my thoughts today."

"Then for these and any sins you hold in silence, you have been absolved. Did you bring your rosary?"

Cassandra ran a hand along her pocket to confirm. "Yes."

"Say a whole one, if not before you leave, then before the end of the night," Father Ryan said.

The two bowed their heads and clasped their hands together. Father Ryan spoke slowly, Cassandra followed a word behind.

"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell. But most of all because I have offended you, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of your grace, to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen."

===000===

Cassandra's descent into the Batcave from Wayne Manor seemed slower than usual, if only because she hadn't taken it in some time. As the sound of the water that rushed beneath the cave hit her and the doors opened to the half-lit hideaway, Cassandra was more focused than she had been in years. Bruce sat at his central console, only half in uniform.

He turned his chair enough to spot her as she stepped out of the elevator. "You're early."

"Wanted to move." Cassandra stepped forward and stretched a leg. "Been too long."

"I'm letting you go back out, and in return you're going to stick to some smaller cases until I'm sure you're back on your feet."

Cassandra sighed. The two had been over this at least half a dozen times. "I know."

"Those two, looking specifically for you, are still out there. And from everything Tim went through, they're onto something much bigger."

Cassandra stepped closer to the console. "Looking for them?"

"When I can," Bruce said. "After that stunt that cost them their base, Tim and Stephanie should be on probations of their own right now. But between Lipov, those kids in the mechanical suits and the Arkham inmates, we're spread thin enough as is."

Cassandra looked at the upper-left corner of the screen. The aggressive mugshots of Poison Ivy, the Mad Hatter and Victor Zsasz glared back at her.

"I'm sending you and Stephanie to investigate Tetch," Bruce said. "To the police's knowledge, he and his men seem to be largely unarmed at this point, but there's a good chance they have a cache of equipment waiting for them somewhere." He pointed to the map of Gotham on the right. "There's a condemned Park Row bookstore, a tea shop to the south I've always been on the edge of proving is a front and a kitsch board game shop, all within five blocks of one another. Should be some good vantage points, I just want you and Stephanie to patrol for any suspicious figures."

The young heroine glared up at the three mugshots. "I can do more."

"You've just finished recovering." Bruce pushed up from his chair and the two met eyes. "One night at a time. Go get dressed."