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There is a lightness in Cathy that hadn’t been there since her first miscarriage five years ago. All she has ever wanted was a kid of her own, and babysitting the neighbor kids has only strengthened that desire. She’s teetered on the edge of bitterness over her body’s inability to do it’s one fucking job for so long, that finally getting what she wants feels like a free fall. She can hear her helpless wish huffing and twitching in the crib pushed up against the wall of their bedroom. She can’t feel her fingers, her toes. She wants to wake him up, sniff his soft little head and marvel over his soft skin and tiny nails.
There is a deep well of terror in her. She lies awake that night, next to an equally scared and frozen Willis, imagining gas attacks and vines wrapped around weak little necks, freezing spit up bubbles and acid etched onesies.
“Is this a good idea? Raising a kid in Gotham?” asks Willis. His hand twitches, just out of her reach.
It’s their first night with him, and the shock at suddenly being parents hasn’t worn off yet. Cathy doesn’t think it ever will. Her heart feels like it’s been broken from how full it is.
Janet from next door had heard Jason’s crying earlier, and had set up a phone tree to get them what they needed to survive the first few days. Janet’s cousin had given them a crib, their neighbors had brought clothes and bottles and diapers, all of them with congratulations. The amount of stuff, and how quickly it had gotten to them, had startled her to tears at the time. Janet had pulled her out into the hall, wiped her tears away, and said, “Once you’re all settled, you let me know if we need to slash Willis’ tires, yeah?”
Cathy had laughed, muffled noises of her neighbors spilling out of their apartment, sounds of baby proofing and building, and thought, ‘He doesn’t even have a car.’ Instead, she said, “It wasn’t his fault.”
Janet had only given her a look, baby Emie resting against her shoulder.
“But now,” Cathy had said, tracing a finger down Emie’s sleeping cheek, “Now we can raise the little munchkins together.”
Willis is taking it hard, Willis is over the moon. Cathy thinks she knows now why he had come home a year ago shocked silent and jumpy.
She rolls over, watches his wide eyed stare at the ceiling. “You’re gonna be a great dad.”
He rubs his eyes. “I’m sorry I slept with her. I’m not sorry about Jason, though.”
No, Cathy supposes he wouldn’t be sorry about that. He’s wanted more for their family as much as she has. Now they have that, and it hurts her that their dreams came to fruition like this. But they’ll make it work.
She slides out of bed, walks over to the crib. “Listen to that,” she says, looking down at Jason. “Listen to him breathing. All he’s gonna know is that we love him. That I’m his mother, and you’re his father.”
She hears Willis behind her, his footsteps over the creaky floor, watches as he slumps at her side on his knees. He winds his fingers around the slats of the crib. “We’re gonna fuck this up,” he sighs.
“We’ll find a way to make do,” she promises, running her fingers through his curls. “He doesn’t need to know anything about anyone but us.”
Jason Peter Todd, a wiggling, pink cheeked, ten fingered, ten toed bundle of boy, smiles at her from from his seat in his hand me down stroller, little hands clutching the soft toy Dustin from two floors up had shyly given him this morning on their way out the door.
He is perfect, twelve pounds with chunky little cheeks and a scream that could set your heart to stop, with little wisps of dark brown hair and his father’s blue green eyes. Willis had sat on the couch for hours after he came home with him, staring into those eyes, alternately crying and laughing, telling Jason “I’m you dad,” in between soft kisses to his face. Cathy had spent those hours kneeling before them, equally entranced by his sweet little coos and clutching hands.
He was already eating through their savings, what with the well baby check up scheduled next week and the endless diapers they would need to buy in the coming years. The appointment at the Social Services office isn’t for another month, so WIC and a food stamps increase won’t be for a while. But they can make it work. Catherine and Willis are no strangers to cheese sandwiches and extra hours at work.
Jason squawks, a beautiful bleat of noise that Cathy was afraid she would never hear from her own kid. “Are you excited about going to the park, sweetness?”
He stills, attention that had previously been on his missewn McDonald’s Happy Meal toy pulled away at the sound of her voice. His grin is gummy and his eyes bright as he waves his hands and feet. It’s a punch straight to the heart to hear his three month old version of laughter.
They’re lucky, they’re so fucking lucky to have this, friends and neighbors dropping off the little things they may need for this little boy they’ve been dreaming about.
“That’s right Jace Jace, the little Ace! We’re going to the park!” She’s grinning like a loon down at Jason, and she knows that any amount of shit they’ll need to shovel will be worth it for this: a small boy, punching and kicking his little arms and legs, drool on his chin. He’s worth it.
They would figure it out, they always did. It was going to be hard, whatever penny pinching they would need to do, to finally have the baby Cathy had been dreaming of. Their little family, finally expanding was worth it.
There’s a singular blat of feedback from the speakers perched on top of the stop light just up the road from their apartment, and Catherine freezes from where she’s hovering over Jason, belly up under his mobile on the floor.
In the year they’ve had him, the Martha Wayne Memorial Fund’s alert system for Arkham escapes hasn’t gone off. Now, she crouches over her son, praying that it’s Poison Ivy, who ignores women and children, or Mr. Freeze, who bypasses Crime Alley completely in his war on whatever the fuck. Summer days? Public pools? Who fucking knows, Cathy’s not CC’ed on Batman’s memos.
Jason has begun to fuss, both from the loud startle of noise and Cathy not jostling his toys anymore. The thin warble of Scarecrow’s siren envelopes her in her protective crouch, and she wants to scream at its sound, tear the fucking alarm off it’s fucking pedestal. Scarecrow doesn’t care. Scarecrow hurts anyone and everyone he comes across, indiscriminately. He won’t be put off by a crying toddler. He won’t be quailed by a scared mother.
She scrambles for the hall closet, for the adult- and baby-sized masks on the top shelf. She gives herself a moment, just one moment, to breathe through her anger, then spins back to Jason where he is now crying in earnest.
She slides the little mask over his face, and he bats it down to his chin with chubby fingers. “No!” he cries, cheeks red and tear wet.
Catherine puts her own mask on, smiling through the rage she feels. “Come on, buddy baby. It’s a game!”
Jason doesn’t let up on his screaming and crying, and Cathy supposes that until she sees the fog of fear gas, it’s enough that the mask is within reach. She’ll figure it out if it gets to it.
Jason doesn’t fight her picking him up, burrows into the cradle of her neck as she grabs the diaper bag from the hooks by the door. She checks the peephole, and the scuffling sounds outside her door are just her neighbors, racing for the roof top. She leaves the baseball bat by the door behind, hands too full.
She follows, and they swarm the stairwell, kids crying and adults calling out “Quick! Quick!”. They spill out into the fresh air of the rooftop and huddle around the ledge where the closest fire escape is.
Bill from three floors down limps his way over to her, his daughter Anna clinging to his side. He takes off his hoodie, helps Cathy make it into a makeshift sling for Jason. He has a gun, secured in a holster. The rest of the adults around them are armed, with baseball bats and frying pans and hammers. Some of the older kids, too. They huddle together, all the parents home with their kids, all the residents not at work or school, adults ringing protectively around the kids.
Emily from the floor above settles in next to her daughter Dani. “Who here can tell me who that siren is for?”
The kids look scared, clinging to parents or siblings or babysitters. Jason has finally started to settle in her arms, whimpering instead of crying.
“Scarecrow?” says a tiny voice in the huddle. Xavier, from the top floor, his brother’s Demarcus and Darryl clinging to him as their grandma watches the streets below.
“Good! Yes, that’s Scarecrow’s siren,” Emily praises. She’s got a smile on, but her eyes are hard, desperate. She’s never worked with Scarecrow, but she has gone up against him and his men. Willis had come back from working with her scared and pissed. He’d watched Jason sleep, asked Cathy again if they made a mistake raising a kid here. “Can anyone tell me what you should do when Scarecrow’s siren goes off?”
“Find an adult,” Dani says, muffled in her mom’s sleeve.
“Good, yes, find a trusted adult. What else?”
“Put on your mask and get to the roof,” Dani answers.
“Great, Dani! Can anyone tell me why?”
When no kids answer, Cathy clears her throat, remembering the pamphlets the Martha Wayne Memorial Fund stuffs in mailboxes every year. “Open air is safest with Scarecrow, the gas dissipates quicker than in a room. If he’s down there, it’ll take longer for the gas to reach us up here, if it even does.”
Dani lifts her head from her mom’s arm. “And you can push him over the ledge of the roof if he follows you.”
The adults laugh, but Emily’s smile drops.
“You see Scarecrow, you run.” She hooks her arm around her daughter, drawing her closer. “A trusted adult can push him off the roof.”
Cathy watches the skyline, hunched against the ledge and swaying Jason gently. She hopes Scarecrow goes somewhere else. She hopes Willis is safe at work. She hopes to see a black shadow swooping through the early evening light.
It’s quiet in the apartment in the early morning, kitchen lit by the weak Gotham sunlight. Willis is still at work, on the night shift again to save up for an upcoming family camping trip to the Catskills. Cathy washes the last of the previous night’s dinner dishes as she waits for the decaf coffee to brew for the kid’s cafe au lait.
She can hear Jason and Emie’s soft laughter from the living room as they watch Saturday morning cartoons, the thump of pillows as they play during commercial breaks. It’s good, having so many kids Jason’s age in the building. He’s never short on playmates, though Emie is his favorite. She’s Cathy’s favorite too, as she’s the only one able to temper Jason’s rambunctious tendencies.
As she fills two sippy cups half with milk and half with coffee, there’s a knock on the front door. “Do not answer the door, Jason Peter Todd!” she calls out.
Jason, as a four year old, is intensely curious, and pants shittingly daring. He fearlessly approaches strange dogs and strange people, then has the audacity to look shocked when Cathy or Willis try to reel him back in.
Both Jason and Emie follow her to the front door, giggling at one another and she supposes that’s OK. The kids are smart, they know the evac plan and route for all the apartments in this building in case there’s someone unsavory on the other side of the hollow aluminum door. Cathy grabs Willis’s baseball bat and checks the peephole.
All that worry and it’s just Janet. She refuses to feel stupid in her paranoia, though. They haven’t been robbed yet, and that’s because she’s so careful.
“Mom! We aren’t done with cartoons yet!” Emie cries out when Cathy opens the door to reveal her mom.
Janet leans down, pulling Emie close for a kiss on the crown of her head. “Morning sweet pea.” She straightens, turns back to Cathy. “Hey, Cath. Can you watch Emie for a bit longer? I got called in for work.”
Jason brightens up from where he’s clinging to her leg. “Can she? We can finish the rocket puzzle!”
“Of course. You mind if I take them down to the S-H-O-R-E this afternoon? Willis is gonna need some quiet when he gets off shift.”
Janet snorts, kneeling down. “I don’t know,” she says, voice lilting as she straightens Emie’s lopsided sleep braid. “I suppose it’s OK, as long as this little girl minds her manners.”
Jason tugs on her leggings, whispering up to her in a voice not soft enough to actually qualify as a whisper, “Where are we going?”
Cathy runs her fingers through his curls. “It’s a surprise, little man.”
Jason huffs, scowling, and that’s another thing she’s learning about her tiny little boy: He really has no concept that he isn’t involved in decision making in the household. He had been betrayed when Willis took the night shift and wouldn’t be there to tuck him in at night, refusing to let her read him to sleep for three nights in a row. She looks down at his little arms crossed over his little chest, fond as all hell of this pushy toddler. ‘He’s gonna be such a difficult teenager,’ she thinks with a smile.
“Come on, kids. Cartoons and coffee.”
The sounds of traffic and pedestrians follow Cathy up the stairs, plastic bag looped around her wrist rustling as she climbs, pausing to cough a handful of times. Any kind of sustained physical activity has her coughing now, even six months out from her last bout of COVID. “Fuck.” She takes a deep breath at the top of the stairs and makes her way to Jason’s after school babysitter.
The doorway frames Tara, one kid on her hip as another tries to crawl up her leg. “Cathy, hey!” Giggles and thumps spill out of the short hallway.
“God, I’m so sorry about being late, but the cops were down on Fremont, and you know how they get.”
Tara laughs and somehow manages to balance both her kids on her hips. “Don’t worry about it. Jason’s been making the kids jealous about being old enough to start school.”
Cathy smiles. All summer long, Jason had been a never ending well of questions and concerns about exactly what school entailed, fascinated by how school buses didn’t have seat belts and the concept of lunch trays. This morning though, the first day of school, he had woken up scared and nervous, and not even a daddy express piggyback ride to the breakfast table enough to get a smile out of him.
The kid in question skids into the kitchen, big grin on his face and eyes alight with excitement. “Mom!” he shouts, barreling over to her. “Mom! It was awesome, just like you said! And I made a picture for the fridge! It’s a frog!”
Tara laughs as Cathy scoops Jason up. “It’s a very good frog.”
“That’s awesome, little Ace!” She presses a smacking kiss to his cheek. “Got a surprise for my scholarly little man back at home.”
Jason cocks an eyebrow, holds himself straighter in her arms. “Is it a motorcycle? Cuz that’s all I want, and I’m pretty sure I would be, like, the best at driving it.”
Cathy rolls her eyes. “Tell Miss Tara ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’.”
“Thank you, Miss Tara! Goodbye, Miss Tara!” he shouts, waving as they make their way down the hall.
“Mom, you’ll never guess-”
Cathy presses her palm over Jason’s mouth, smiling. She leans in. “I lied. I have two surprises for you, so the recap must wait til we get home.”
He grins up at her. “You have to see the frog now, though.”
So Cathy climbs the stairs to their floor, arms full of a wildly gesticulating child as he details his artistic process. Her lungs are burning by the time she sets Jason down in front of their door.
“Daddy!” he cries through the open door, racing full tilt at Willis, sitting hunched at the table. He perks up at the call, sliding out of his seat to catch the running boy. “Are you my surprise?”
“Yeah!” he says, standing with Jason, squeezing him tight. “You surprised, little dude?”
He nods, grinning. “Mom said I have two.”
Cathy slides the paper bag out of her tote containing the cookies she stole from the cafe in the Diamond District she’s been working at for the last three months. The tips are shit, and her manager is a bit of a creep, so she feels zero remorse for snagging a few on her way out the door today. “Celebratory cookies for a successful first day of school.” she announces “But you gotta tell us all about it.”
“Oh, man,” Jason says, grin still on his little face as he wiggles out of Willis’s arms. “It was awesome!” He launches into his day, cookies waving in the air.
Later, when Jason is in the bath tub, Cathy brings Willis a beer and they both sink into the couch. “You look tired.”
Willis shakes his head and takes a gulp. “I am tired. Don’t know how much longer I can do fourteen hour shifts, Cath, on top of side work for Dent.”
“I’m sorry,” she sighs. They’re lucky she was the only one at home that got hit so hard by COVID. There’s no way Willis could still haul boxes if he was having the trouble breathing that Cathy has. It just sucks that she lost her job as a secretary down on the docks for being out of work for so long.
Willis loops an arm around her shoulders, runs his hand down her arm. He pulls her close. “Not your fault you got sick. We got this. It’s gonna suck til it don’t.”
Jason spins around the kitchen floor, socks slipping on the linoleum as he dances, horribly, to the oldies station. Cathy smiles wide as he crows out, “Be my little baby!” at the chorus with an aggressive hip shake as she smears garlic butter on slices of white bread.
Her phone dings on the counter, noise of it almost buried under the sounds of the pasta water boiling and The Ronettes. The text from the apartment group chat just says ‘CPS on Lalondie’ and her stomach tightens in fear. Emily from one floor up is the only resident under watch by GCPS in the building, just got her daughter back after her short stint in jail for henching under Cobblepot. If CPS is on Lalondie, they’ve got about ten minutes to scour her apartment for anything that might land Dani back in foster care.
She drops the bread, and shuts off the stove burners. Jason’s still dancing his little butt off, so she scoops him up from behind and jogs out the door.
“Mom?” he asks as they climb the stairs, face twisted in concern as Cathy’s legs burn.
Cathy coughs, burying it in his chest. “Short little stop, then we can go back to dinner, bud.”
“You don’t have to cough on me, ew Mom.”
She pats his side in apology, too out of breath already to answer. There’s a clatter on the stairs that has to be Janet, with Emie following behind.
Jason slumps over her shoulder. “Hi, Emie! Whatcha doing?”
“I was eating dinner.”
Jason hums, pulling himself up and over Cathy’s shoulder. He hangs down her back as he says, “Well, I was making dinner.”
Cathy snorts as she hustles to Emily’s door, already open. This kid just can’t wait to be middle aged.
“Well, I have dinner made for me.” Emie answers, then blows a raspberry at him. Jason answers in kind, and Cathy taps him on his butt.
“Be nice,” she pants.
Jason sighs and slumps over, world weary. “She started it.”
The door next to Emily’s opens, and Mrs. Romero steps out, already motioning the kids towards her apartment.
Cathy lifts Jason from her shoulder and holds him out like he’s a misbehaving cat, taking a beat to catch her breath. He grins, lets himself swing from her grasp. “Be good for Mrs. Romero, I’ll see you in a few.”
“Bye, mom!” he shouts.
And then she marches into Emily’s apartment to get rid of any contraband with his voice ringing in her ears.
“So, what’s this job anyway?” Cathy asks, as she carefully tugs the slacks into place at the ankle. Jason grabs a pin from the pincushion, and slides it just as carefully to where she holds the material.
Xavier stands very still on the stool in the middle of the living room. “Security guard for W.E., so Mom says I gotta look sharp, even though they provide the uniforms.”
“Yeah,” Cathy says as the front door opens. “Never hurts.”
Jason jumps up from where he’s crouched beside her. “Excuse me, sir. Do you have an appointment?”
Willis’ scratchy voice answers. “Do you have an appointment for the Puke-N-ator?”
Father and son enter the living room, Jason swinging upside down on Willis’ arm, giggling.
“Do it, Dad!” Jason cries, and Willis starts spinning around, faster and faster until Jason is nearly parallel to the floor. The spin slows, and Willis tosses Jason unto the couch.
Jason scrambles up, “Again!”
Xavier snorts from above her. “Just watching that makes me dizzy.”
Cathy chuckles as Willis spins their boy again. “The glory of youth.”
“I need a bath. I need a beer.” Willis groans out, flopping back onto the couch.
“I’ll get it!” and Jason scrambles off to the kitchen.
“Emily got picked up again,” Willis says, throwing his feet up on the coffee table. He cracks open the beer that Jason brings him, and Cathy feels fear. She doesn’t look at Jason.
“What’s gonna happen to Dani?” he asks, sliding back into place next to her.
Xavier twists his head down. “Demarcus and Darryl said she got picked up at school by CPS this morning.” He ruffles Jason’s hair. “Sorry little dude, she’s in the system now.”
“That’s not fair. She’s fourteen, she can basically live on her own.”
Willis scoffs. “In what world can a kid live on their own?”
Jason’s brow furrows and his lips twist as he slides another pin in Xavier’s pants. “She’s already got a job doing delivery’s for Mr. Tan’s bodega. And everybody in the building has a couch,” he says, the ‘No duh’ in his voice palpable. “We’ll all just take turns letting her stay in our living rooms.”
Willis hums. “Not a bad idea, kid, but she’s already in the system. And there’s no way CPS is gonna release her to a building full of welfare queens.”
Jason scowls down at Xavier’s hem, fingers twisting the fabric. “We could of helped.”
Cathy taps his hands, and Jason straightens out the bunched fabric. “We didn’t know in enough time, baby. Maybe Dani will be OK, find a nice foster family.” And maybe GCPD will all sprout wings and fly.
But Cathy can pick up Dani’s old delivery gig, something easy to do now that the cafe fired her for being unable to stay on her feet for ten hours straight. The little odd jobs she’s picked up in the mean time don’t pay much, and unemployment is a joke. One hundred and fifty dollars a week covers half their utilities. Willis quit his dock job five weeks ago to work for Two-Face full time. It means better pay, better hours. It means Cathy stays up all night, compulsively sucking down Robitussin as she watches at the bedroom window, hoping the worst Willis comes home with is another black eye. It means an extra set of hands at home when Cathy’s heart races out of control and she gets so dizzy she loses vision, someone to watch over her when she passes out that isn’t a ten year old.
She taps Xavier’s hip. “All done here.”
He hops down off the stool and Cathy rummages through her sewing kit for a needle and thread. Xavier is quick in the bathroom, swapping his dark gray slacks for a pair of jeans. He hands them off to Jason. “Still twenty bucks?”
Cathy nods. “Hem job still twenty. I’ll have it done by the morning.”
Jason lets out a weak cough. “It’s customary to tip.”
“Hey rude!” Willis barks out. “We don’t ask people for money!”
Jason scowls at his father, then looks pleadingly up at Xavier’s uncomfortable face. “You just graduated, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I just mean, if you still have your textbooks…”
“Come here,” Willis grunts, snapping his fingers.
Jason slouches towards the couch under Willis’ stern eye, Xavier turning his head away. “If he’s not using them, why can’t I just ask?”
“It’s cool, Mr. Todd,” Xavier says, doing his best to placate the storm cloud on Willis’s face.
“Hey, look at me. Look at me, Jason,” Willis says, hand tilting Jason’s chin up. “Just because Xavier’s being nice doesn't mean you can do this again, you hear me? You don’t ask people for their things. They either offer them to you or they don’t.”
Jason shakes his head free. “Yes sir,” he mutters, hands twisting together around the slacks. Even ashamed, he’s careful not to dislodge the pins.
Xavier hands Cathy two tens, motioning for Jason as he walks to the door. “Come on, little dude. You can walk me up and I’ll get you your books.”
Cathy puts the money in her wallet on the kitchen table, grabs a beer for herself and joins Willis on the couch. “How was it?”
Willis wipes his hand down his face. “It’s not so bad, just running guns. Dent seems pretty stable, comparatively.”
She laughs in disbelief. “Compared to what?”
“The rest of the assholes.” Willis laughs as well, grin bright. “God, this is absolutely stupid. I’m working for a man controlled by a quarter, and his nemesis is a man dressed like a flying rodent.” He clinks his bottle against her own.
“You’ll be careful?”
“I’m always careful, Cath.”
“I’m sorry.”
He pulls her against his chest, burying his face in her hair. “Don’t got nothing to be sorry about, beautiful.”
It happens quick, after Willis is arrested. Mr. DiMaggio has no sympathy, and no use, for tenants who can’t pay rent, and since Cathy had to break their lease, they lost the security deposit as well.
Bill knows a guy, who knows a guy, who is willing to rent to them a shithole a couple blocks up in return for ‘favors’. It doesn’t have AC, and the heater works sluggishly, and there’s black mold in the bathroom, in the kitchen. Cathy thanks Eddie and accepts the offer. Her baby isn’t gonna end up in foster care, and they aren’t gonna continue to crash in Janet’s living room.
She pawns as much stuff as they can get away without having, and lets Willis’ fellow henches load up a beat down Honda with what remains. She leaves the important stuff with Janet, just in case, a small box of paperwork with her mother’s rosary sitting on top.
Jason and Emie cry as they hug goodbye. Cathy and Janet don’t.
“It’s only ten years,” she sighs into Janet’s shoulder. “We can manage that long til he’s out.”
“Good luck,” says Janet. “Call me if you need me.”
It’s fine, Cathy thinks as she drifts on the eddies of her high, mattress on the floor and sheets in need of a wash. ‘Work’ is fine, the constant gun shots at all hours is fine, Jason’s school is fine, Willis being up for parole in eight years is fine, the blood she’s started coughing up is fine. She curls up on her side, one more satisfied client slamming the front door behind him. She can make this work. It’s fine.