Chapter Text
After her last class, Clover trudged down the steps outside the science building, her backpack bouncing against her spine in a way her joints loudly protested. She spotted Cass immediately, leaning against a railing like she’d been carved there, while Steph waved both arms dramatically like she was trying to flag down a helicopter.
“CLOOOOVERRR!” Steph called, ignoring the strangers staring.
Cass just raised two fingers in greeting.
Clover snorted. “Subtle as always, Steph.”
“Thank you, I try,” Steph said brightly, already hooking an arm through Clover’s before she could protest. Cass fell into step on her other side, silent but comfortably close. “C’mon. Girl time. Snacks. Vibes.”
“Coffee first,” Clover grumbled. “I need caffeine or I’m going to dissolve into dust.”
Cass nodded once. Coffee. Then talk, she signed with a decisive flick of her fingers.
Steph didn’t need to translate—but she did anyway. “Coffee! Then talking about our feelings like emotionally responsible adults!”
Cass shot her a flat look. Steph winked.
They went to a small café tucked between a tattoo parlor and a store that sold nothing but knives - Clover’s favorite block in Gotham. Inside, the seating was soft, the lights dim, and the pastries dangerously good. They claimed the corner booth. Cass curled up instantly, knees to her chest; Steph sprawled like she paid rent there; Clover kicked off her combat boots under the table to relieve her aching feet.
Cass watched her closely. Too closely. It was the ‘I see everything’ gaze she’d inherited from Bruce but made gentler. “You’re hurting,” Cass said.
Clover groaned. “You can tell that from… what? My breathing?”
Cass shook her head. All of you. Then added in words, “Not just pain.”
Steph blew on her hot chocolate with entirely too much sympathy. “Yeah, babe, you look like you’re one inconvenient gust of wind away from sitting on the floor and crying.”
Clover shot her a glare. Steph sipped smugly.
“You’re both dramatic,” Clover muttered.
Cass reached out and tapped Clover’s hand twice. Sit. Breathe. Safe.
Steph leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Look, if you wanna talk about it, we’re here. If you don’t, we’re still here. Cass wouldn’t let us leave even if we wanted to, so. You’re stuck with us.”
Cass smacked Steph’s thigh without looking at her. Steph yelped softly.
Clover laughed—short but genuine. Then she stared into her coffee for a long moment. “It’s not…just the mission,” she said softly. “It’s everything since. Jason. The family. Bruce. My head. It’s all…tangled.”
Steph stopped joking immediately. “Okay,” she said gently. “Start wherever you want.”
Clover hesitated, then exhaled. “I killed someone.”
Steph’s brows lifted, but she didn’t flinch. Cass didn’t look surprised at all.
“I’ve killed before,” Clover added quickly. “Too many times.” A bitter smile. “But this one…was different. It wasn’t to protect civilians or stop a metahuman or because someone cornered me.”
Cass leaned forward, gaze steady.
“It was because someone was about to kill Jason,” Clover whispered.
Cass didn’t hesitate. Her fingers brushed Clover’s wrist. Protect. Choice. Heavy.
Steph nodded slowly. “Okay. So… how do you feel about it? Not how Jason feels or Bruce or the team. You.”
Clover swallowed, staring down at her trembling fingers. “I don’t regret it,” she admitted. “That’s the part that scares me.”
Steph reached across the table and squeezed Clover’s hand with surprising softness. “That doesn’t make you bad. It makes you human,” she said. “If I had to choose between Jason dying and some asshole catching a bullet? Yeah, I’d pull that trigger too.”
Cass nodded, then tapped Morse code gently on Clover’s palm; messages they’d all developed together. Not broken. Not alone.
Clover’s breath hitched. Not quite crying, she didn’t cry easily, but her throat tightened. “This is why I hang out with you guys,” she managed.
Steph grinned proudly. “Because we’re hot and supportive.”
Cass rolled her eyes but leaned her head onto Clover’s shoulder, warm and grounding.
“You’re okay,” Cass said softly.
Clover leaned into her. “...I’m trying.”
Steph bumped Clover’s knee under the table. “And we’ve got you. Always.”
They stayed in the café longer than Clover meant to, first because the seats were comfortable, then because Steph insisted on taste-testing every pastry like it was a sacred ritual, and finally because Cass quietly confiscated Clover’s phone to keep her from checking her messages every three minutes.
“Detox,” Cass said simply, sliding the phone under her thigh.
Steph gasped. “Clover, she just parent-locked you.”
“I’m the same age as you,” Clover protested.
Steph squinted at her. “Yeah, but Cass is twenty-two. That’s, like… emotionally thirty.”
Cass didn’t deny it. They let the conversation drift for a while. Away from patrols and expectations and the heavy stuff.
Steph recounted her latest chemistry lab disaster (“The TA still won’t look me in the eye”), Clover ranted about her biomaterials professor (“Why does everything smell like sterilized despair”), and Cass added commentary in sharp, precise, emotionally devastating sentences.
“You need sleep,” Cass said. A beat. “And water.”
Clover sighed. “I knew inviting you out was a mistake.”
Steph grinned. “No you didn’t. You love us.”
At some point, Steph pulled out her planner—covered in glitter stickers and coffee stains—and flipped it open with purpose. “Okay, schedule check. When’s PT?”
“Thursday morning.”
“Lab?”
“Friday at six.”
“Crime?”
Clover blinked. “Classified.”
Steph rolled her eyes. “Rude. Cass, help.”
Cass took the planner, turned it, and neatly wrote:
REST DAY – SUNDAY
Clover stared. “You can’t just assign me a rest day.”
Cass closed the planner. “Yes.”
“She’s right,” Steph said. “That’s official.”
Clover flicked her straw wrapper at both of them.
Eventually they left the café and wandered the block. Window-shopping, pointing at weird novelty items, making fun of Gotham hipster fashion. Cass drifted between them like a quiet guardian; Steph skipped ahead, spinning, nearly tripping every third step.
At a store full of neon signs and cursed lamps, Steph pressed her face to the glass. “Clover. Look.” She pointed at a violent purple LED sword. “Tell me that isn’t the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen.”
“It’s horrific,” Clover said.
“I want it,” Steph declared.
Cass deadpanned, “No.”
Steph gasped. “Cass. I’m twenty.”
“You are not buying that,” Cass replied.
Clover laughed until her ribs hurt.
They ended up sitting on the curb by the park, sharing a bag of pretzel bites Steph had bullied a vendor into discounting. Cass leaned lightly against Clover’s shoulder. Steph leaned back on her palms, kicking one foot. For a moment, everything felt…normal. No missions. No guilt. No pressure. Just warmth and carbs.
Then Clover’s phone buzzed. Cass didn’t even pretend she wasn’t holding it hostage. She passed it back with a raised brow. “Allowed.”
Steph leaned in. “Ten bucks says it’s Jason.”
Clover rolled her eyes and unlocked the screen. It was.
Jason 🦇❤️:
Hey. Just checking — you good?
Like actually good?
If you’re free later, come by.
Roy’s on comms yelling about chili dogs. It’s chaos.
Something in Clover’s chest softened.
Steph caught her face and grinned. “He worries about you.”
“He worries about everyone,” Clover said, locking the phone.
Cass shook her head. “Not like you.”
Clover swallowed. “...Yeah.”
Steph nudged her knee. “Go see him after. We’ll share you. Maybe.”
Cass nodded once. Go. Later. Safe.
Clover breathed out slow and steady. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Later.”
And between Cass’s shoulder at her side and Steph stealing the last pretzel bite, for the first time all week…Clover felt almost okay.