He's just explained himself and there are... so many words there. So many words and her own story will be so many words too. She steels herself, breathes in deep, considers again, and sits on the ground across from him.
"David Cain made me a weapon," and this he knows, but-- "and when I wouldn't give in to be that weapon, he and Deathstroke used a chemical to take over my mind. Control me."
She closed her eyes.
"I killed. I killed and I led the League of Assassins. My hands were not my own. That was the only thing I'd ever had." And she's so angry about that. So quietly angry. "And they took it." Like he tries to take everything else. "Destroyed the trust I'd built with you. With the others. And even after it was neutralized, there were lingering affects."
She opened them again, looking up at him.
"Red Robin trusts me. Nightwing does not trust me. You trust me." Adopted me. Took me in. Showed me love. "I trust myself... but I trust myself more here. My contract will make me immune to mind control of any kind, magical, meta, or chemical.
Bruce listens, his attention grave. He knows words are difficult for her, that every one is agonized over in some way, and that words for this must be costing her. Admitting so much to him shows so much trust and faith it cuts cleaner than her acceptance of him (if he could accept himself, it'd be easier, but since when is anything about Batman easy). He is who he is-- most people would think that odds were better than even he'd reject her for allowing herself to be taken over, for the failure of it. And maybe she does think that, but is trusting him not to.
It makes him so angry that they did that to her. Will Cain try it in his world, too? Can he, without Deathstroke? (Because surely that idiot has different clientele, being shacked up with Jason's militia.) How low, how cowardly, like a child having a tantrum and destroying a toy because he's been told he has to put it back on the store shelf. If he treated Cassandra like a weapon, maybe he'd treat her with some measure of professional reverence; what he's done to her now is worse than that.
Silently he extends his own hands, offering to hold hers.
And after what she'd said, what she'd admitted to, the blood he knew was on those hands--
It wasn't the first time he'd taken her back, knowing that she had been tainted. It wasn't the first time, and she'd had to fight so hard, so hard to show him that she did truly understand. Understand why they did not kill. Why they acted as they did. Why she was worthy to be Batgirl, to wear a name tied to both him and Barbara.
Her hands aren't clean. But they are hers. And it's both of these reasons that make it mean something more as she puts them in his. And yet--
"I hunted him down," she says quietly. "I intended to kill him, as he intended to kill Barbara. But... I didn't. And you locked him away."
She seeks out his eyes again.
"That was when you said... I had a family. When you gave me your name."
Bruce holds her hands, the both of them capable of such violence and the both of them feeling so fine-boned and mortal. She fought her way back, and is making sure it can never happen again. It's how a person gets back up after being thrown down that matters - a vital part of why Bruce can't reconcile with Jason. He'd begun the walk to his death with hope, but here ... it's been shattered. Cassandra and her dogged hope are a comfort.
"I'm not that man," he says quietly. He'd pushed them all away. If his Cassandra has to go through this with David Cain, she'll do it without Bruce to look over her shoulder. He doesn't know her as well, and he hasn't made those steps forward with her; his relative gentleness now is one born of being so shattered on his own. "Anything you need of me here, is yours."
And he would know, should know that she's not talking about how he speaks out loud. She's talking about his body, about the way he moves, the language of his muscles and bone. It's hard for her to try and differentiate him from the one at home when they seem so similar. The only difference is that here, the pain is held much closer to the surface. But it's the same sort of pain.
"But there's only one thing I've ever wanted from you."
Which is when she pushes herself up on her feet and, keeping her hands in his, sits beside him. Then, eyes closed, she lets herself lean against his side.
It takes him a long moment to settle in a way very few people would be able to detect - he wasn't properly on guard or even on edge around her, but the strange anxiety that grips him is always present. It eases finally, as though he needed time to process this and decide to accept it as reality, and he squeezes her hand.
Bruce tips his head back over the edge of the sofa and closes his eyes, letting his breathing move towards something more meditative - something closer to how he is when he isn't trapped in whatever vortex of suffering he's currently in.
The quiet is a relief. The townhouse doesn't have the tomblike silence of the manor, or even the removed distance of the penthouse - too in the middle of a contained city, built for budget and not citadel privacy - but there's a kind of peace about it that the two of them make. The dog doesn't invade; at some point Ace slunk out the small door to patrol the yard, hopefully shooing off any lurking red birds.
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no subject
"David Cain made me a weapon," and this he knows, but-- "and when I wouldn't give in to be that weapon, he and Deathstroke used a chemical to take over my mind. Control me."
She closed her eyes.
"I killed. I killed and I led the League of Assassins. My hands were not my own. That was the only thing I'd ever had." And she's so angry about that. So quietly angry. "And they took it." Like he tries to take everything else. "Destroyed the trust I'd built with you. With the others. And even after it was neutralized, there were lingering affects."
She opened them again, looking up at him.
"Red Robin trusts me. Nightwing does not trust me. You trust me." Adopted me. Took me in. Showed me love. "I trust myself... but I trust myself more here. My contract will make me immune to mind control of any kind, magical, meta, or chemical.
"My hands are mine. And they'll stay mine."
no subject
It makes him so angry that they did that to her. Will Cain try it in his world, too? Can he, without Deathstroke? (Because surely that idiot has different clientele, being shacked up with Jason's militia.) How low, how cowardly, like a child having a tantrum and destroying a toy because he's been told he has to put it back on the store shelf. If he treated Cassandra like a weapon, maybe he'd treat her with some measure of professional reverence; what he's done to her now is worse than that.
Silently he extends his own hands, offering to hold hers.
no subject
It wasn't the first time he'd taken her back, knowing that she had been tainted. It wasn't the first time, and she'd had to fight so hard, so hard to show him that she did truly understand. Understand why they did not kill. Why they acted as they did. Why she was worthy to be Batgirl, to wear a name tied to both him and Barbara.
Her hands aren't clean. But they are hers. And it's both of these reasons that make it mean something more as she puts them in his. And yet--
"I hunted him down," she says quietly. "I intended to kill him, as he intended to kill Barbara. But... I didn't. And you locked him away."
She seeks out his eyes again.
"That was when you said... I had a family. When you gave me your name."
no subject
"I'm not that man," he says quietly. He'd pushed them all away. If his Cassandra has to go through this with David Cain, she'll do it without Bruce to look over her shoulder. He doesn't know her as well, and he hasn't made those steps forward with her; his relative gentleness now is one born of being so shattered on his own. "Anything you need of me here, is yours."
no subject
"You have the same voice."
And he would know, should know that she's not talking about how he speaks out loud. She's talking about his body, about the way he moves, the language of his muscles and bone. It's hard for her to try and differentiate him from the one at home when they seem so similar. The only difference is that here, the pain is held much closer to the surface. But it's the same sort of pain.
"But there's only one thing I've ever wanted from you."
Which is when she pushes herself up on her feet and, keeping her hands in his, sits beside him. Then, eyes closed, she lets herself lean against his side.
no subject
Bruce tips his head back over the edge of the sofa and closes his eyes, letting his breathing move towards something more meditative - something closer to how he is when he isn't trapped in whatever vortex of suffering he's currently in.
The quiet is a relief. The townhouse doesn't have the tomblike silence of the manor, or even the removed distance of the penthouse - too in the middle of a contained city, built for budget and not citadel privacy - but there's a kind of peace about it that the two of them make. The dog doesn't invade; at some point Ace slunk out the small door to patrol the yard, hopefully shooing off any lurking red birds.