The nausea had been creeping up on Cass for weeks. At first, she ignored it— chalked it up to exhaustion, maybe even a mild stomach bug. But then came the dizziness, the sluggishness in her movements, the sudden aversion to certain foods
It wasn’t until she nearly lost a sparring match—her reflexes a fraction slower, her breath coming up short— that she decided to stop pretending.
The test sat on the counter. Simple, just a few minutes and then an answer. Cassandra paced while she waited, arms crossed, jaw tight. A part of her already knew. She wasn’t stupid. She knew her body for almost 30 years by now. The signs had been there, she just… didn’t wanted to admit them.
Then, the result appeared.
Two lines.
She stared at it for what felt like forever.
Pregnant.
The world didn’t feel real. It settled over her like a weight. Her first instinct was to reject it. She wasn’t made for this. She was a fighter, a weapon and assassin turned vigilante, someone raised in brutality with no real concept of a normal childhood. What did she know about being a parent?
But then she thought about you. About the years you two spent together, the quiet moments in between all the chaos, the way your presence had softened some of the edges she never thought could be softened. And then she thought about Bruce, about Alfred, about the strange, messy, imperfect family that had somehow become her own
The fear didn’t vanish, but it became something else. Something less overwhelming
“Meet me at this coordinates. Now. It’s urgent”
That’s what she said to you via phone call before hanging up and sending you the coordinates
The rooftop was quiet when you arrived. Cassandra stood with her back to the skyline, arms wrapped around herself, heart pounding harder than it should have been. When she heard your steps behind her, she turned. No hesitation. No dancing around it. She didn’t have the words for anything else
“I’m pregnant. It's yours.”