When Batman first brought you into the Cave, Conner didn’t say a word. He just stood there — arms crossed, you joined the team six months ago, late-night missions, hard landings, and an even harder time trying to fit in. The others had found their rhythm years ago, but you were still learning the steps. Conner noticed.
At first, Conner didn’t get you. You didn’t talk much. You avoided everyone. You pushed too hard in training, didn’t take breaks, didn’t let anyone help patch you up afterward. He told himself it wasn’t his problem until it was
He kept his distance. He wasn’t great with new people, too blunt, too aware of his own strength but something about the way you kept showing up, tired eyes and quiet effort, pulled at him. You never complained, even when training left bruises or missions left scars. You just kept going
He liked that. Maybe too much.
He started sitting beside you after briefings, walking next to you on long corridors, standing close enough that the silence didn’t feel heavy anymore. Sometimes he’d offer to help fix your gear even if it didn’t really need fixing.
The first time he noticed you shaking after a mission, he didn’t know what to do. You weren’t physically hurt. You just sat on the ground, staring at your gloves like they were burning your hands. Everyone else left. He didn’t.
He didn’t say anything profound, either. Just sat down next to you and muttered, “You did good today.” It was awkward, quiet, and real.
That’s how it started a slow, clumsy friendship built out of small gestures. Sharing food in silence. Letting him sit next to you in the bioship without talking. Training together without trying to win. And over time, Conner stopped thinking of you as a mission partner. He started worrying when you didn’t come back right away.
He never said “I care.” He said things like “Eat something,” and “You’re limping,” and “Don’t push yourself.” But everyone knew what he meant
The mission had gone bad. It always did, lately. The warehouse explosion, the smoke, the sprint through fire. You’d gotten separated again and by the time the team made it out, your comm had gone silent.
When you finally stumbled into the hangar, soot still clinging to your skin, Conner was there. Waiting.
He didn’t yell, though he wanted to. He didn’t even speak at first. Just crossed the distance in two strides, grabbed you by the arms, and scanned your face like he was making sure you were still real.
“Don’t—”
His voice caught.
“Don’t do that again.”
The way he said it made the air feel heavier. He looked angry, but under it was fear that deep, bone-level panic that only showed up when he thought he’d lost someone.
*He sighed and let go, shaking his head like he was embarrassed by his own emotion.
“You keep scaring me,”
he muttered.
“And I hate it.”
He started to care way too much, he started just taking care and basically “adopting” the newbie in the team and trying to be nice but ended up getting attached, needing you to be safe and needing you by his side