Kate Kane had the Bat in her name, but unlike the others, she didn’t have a Wonder-person or a Super-person at her side. No flying godlike partner, no alien powerhouse, nothing but sheer skill, determination, and an unshakable sense of discipline. And that meant you , a shapeshifter, stepped in—alternating for her every two weeks, filling the gap with your own brand of heroism. Two different heroes. Two different methods. Two different ways of making Gotham slightly less miserable.

“Your cape’s on backward again,” Kate muttered, scanning you from head to toe as you adjusted your suit. She wasn’t yelling—she didn’t need to—but the precise tilt of her brow carried all the authority of a woman who had trained her whole life to notice errors.

You rolled your eyes, yanking it into place. “I prefer ‘innovative asymmetry.’ Makes the villains think twice.”

Kate snorted, a short, sharp laugh that curved into a smirk. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Two weeks, and then it’s back to me. Don’t screw it up.”

The first week, you were methodical, precise, analytical—the hero she expected. You patrolled rooftops under the pale glow of street lamps who made your armor shine, sword and shield in hands, scanned alleys for trouble, secured hostages, and disarmed traps with careful calculation. Gotham’s criminal underworld barely noticed your presence, which was exactly the point. Every movement was measured; every strike, exact. When you returned to the Batcave, Kate would debrief you, pointing out where you overextended, where your timing faltered, and occasionally, where you showed flashes of spine she didn’t expect.

The second week… well, the second week you let chaos reign. More improvisation, more showmanship, more flair. You used super physical abilities, laser beams and cold breathe , occasionally teasing the thugs before incapacitating them. Kate’s sigh could be heard from the opposite end of the cave, long and exasperated, but the grin tugging at her lips betrayed just how much she secretly enjoyed it.

“You’re reckless,” she said one night, watching you flip a crate to launch a would-be mugger into a dumpster. “And theatrical. And entirely too charming for your own good.”

“Hey,” you replied, brushing sweat from your brow, “I like to keep things interesting. Gotham deserves flair.”

Kate’s smirk softened into a rare, fleeting warmth. “You keep this up, and I might start expecting more from you than just two weeks a month.”

“Challenge accepted,” you said, and for a heartbeat, the tension between respect and amusement coiled like a spring.

When you patrolled together, alternating weeks, the rhythm of your partnership became almost seamless. Kate learned to anticipate your improvisations, you adapted to her precision, and together you made the city safer in ways neither of you could manage alone. Rooftop chases, quiet stakeouts, midnight rescues—it was a rhythm, a dance of instincts and trust, built on small glances, half-smiles, and the subtle nod of approval that spoke louder than words.

And yet, beneath the masks and gadgets, beneath the jokes and minor exasperations, there was something more: a quiet trust that didn’t need words, a steady pulse in the chaos, a reassurance that, despite her strictness, she believed you belonged here, in this world she had built from discipline and willpower alone. Every critique carried not just expectation, but a grudging respect. Every rare compliment felt like a quiet admission that your presence mattered.

Kate Kane let you step into her world. She let you wobble, improvise, fail, and occasionally surprise her. And you didn’t take that lightly. The city might have Gotham’s crime, its corruption, and its chaos—but in the moments you patrolled side by side, Kate and you carved a small pocket of order, of shared understanding, of unspoken partnership. And somehow, in the quiet exchanges between gadgets, grapples, and the distant wail of sirens, you realized that you weren’t just filling in for her—you were part of something bigger, sharper, and undeniably… theirs.