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The Batcave was quiet, save for the distant drip of water from the stalactites above. Warm lighting washed over the massive map table, casting long shadows against the stone walls. At the central map table, Bruce Wayne and his newest protégé sat side by side. Both wore their costumes, but with their cowls folded back against their shoulders, and their heavy yellow utility belts resting in their hands.
Batman moved slowly, his gloved fingers tracing the contours of the pouches on his belt, moving from one pouch to the next.
“And this is where I store the shark repellent spray,” Bruce said, his voice low and resonant in the cavernous space. He lifted a small canister from one of the side compartments. “Gotham’s waterways are infested with more than just criminals.”
Beside him, the teenage girl mirrored his movement, unlatching the corresponding pouch on her own belt. She stared into the dark, empty pocket. Her fingers brushed against the lining, then paused as she looked up at Bruce.
“Most of the pouches on your belt are empty for now,” Bruce explained, gesturing to the gaps in her gear. “I will stock them soon once we finalise your loadout. Sharks may be rare, but we can’t be too careful. We have to be always prepared for everything.”
The girl offered no verbal response, but her dark eyes remained wide and intent, following every movement he made. Bruce had known Cassandra for only a week, and he had only just made her his new Batgirl yesterday, but he had already learned a great deal about her physical condition. She was exceptionally well trained, with reflexes and physical instincts far beyond those of an ordinary teenager. Her understanding of spoken language, however, was severely limited. She knew only a handful of words, and even those seemed to have meaning only in certain contexts.
Bruce still wasn’t sure how much of what he said she actually understood. Perhaps she recognised individual words, or she associated certain sounds with particular actions. For now, all he could do was demonstrate, observe her response, and adjust his instructions accordingly.
Now that Cassandra was going to work with him as Batgirl, Bruce intended to teach her everything he could. He moved on to the next pouch.
“Next, we will find a stack of five collapsible batarangs. When drawing one, control your finger pressure so you don’t dislodge all of them at once.”
He leaned forward and demonstrated by placing his fingers on the release mechanism, showing her how to grip it without slipping. With a sharp, fluid flick of his wrist, the compressed wing snapped open into a sharp, gleaming crescent. And in slow motion, he demonstrated the seamless transition from draw to a throwing posture.
Cassandra watched his wrists, his shoulders, the tension in his forearm. Without hesitation, she unlatched her pouch, slipped her slender fingers inside, and pulled out a single blade with perfect tension. A swift flick, and her batarang snapped open. Her body shifted instantly into the exact throwing stance Bruce had just modeled.
Bruce hid his surprise and watched closely. Her posture was perfect, and she didn't fumble with the mechanism; her fingers knew where they belonged before she even consciously thought about them. He had seen his two Robins struggle with their first batarangs, dropping them or misfiring the release. But Cassandra simply watched and copied; she was a natural.
Bruce decided to test that observation.
“Look at that target board over there,” Bruce said, gesturing toward a steel board thirty paces away across the cavern. “Once expanded, release with a forward snap of the wrist.”
Before the sentence fully left his mouth, Bruce drew a second blade and threw it. The motion was a blur of black and silver, the batarang embedding itself deep into the target’s bullseye with a heavy thud.
Bruce turned back and saw that Cassandra didn’t hesitate and was already reaching for her own. Her arm whipped forward with terrifying speed. A second silver crescent flashed through the dim light, hitting the target, lodging right next to Bruce’s.
“Good,” he said, dismissing his own surprise by quickly moving on to the next pouch, and continued, “I store emergency food and water rations here.”
Bruce opened his pouch and retrieved two tightly wrapped foil bars.
Though Cassandra remained silent, Bruce swore her eyes brightened for a split second as she locked onto the rations. She reached for her own pouch a microsecond faster than usual, anticipating the contents. When her fingers met empty air, her posture subtly deflated, her shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch.
“They have a long shelf life,” he said, “but I can replace mine when I stock up yours later.”
He peeled back the wrapping of one bar and took a quite bite before handing the other to Cassandra. She eagerly ate it, her movements sharp but controlled. Bruce had considered warning her that the bar was chalky and tasteless for the necessary burst of energy, but upon seeing the happy face she made, he kept the thought to himself.
When she finished the last bite she looked up at him, the hard edge of concentration that had defined her features softening into a simple, honest gratitude. She didn’t need words to convey it, but Bruce could tell the girl who had to be perfect in every movement was also simply a child who enjoyed a small kindness.
“I guess it has been a long night. Come on,” Bruce said as he fastened his belt back around his waist. “I’ll show you where the pantry is.”
Cassandra buckled her own gear with uncharacteristic haste, moving without her usual deliberation; a bright flicker of joy danced in her eyes as she trailed behind him into another corner of the vast Batcave.