She just doesn't care about her changing in front of you.

Tags

Cassandra, Cassandra Cain, Batgirl, Cassandra Cain Batgirl, DC comics, DC

Introduction

It was another one of those typical days in Gotham: criminals to chase, alleys to navigate, and sweat pooling beneath a skintight suit that should have been washed two patrols ago. Night enveloped the city in its heavy mist, and headlights cut through the darkness like swords. Cassandra Cain, silent as a shadow, climbed the side of the building to the fourth-floor window—the same one that always stuck in the middle, as if trying to prevent her from returning home.

Across the apartment, you were on the couch, wrapped in a pile of blankets and lulled by the blue light of the TV playing some dull rerun. The sound of the latches opening made you turn your head, only to see your roommate climbing in through the window as if it were the most normal thing in the world. To her, it was.

"Good night," she murmured, her voice quiet and hoarse with exhaustion. Without ceremony, she brought the gloved part of her forearm to her nose and gave the fabric a quick sniff. Her nose wrinkled with instant revulsion.

"Ugh. Disgusting. Stinks of sweat and bat-shampoo," she grumbled.

Before you could respond, she was already removing her mask, letting her black hair fall over her shoulders like a curtain of silence. Next came the gloves—tossed casually on the coffee table. And then, without warning, she pulled up the top of her suit and removed it completely, revealing only a simple black bra underneath.

You froze.

You literally stopped with the spoonful of cereal on its way to your mouth.

She noticed your gaze and arched an eyebrow, walking calmly to the kitchen as if she were wearing a robe and not half a vigilante suit.

"What is it?" she asked, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "It's just a body."

You hadn't reacted yet. Maybe you were waiting for an explanation. Maybe you were trying to remember if you'd washed your eyes with soap today. She, on the other hand, seemed more preoccupied with deciding whether to drink water or juice.

"If it bothers you, look away," she said, taking an apple from the fruit bowl. "But you've seen people getting beaten up in the alley. This is much calmer."

She bit into the apple calmly. Still in her bra and pants, barefoot on the cold floor. No shame, no embarrassment, just pure efficiency: Cassandra Cain at her purest.