Ever since she'd heard about what had happened to Tim's father, she'd been concerned about him. Tim was one of the few friends she had. He was one of the first people she'd gotten to know in the Batfamily. Barbara had been the first, and at the time Batman had been a looming, frowning shadow.
But Tim as Robin had been different -- he wasn't as guarded, so she'd come to understand him fairly quickly. Even as she'd understood that he'd been intimidated by her. In truth, she'd been intimidated by him as well, but for different reasons. He was an intellectual in a way she knew she could never be. He understood words and had to work at physicality. She understood physicality and struggled daily with words. He was a normal boy who inserted himself into an unusual life. She was a very unusual girl who, so far, barely understood what it was like to be normal.
It had taken a while, but somewhere along the way they'd managed to meet in the middle and learn from each other. Tim was one of her people.
Presently, Cassandra sat in a chair next to Bruce Wayne, wearing a black formal outfit that she'd been assured was appropriate for the gathering. It seemed every bit as expensive and elegant as the dress she'd worn to the gala event months ago, and she had difficulty understanding why she couldn't have just worn the same dress. It had been hanging in her closet ever since the gala; surely there wasn't a need to wear an entirely different dress. But this was important, so she relented and followed customs and dress codes she didn't understand.
She watched Tim's body language as he stood at the podium, talking about his father. So much composure, worn as an armor around the emotions within him. Once or twice the armor shifted, exposing tiny gaps in his control. Tim felt so much for his father it hurt, Cassandra could tell.
Her gaze flitted to the picture of Jack Drake, and she couldn't help seeing her own father's face, even for a brief moment. She tried to imagine growing up with David Cain in the way Tim described growing up with his father. Cassandra realized she honestly ... couldn't. Her father was locked up in Blackgate, and before that she had spent nine years of her life staying a step or more ahead of him.
And before that...
Cass blinked. Tears were flooding her vision, blurring her surroundings. Here she was, thinking about her own father when the gathering was clearly about Tim's. She'd even stopped paying attention to Tim's speech, which he seemed to be about to conclude. Cassandra readied her hands, holding them slightly out in front of her, preparing to applaud.
But as Tim finished, Cassandra glanced around to the other people. No one else seemed ready to clap the way people normally did when a speech finished. That was weird, but maybe this was another custom. She decided not to clap until someone else did.