stephanie nashton does it all (forthem) wrote in rooms,
[Steph was still an absolute wreck. Every conversation with Eddie weighed on her like a ton of bricks. Every moment she thought about the family they would never have, or how she had hurt her husband, or how it didn't even feel like he loved her anymore. What if this was it? What if this reset just was the end of it all? He told her he loved her, sure, but it was really fucking hard to remember that when he was questioning everything she had ever done or said. He said he loved you, Stephanie, Machina chided in her mother's voice, and while that made her irritated beyond comprehension to be told by someone (or thing really), she knew it was true. She knew she was lucky that she knew her husband was alive. Well taken care of. Safe.
It didn't assuage the panic though. Didn't stop the tears. Didn't quell her anger. Her heart ached painful without Eddie around, and despite the logic that people were spewing her way, she didn't feel better. She didn't feel comforted. Logic never worked on Stephanie Nashton, much to everyone's chagrin.
But like she told Dick? She was shutting all of that down. He told her to ignore it all, to push it to the side? Oh, she would do that. She would focus on the anger. The anger kept her awake, filled her veins with a fire to solve this fucking problem so she could take Ra's down and bring Eddie and Bruce home. She didn't pace or prowl in the apartment. Stephanie suited up, Spoiler purple and black kevlar with her bow and arrow and over-the-knee boots, and she took her time getting used to the feeling of Mac on her wrist, and maybe she gave herself a couple of moments to scream in a pillow and cry. Scream and cry until she was nothing but rage.
Not a word was said about the false pregnancy or the news that she wouldn't be having kids. Nothing was said about the fact that her husband didn't think he loved her anymore. Not one peep about Bruce being MIA. The women didn't talk aside from the occasional discussions of where to go or who to beat up. Guns were left at home, locked away in her safe, but that didn't matter much. Steph was already a lethal weapon; she didn't need those things to bring people down.
The tip drew them towards a seedy bar on the edge of Arkham City, just down the street from Los Tacos. The proximity to her home, to things that reminded her of home, of Eddie, of their lives together just made her angrier. A cocked eyebrow shot up towards the other woman as they strolled towards the bar. Behind the purple cowl up to her mouth.] You wanna do the talking or want me to?