Sunset ^beta

“I’m leaving soon,” Greta said.

“What?” Steph glanced up from her backpack, confused. “Like, for a vacation?”

Greta shook her head. There weren’t many people still in the gymnastics arena, which was littered with brightly colored foam mats thrown on top of each other. The two girls were sitting next to each other, leaning against one of the walls and waiting to get picked up.

“No.” Her mouth twisted into a frown. “For good.”

Steph just stared at her. “What– where?” she asked. 

“Far. I won’t be able to come to gymnastics anymore.”

Steph pressed her lips together and looked away. She felt tears rising behind her eyes but she was already ten years old and her dad said that’s too old to be throwing tantrums, so she swallowed them down.

“I’m sorry,” Greta said. “But I can give you my new address. So we can write each other letters, if you want.”

Steph perked up a little. “Yeah! That would be great.”

“Here,” she said, handing over a slip of folded paper.

Steph took it and held it between her fingers gently, as if she were frightened it would cut her. After a few seconds of silence, she said, “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know.” Greta slid her head down onto Steph’s shoulder. “Neither do I.”

They stayed like that until they couldn’t anymore. 

That night, Steph raided her apartment for any and all art supplies she could find. She dug up old half-used sticker sheets and glitter pens and found a roll of stamps with a few still left. Hoarding it all on her desk, she looked down at her meager pile of treasures and finally let the tears fall.

Hi Greta!!

How is it in Ohio? Is it colder than here? I hope not (I know you don’t like the cold). I went to gymnastics today and it sucked without you. So boring. But Coach Johnson says I’m really improving, which is good. I managed to do a front flip on the trampoline. 

The other day I was getting something from the corner store in the evening, and I saw one of the Bats fly through the air in the distance. My mom said it was a trick of the light, but I swear it was real. And whoever it was looked like they were doing flips too! 

I miss you. None of my school friends want to talk about the things we did. I hope you’re making friends over there. They’re lucky to have you.

xoxo Steph!!!

Steph,

Ohio is fine. My mom keeps complaining about the house, but I like it. I get my own room, which is nice. I didn’t like sharing with my brother. I think I’m going to paint it, but I don’t know what color yet. Ideas?

I swear there’s nothing around but grass and cows and more grass. I didn’t think I’d miss Gotham this much. I know we complained about it a lot, but at least it was home. I don’t even like cows. They’re too big. And smelly. But I can see the stars at night, so at least there’s that.

Miss you too.

Greta

Greta!!

Purple!! Paint your room purple!!!! Sorry it took so long to respond, there was some family stuff. Anyway last Sunday was Halloween and I dressed up as twilight sparkle (polaroid included in the envelope). I can’t imagine the trick or treating scene where you live is any good, but at least you don’t have people poisoning the candy like they do in Gotham. 

Do you know when you can come back to visit?

xoxo Steph

Steph,

I’m not sure I can come back anytime soon. I asked my parents about it but they said they don't know. I didn’t go trick or treating this year, but I think your costume looks great! Wish I was able to be there with you.

My brother keeps acting so weird lately. The other day he just started yelling at me out of absolutely nowhere, and it was scary. I mean, I’m not actually scared of him. I know he wouldn’t really hurt me. But still.

What are your thoughts on mint chocolate chip ice cream? Because I think it’s amazing but my dad says it tastes like toothpaste.

Miss you forever,

Greta

Steph grinned down at the paper, tracing the words Greta had written her in her precise, controlled handwriting that was always tilted to the left a little. Enclosed on the envelope was a photo of Greta pointing at a cow from a safe distance. 

Steph crossed her room and pulled out her shoebox that she had meticulously decorated, opening it and putting the newest letter with the other one she had. 

She closed the box and slid it back under her bed before jumping to her desk, cluttered with art supplies, and getting to work.

Over the years, that shoebox would fill up, slowly but surely, with letters, movie ticket stubs, photos, and miscellaneous slips of papers. Things changed, but that never did.

Hi Greta!

It’s been a long time since I’ve heard from you, so I thought I’d send a follow up in case my last letter got lost in the mail or something.

How’s high school going? I hope there’s a gymnastics club or something you can join. I totally would if my school had any funding at all for its extracurriculars. I swear the building is going to collapse into itself one day. 

I still miss you. I can’t believe it’s been so long. Hope you’re doing alright.

xoxo Steph

Steph,

Everything is going wrong. I’m scared all the time. I don’t have any friends. The other day my brother pushed me down the stairs. It’s hard to sleep. I can’t

Steph,

I’m doing alright! Things are a little weird right now but hopefully they’ll get better. I’m tired all the time but 

Steph,

I don’t know what to say. I dream of you sometimes, of us in elementary school doing gymnastics together. God, I was so awful at it. I miss y

Steph flopped down on her bed face-first, yanking her Spoiler costume’s hood off of her head. Adrenaline was still running through her veins, and she hadn’t quite managed to snap out of her defensive mode. Her diary was still open on the bed where it had been when she had come in. 

That phantom specter with the fuzzy outline and burning anger in her eyes. Something about the way she looked at Steph made her stomach feel especially sour, and it wasn’t just that she blatantly wanted her dead. There was something in the cut of her face, something that seemed innately familiar. 

Steph ran a hand through her hair, feeling the strange mix of anger and confusion swirl inside her chest. Sighing, she slid off the bed and lay with her back on her carpet, splaying her arms out on either side of her. One of her hands brushed something under the bed and she turned to look at it involuntarily. 

It was an old black shoe box dotted with stickers. She hooked the handle with one finger and dragged it out, blowing the layer of dust on top away. 

Steph only recognized it after a few seconds. She opened it, taking in the dozens of crumpled pages in the same slanted handwriting, Despite everything, she still smiled. 

Greta had stopped writing her a couple of years ago. Steph figured that she had moved or simply ceased to care, although there was a part of her that really wanted it to be the first one. After a while Steph had stopped constantly checking her mailbox and eventually, with everything else that happened recently, it had slipped out of her mind altogether. 

Steph hoped she was doing okay, wherever she was. She closed the box and slid it back under the bed, sighing. She dragged herself up and went through the motions of getting ready for bed; stripping off her costume and taking a shower before crawling back into bed, too exhausted to do anything else. 

The next morning she woke up gasping and covered in a sheen of sweat. The only thing she remembered from her dream was a floor covered in plastic gym mats, all bright and colorful and blinding.

Something was bothering Steph. Well– there’s always a lot of things that bother Steph, but this one in particular wouldn’t leave her alone. 

She was sitting on the edge of a rooftop in full Spoiler garb, kicking her legs back and forth as they dangled. Gotham spread out in front of her in all its grime and glory, flickering yellow lights covered in a layer of smog. 

It was a quiet night, not a lot of movement on the streets, which meant she had plenty of time to think. Specifically, she was trying to remember what color eyes Greta had.

It was strange how much she’d been thinking of her old friend recently, but lately the littlest things reminded her of their time together as children– a pair of friends running with ice cream, a kid doing flips on the monkey bars. She could picture Greta in her mind’s eye well; the lopsided grin and sandy hair. But she could not for the life of her recall what color her eyes were. And the more she tried to think about it the more the memories came flooding back. 

Steph knew it was stupid. Agonizing over someone she was close with years ago that probably doesn’t even remember her. But, if she really considered it, Greta might have been her last real friend. The kids at school didn’t really count, and calling her fellow vigilantes ‘friends’, while technically accurate, didn’t feel the same. Maybe she just missed the golden sheen of childhood overlaid onto all her memories with Greta, but it felt like something more than that. 

And here’s the thing: every time Steph closed her eyes trying to visualize Greta, the face of the beaming child morphed into something else; a young woman with her face twisted by hate, hair disappearing into tendrils of smoke and dust. Secret. That’s what Tim said her name was. It was unnerving. 

She got up, stretched, and began to make her way home, jumping and swinging from rooftop to rooftop. Glancing up towards the sky, she remembered what Greta had written to her that one time about being able to see the stars. Any stars above Steph now were well and truly obscured by a layer of grey. She couldn’t think of a time where they weren’t.

She made it home, slipped through her bedroom window and got changed into pajamas. It was late, but she still felt restless. After a second of deliberation, she kneeled down and pulled the black shoebox out from under the bed, opening it up. She dug through the old letters, crumpled and aged, until she finally found what she was looking for: a picture of Greta. 

Greta was young in the photo, standing in a grassy pasture. She was pointing at a cow in the distance. Steph squinted and leaned in, but the camera wasn’t close enough for her to make out the color of her eyes. Instead she studied the shape of her face, her expression. Steph imagined, for a second, that the child in the photo was older, with slightly shorter hair and engulfed in smoke.

She threw the picture back in the box and slammed the lid back on, chewing her lip. She stayed like that for a while, kneeling on the floor of her room, frozen. After a while, she stood. She had a call to make. 

Tim picked up on the fourth ring, because of course he was up at 3AM in the morning.

“Hey,” he said. 

“Hi!” Steph tried to make her voice sound as bright and chipper as possible. 

“What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Just homework and stuff. Hey– I was just thinking about that Secret chick that you worked with. You know, the one that sent me to the void that one time.”

“What about her?” 

“Do you know where she is right now?”

He paused. “...Why?”

“Just want to, like, talk to her.”

“About what?”

“Uh. You know. Stuff,” Steph said, hoping she sounded even a little bit convincing. She could have just told the truth, but saying ‘I think your ex-situationship who tried to kill me multiple times is actually someone I used to know’ doesn’t sound like something a sane person would say.

“I’m. Uh. I’m not sure that’s a great idea.” He sounded less than thrilled.

“I swear I’m not trying to start anything. I just want to see her. To make sure we’re cool.”

“You know she’s human now, right? Doesn’t have any of her powers anymore.”

Steph hesitated. “Really?”

“Yeah. And I don’t think she’s having an easy time of it right now. So–”

“I swear I just want to talk to her,” Steph said. “Come on, Tim. Please. It’s important.”

“Fine,” he said, giving in surprisingly quickly. “Just– I trust you.”

“Thanks.”

Steph stood on the roof of St Elias' School for Girls. It was night, and the chill was barely held off by her suit. Her Spoiler hood was pulled over her head.

She stared down at the window below her on the second floor, the one she knew was Secret’s. Generally speaking, Steph tended to do things fast so she had less time to change her mind, and this was no different.

Taking a deep breath, she scaled down the side of the building, careful to keep close to the wall and stay out of sight. She reached Secret’s window and nudged it, finding it open. She slid it open and crawled inside. 

It was mostly dark inside, save for a single lamp turned on near the bed. The room was empty, but there was some noise coming from the adjoining bathroom. Steph had no time to formulate a plan before someone walked out of the bathroom, pausing dead in their tracks when they saw her standing there.

Part of Steph had hoped she was wrong. But there she was. Steph knew it instinctually. Her hair was shorter and her face was slimmer and she looked tired. But it was her.

Her eyes were brown. 

Greta– because it was Greta– yelped and jumped back, terrified.

“Wait, wait,” Steph said, ripping her hood and mask off and throwing them on the ground. “It’s me! It’s me.”

Greta stared at her, gaze still wide and unrecognizing. Steph’s stomach plummeted.

“It’s Steph,” she said, somewhat pleading. “Remember? From gymnastics class?”

When she said it aloud the connection seemed frail and fragile, but something clicked in Greta’s expression and her eyes widened. “Steph?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” She wavered, unsure whether she should step forward or back. They stood like that for a second, at a sort of stalemate. It almost looked like Greta was swaying back and forth. Her forehead was shining with sweat.

“Oh.” Greta blinked. “How did you…?”

“I recognized you.”

“Even when I was… like that?”

“Of course,” she said, fidgeting. “I’m, uh, sorry–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Greta fell forward, crumpling to the ground. Steph rushed forward, falling to her knees and putting her hands on Greta’s shoulders, trying to steady her.

“Greta?” she asked, panicked. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Greta said, her words slightly slurring together. “I just– not used to being sick again.”

“Oh.” Steph hadn’t thought of that. Greta hadn’t gotten ill in years. She must have forgotten what it was like. “Come on. Let’s get you into bed.”

Steph half-dragged, half-helped Greta across the room to her bed, where she collapsed and burrowed into the blankets. Her skin was hot.

“Did you take medicine?” Steph asked her. 

“Yeah. It should kick in soon.” Greta looked at her like she wasn’t really sure she was there. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Steph looked down at her. “You should get some rest.”

Greta’s pale hand darted out and grabbed the edge of her cape, clenching the fabric between her fingers. 

“Come back tomorrow?” she asked, although it sounded less like a question and more like a statement.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

Greta nodded faintly and dropped her hand, eyelids fluttering closed. After a few seconds her breathing evened out and Steph backed away from the bed, away from the warmth of the lamp. She only lingered for a couple more moments before fleeing into the night and closing the window behind her. 

The next day, Steph was only able to get away in the evening, just as the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. She was restless all throughout the day, barely being able to pay attention to any of her classes as she replayed the scene from last night over and over. When she got back to St Elias’, it was almost dark out, and after scaling halfway up the building she found that Greta’s window was already open. 

Crawling inside, Steph spotted Greta almost immediately. She was curled up on bed, looking tired but more healthy than last night.

“Hi,” Steph said, taking off her hood. 

“Hi.” Greta stared at her. “I almost thought I hallucinated you last night. Spent the whole day wondering if you were real.”

Steph wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Feeling better?” she asked.

She nodded. “It’s the strangest thing. Being alive.”

“It sucks,” Steph said. She was only half-joking.

“It sure does,” Greta said with a slight grin. “I missed it.”

“So, uh.” Steph was still hovering slightly awkwardly in the middle of the room. “How did it happen? How did you get… like you were before?”

Greta sighed, eyes flicking down. “It’s a long story.”

Steph sat down on the carpet. “I’ve got time.”

She nodded and began to talk. Steph sat silently enraptured through the whole thing, not daring to interject or comment on anything. The more Greta spoke the more Steph felt her heart sink into her stomach. There was something else, though, beside the horror and dread. It was almost like guilt.

“So, yeah,” Greta said after finishing her story. Her voice was a little hoarse and her eyes were glassy. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Oh, Greta,” Steph murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged. “Not your fault.”

“It kinda is.” She stared down at her hands. “I should have checked on you when you stopped replying to my letters. I knew your family wasn’t the… most stable. I could have helped sooner.”

Greta let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Are you kidding me? None of this is even remotely your fault. For god’s sake, I tried to kill you! Twice!”

“I remember,” Steph said. “I don’t blame you for lashing out like that. With what you were going through.”

Greta looked at her dubiously. “Really?”

Steph half-grinned. “Okay, maybe a little. I think you owe me at least three sodas.”

Greta looked like she was suppressing her own smile. “I try to actually murder you and you want three sodas?”

“Four, then.”

She laughed for real this time, and it was exactly like Steph remembered. 

“Seriously, though,” Steph said, leaning forward. “It’s incredible that you’re here. That we’re both here.”

Greta nodded, her expression warm. “It is.” She gestured to Steph, who was still in her Spoiler costume. “Your turn. How did all of this happen?”

“Well, my family wasn’t exactly great either,” Steph said, launching into an only slightly dramatized tale of her early Spoiler days and everything that followed. She thought it would be difficult to share this part of her life with someone, but it was surprisingly natural. Greta, still sitting on her bed, stayed silent throughout it all, nodding and staring at Steph intently. And Steph told her all of it. Didn’t skip over any of the ugly parts.

Eventually, after Steph ran out of things to say and they lapsed into silence, Greta said, “I guess those gymnastics classes came in handy for one of us.”

Steph nodded. “I guess they did.” They sat there for a few more seconds. “So… what now?”

“Uh.” Greta glanced downwards, not meeting her eyes. “I guess. If it’s okay with you…”

“Yeah?” Steph prompted.

There was color rising to her cheeks. “A hug? I mean, I totally understand if–”

Steph cut her off by barrelling into her, throwing her arms around her shoulders. Greta wrapped her arms around Steph’s torso, burying her head in her shoulder.

Steph tried to think of how much different a touch like this would feel after such a long time of being unable to do so. A dozen times more solid and grounding. She held her tighter.

They stayed like that until they couldn’t anymore.

Steph started to stop by St. Elias’ as often as she could manage in between schoolwork and patrolling and miscellaneous other Gotham-related shenanigans. She met Cassie and Cissie (not as Spoiler) and she sometimes joined them for their weekly movie nights, which consisted mostly of a solid hour of debating over what to watch and throwing popcorn at each other. 

Mostly, though, Greta and Steph talked. They had a lot of years to make up for. At some point Steph brought along her old beat up shoebox and they sorted through all of Greta’s old letters. Greta read them aloud in silly voices and they both dissolved into laughter on the floor. 

One day Steph made her way into Greta’s room, carrying a brown tea boba in one hand and a mango smoothie in the other (Greta only tried tapioca pearls once before swearing them off forever). 

“Greta?” she said, glancing around the empty room and putting the drinks down on the dresser. “You here?”

“Yeah.” The voice was coming to the bathroom. Steph glanced in.

Greta was sitting on the tiled floor with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, which was heaving with choppy breaths.

“Oh god.” Steph rushed to her side, putting her hands on her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“I don't– I’m sorry,” Greta said shakily.

“Don’t be sorry.” Steph sat next to her, and Greta’s head fell on her shoulder. Steph pulled her closer. “You okay?”

“Yeah. It’s stupid.” She wiped tears away with her sleeves. 

“Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing. Really. Just a shitty day. Everything just feels… too real. Too much.”

“I’m sorry.”

Greta sniffed. “Is it wrong that I miss it sometimes? Not being real?”

“Of course not.” Steph smiled softly at her, smoothing her hand over her hair. It was somewhat of a tangled mess; Steph noticed that one of the side effects of getting used to being corporeal again was that Greta often forgot to brush her hair regularly. 

Greta noticed it too. She grimaced. “I’m a mess, huh?”

“Shush.” Steph reached for a brush on the counter next to the sink, lightly twisting Greta so that she was facing away. “Let me see.” 

Steph started to work her way through the knots, trying her best not to pull on her scalp too much. Greta’s breathing began to even out as Steph worked. It took a little while, but eventually Steph was able to get the hair to cooperate, detangling the sandy locks until they lay flat.

“There.” Steph leaned forward and put her head on Greta’s shoulder, smiling. “All better now.”

Greta glanced at her, face still red and blotchy but now devoid of tears. 

Steph gasped. “Wait! Your smoothie!” 

She ran to the other room, but the smoothie was melted beyond repair.

“It’s okay,” Greta said, running her hands through her hair and emerging. “I didn’t feel like a cold drink anyway.” She dug around in her backpack before pulling out a pair of earbuds. “Music?”

Steph flopped down on her bed. “Only if I get to choose.”

Greta rolled her eyes but joined her on the bed. To both listen, they had to face each other lying down, each with their own earbud. Greta listened to the music with her eyes closed, and Steph watched her; the way her hair fell across her face and the slight scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She remembered a time when they were young when they had huddled like this together under one of the foam ramps in the gymnasium in an attempt to hide from the instructor. They were both shaking with laughter at the time, trying to keep quiet. 

They weren’t the same girls anymore. Too much had happened. Steph knew that. But she also knew that it didn’t particularly matter to her. 

Right before she drifted off to sleep, she registered Greta’s hand lightly grazing hers. 

“Heyyy, look who it is,” Cassie called, waving at Steph from where she was standing next to Cissie.

“Hi!” Steph said, a little out of breath. She'd spent so much time going back and forth on what to wear that she’d almost been late. “You guys look great!”

“Thanks,” Cissie said, doing a little spin in her red summer dress. “Cassie’ll try to fool you by seeming casual, but she spent at least two hours getting ready.”

“Well obviously,” Cassie said, gesturing to her elaborate combination of suit jacket, pants, at least seven different necklaces and three belts. “Can’t rush perfection.”

Cissie rolled her eyes.

St. Elias’ main hall was decked out in cut-out snowflakes and tinsel. Across the entrance to the gym was a huge banner that read ‘WINTER FORMAL’. More students were milling around the entrance and trickling in, 

“I’m here, I’m here,” Greta said, rushing around the corner. Steph’s heartbeat did a strange little skipping thing when she saw her. She was wearing a flowy white dress with two barrettes holding her hair back. For the first time in months, she looked like she had slept the whole night through and her smile was genuine. 

“Hi,” Steph said. 

“Wow, five minutes late,” Cassie said, checking her wrist for a watch she wasn’t wearing. “Way to make your date wait.”

Steph frowned, wondering for a second who she was referring to. It was only when both her and Cissie shot her a conspiratorial look and Greta’s face flushed that Steph realized. 

“Shut up,” Greta hissed, shooting a look at Cassie. Cassie shrugged innocently and grabbed Cissie’s hand, dragging her towards the gym.

Steph cleared her throat, watching them go. “So, are they dating or what?”

“Honestly? I have absolutely no idea.” Greta still looked a little flustered. It was cute. 

Steph took a fortifying breath. “And what about us?”

“What?” Greta yelped, face flushing bright red again.

“I mean, like,” Steph said, trying not to trip over her words. Her heart was beating too quickly. “Am I here as your friend? Or– you know. Your date?”

Greta avoided her gaze. “My friend. Obviously.”

Steph felt her stomach drop.

“That is, unless you want to be my date. I mean, I would be okay with it. But I don’t want you to think that I–”

“Greta. Calm down,” Steph said, cutting her off with a wide smile. “Do you want me to ask you out? Because you’re pretty bad at it.”

Greta stared at her for a second before the corners of her mouth lifted up and all the tension melted out of her body. She nodded.

“Great.” She cleared her throat. “Greta Hayes, will you go to the Winter Formal with me? As my date?”

“I will,” Greta said, beaming.

Steph held out her arm. “Perfect. Now, come on. I believe we have a dance to get to.”

Greta grinned, traces of pink still on her cheeks, and took her arm.