Disclaimer: Own nothing.

Dedicated to: Campionsayn, for putting up with me and still producing those works of art that makes my dreams.

What can I say? I love Steph (cry) and Jason (cry harder) and I miss them. So I decided to expand their fanfic base!

Jail-House Cup-Cakes

She shouldn't have been nervous when the guard, a tall wall of muscle and misplaced manners, grunted permission to enter.

After all, she took ten times the woman's skill on a nightly basis in one fight - and she wasn't known for pulling with her round house punches, much to her brothers' dismay. She isn't unnerved when she's asked to stand against the wall to be searched - sure, the last few times she had wondered through there hadn't been so much suspicion but then she had a mask and a black suit on. So she nods to the guard and 'meekly' submits, keeping a close eye on her package as she is frisked down. It's sad that she already knows the security procedures for secure prisoners and that she had had it memorized since she was little.

Smiling bright as the guard, (Anne Kelp, 28, body builder, assigned to routine visit because the Head of Security, rightfully, believed the bulky men where better place with the Rogues which Kelp resented) called the all clear. Stephanie accepted the package back, knowing that the guard had already radioed in for permission and she's glad, waiting for the door to buzz open, that she had the foresight to get advance approval.

"Right Haywood, you know the rules?" Kelp grunts, pale eyes fixed on the petite blonde who was so misplaced in the prison that she looked like she should be selling Girl Scouts cookies. Stephanie clenched the package tighter, nodding. Her hair is pulled back so tight and so high that she suspects a gentle tug will rip it right off, but the bobbing ponytail only makes her look younger and less threatening. Which was the whole idea.

"Good, you have an hour. If he tries anything, shout or press the panic button and he'll be restraint. Try anything and you'll be restrained and arrested - capuche?" The guard growls almost scarily, but Stephanie is half distracted by her nervous mental recital of the different nerve points located in the top half of the body, and the many ways she can knock the guard out before the woman could grasp, little on scream. She nods shakily.

Don't be nervous, Brown, he's behind three inch thick glass and most likely doesn't know who you freaking are. He won't hurt you. Taking a deep breath, in through the nose, held in the chest and released from her mouth Stephanie nodded more firmly.

Kelp opened the door, and Stephanie walked through it.

Disappointingly, it's like every other visiting room in prison - albeit this was a prison for the criminally insane. The smallish window to the left is barred so heavily it might as well have not even been a window and the tiny, stool masquerading as a seat looked uncomfortable. Keeping her eyes on the wall of bullet-proof reinforced glass, she sat down, smoothing her pale red summer dress. She feels a little silly, because she's probably the only one who notices her tights are hinted green and her dolly shoes are black and her jacket is a lovely honey gold and she feels like an impostor. Like the man she begged and conned and downright manipulated to meet (or attempted to, much to Barbara's amusement) was going to take one look at her and know who she was - who they had both been, because of the way she was dressed.

She feels like she's a fake and he's the real deal. And maybe she is and yeah, maybe he was, once. But she's here, looking for something she thought she had once gotten.

She hands the package to Kelp, who takes it reluctantly as she exits the room - the camera in the corner zooms closer. And then the red light flickers off, and Stephanie sighs in relief. She had to lie through her teeth to get so far in, she didn't know if she could stomach keeping the facade up with him.

The door on the other side of the glass opened and a man is led through the opening. Frog-marched by two mountains of flesh and bone and eyeing them cautiously, Stephanie doubts for a second that she could take them in close quarters. Then she forgets about them.

He sits down, huffing like a teenager before a disgruntled parent. He's half hanging off of the seat, which was probably because the seats were clearly made for children and not fully grown, very muscular adults - she's amazed he's not fallen off given he's restrained. But, of course, Bats don't fall off seats. She straightens up a little.

Undoing the handcuff and reattaching them to the table in front of him, one guard leans down to whisper in his ear. Threatens - or warnings, probably. Stephanie watches him, because he's more interesting. He sighs again, like a child who's just never trusted not to run across the street and rolls his eyes, because really, they both know the man couldn't take Jason with his hands cuffed, never mind without.

And regardless of what Bruce claimed, Stephanie and the others know the only reason Jason was still in Arkham was because he, for a mysterious reason, wanted to be there. Or he'd leave. It was really as simple as that.

The guard steps back, eyeing her now - from the pink with black bats scrunchy in her blonde hair to her 'Sunday best' dress and polished shoes. And when she squares him in the eyes with a look that had bore many criminals and Bats alike down, Stephanie could see the question burning. Who are you, and what does a girl like you what with this nut job?

She answers before he asked, because the answer is already outside the door and she doesn't want Jason to ask.

"I'm Stella, Stella Haywood." Her blue eyes flickered down for a second, and he's staring back, meeting her inch for inch, "I'm your sister." The words were softer, more ... she doesn't like to think sincere but it's most likely the best word to describe it. In their own twisted, complex way, she is. And when Jason's eyes widen just a little, and her heart leaps, she can almost forget he's just going to reject her anyway.

The guards exit, stage rear but they leave the package on the table and a very ominous silence behind them.

Their blue eyes - different shades, she realizes, his are more of a gray like Tim's whereas her own were a tad more sky blue like Dickie's - are fixed for a very very long minute. Then she blinks and she's looking at everything and anything but the man she had just lied too.

She examines his surprisingly red hair, with a solitary streak of white; his off white uniform that marks him both as high security and washes his skin out, leaving him as gaunt and pale as the literal ghost. His hands are rough - not just the rough of constant fist fights and acrobatics but the roughness of using them to grab life from an early age. In her lap, her own fingers curl inwards, too dry and coarse to be comfortable.

His face was... old. When she looked at it, all she could see was age and experience, none of which was good and yet she was struck of how young Jason is. How he wasn't really that much older than her or Tim, around the same age as Cassandra. Too young to be so old, too young to be in a mental institute, too young to di-

Her lip thins painfully and she bites down on her tongue. She thinks his eyes are just like hers, in moments where she remembers things that aren't or weren't and knows things she really really shouldn't but does. Things she forgets because she has too more than because she really wants too.

"So..." he drawls (and of course he drawls, she scoffs) "my...sister? Funny, Mummy didn't say anything about you." His eyes burn into her, because he knows and she thinks he's enjoying this too much.

"I'm from our Dad's side." The words come shorter, gruffer than she had intended and, just a little bit, Stephanie is unsettled by the resentment she finds there. "Funny, he doesn't really say a lot about you either."

Jason snorts, leaning as far back as the chains allowed. "Wow, takes a really genius to work that out." He raised an eyebrow, "who sent you? I'm guessing not B? So who did I piss off?"

Then suddenly he was in her face, breath misting up the glass, "Camera's broken, Toots, better be careful or you'll need someone to cover your back Stella."

She didn't move, "I cover my own back fine, Jai-Jai. I don't need Bruce or Dickie."

She's rewarded with a blink of surprise at the old nickname that Dick had for him (and that was worth the amount of bribing it took to get) and maybe unsettled his thoughts about her.

"It's a lovely case," she carried on, though she really had no idea where she was going with it, "really shows off your best side." Jason glared at her; his eyes were so much like Bruce's that goosebumps broke out over her arms.

"I'd say it was better than mine, only I never got one," she whispers softly, despite the fact the camera's broken and Jason had moved back, away from her. But he's a Bat, against it all but still a Bat. That never changes.

He tilts his head to one side, like a curious cat before a dead fish on the ground, hungry but curious enough to wait before he eats. His eyes flicker all over her again - only this time he's seeing more than her physique and more of her body language. Her training and conditioning are impossible to hide from someone who knows where and what to look for. If Jason didn't know who he was talking too before then he certainly knew it now.

"Nice outfit, overcompensating much?" He grins finally, all too ruthless and slightly manic.

Stephanie is proud she doesn't blush. She shrugged, "Right, because I'm going to take tips from man who dressed up as a sadist Batman..." she does a very nice drawl of her own, as Dick and Tim were prone to forgetting. And she doesn't pull her punches, "Boy Blunder."

"Robin, number...four?" Jason returned unfazed by the jab. "I had heard about a Girl Wonder but I just thought Tim had been experimenting." The grin wasn't nice at all, and maybe Stephanie wasn't far off with the sadist taunt but the image of Tim in drag exploded into her mind and refused to budge.

She grins back, "He wishes he is as nice as me in drag, this ass takes work." She mockingly flips her overlarge ponytail over her shoulder, "But I think I'll need to ask Dick for advice about managing a ponytail on the job."

Jason let out a bark of laughter. Her arms tensed almost automatically, her teeth are set on edge and her heart is racing and even when she forces her arms to relax, she still finds Jason's laughter to be a little too insane. Maybe Jason was there for a real reason. But as he relaxed backwards, his face still stretched slightly into a smile and his eyes - softer, more questioning and accepting - trailed on her, she lets go and smiles too. And she nods towards the package that the guards had placed on the table, to the right.

Jason's eyes asked as he pulled the plain package towards him. "I'm not Alfred but I do mess around a little in - well Tim has his computers and Dick his trapeze, I bake sometimes. I thought you might want some more calories to keep your strength up." She shrugged.

"Guess there are benefits to having a sister on the outside, yea Little Birdie?" The smile is worth it all.

Good? Or silly?