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Every night, she dreams the same dream. She sees a warm smile that washes away all her fears, fiery red hair that always stands as a beacon of light, and a brown tattoo that wraps around a muscular bicep like a permanently inked, artistic armband. Words in a language that she doesn’t know swirl in her mind and bring a sense of familiarity that she doesn’t quite understand, but seeks to anyway. Then the image fades into something a little cooler but loving all the same. She sees hair that cascades in shining, black waves, sharp nails the color of jade that only desire to pinch cheeks, and a bubblegum pink tattoo of a beautiful flower resting directly above her heart. In her mind, she hears promises that are always kept and wishes that are always granted. The dream fades as morning comes, and she is left to wait for it all over again.
It used to be that she dreamt of a mask — a Cheshire Cat one, to be exact. Lengthy, untamed black hair acted like a shadow for the mask to materialize from. She remembers an outfit of gold and green, and a graceful dance of deadly force that saved the two of them from what looked to be impending doom. She can just barely recall the sensation of cold fingers touching her cheek tenderly as the mystery woman bids her farewell. There’s even a kiss left on her forehead, but she had succumbed to sleep by the time the woman’s mask was removed.
Selina said to sit down and watch dreams fly instead of giving into the chase, but never has Shoes wanted to chase something so bad.
She believes those dreams to be parts of the childhood she lost, and the masked woman may hold the answers to all her questions. This investigation has become a little obsessive on her part, but it’s hard not to become so fixated in searching. She keeps her eyes out and her ears tuned in for any word that another Cheshire is roaming the streets. But the woman is an enigma, and she refuses to be found.
Until now.
Shoes is gripping the vial of poison so tightly between her hands that she’s scared she’ll be the next victim of it’s terrifying effects. The mystery woman is a couple of feet away from her, in gold and green with wild black hair and a striped, red and white mask. Her back is turned to the door but she appears to be as relaxed as ever. A katana slides along a whetstone repeatedly. She pauses to inspect it, then continues when the sharpness is not up to her standards.
“Can I help you?” the woman doesn’t turn to acknowledge her, but her tone isn’t condescending either. It’s inviting, actually.
“Um,” her voice sounds ridiculously juvenile. She inhales deeply to center herself. “Selina told me to bring this to you.” The woman beckons her forward after she sheaths the blade, finally satisfied with its deadliness. Shoes places the small vial beside the whetstone and immediately takes several steps back.
“And what is this?” She brings the vial up to the eyes of her masks and inspects. Still, she doesn’t turn around.
“Uh, poison,” Shoes squeaks. “She wants to know if you can make a, uh, neutralizing agent… or something.”
The woman makes a noise that sounds something like a scoff. “I’m fairly limited on… ingredients, but tell her I’ll see what I can do. I may need to get to my lab though.” Her voice trails off and she mumbles to herself.
“Do you need help getting there?” the teenager rushes out. “I-I mean, I know the streets pretty well. I could help you get there and back without the Magistrate knowing.”
“I’m sure you could, but I–” She stops herself when she sees the nearly identical mask on the teenager’s face. Her head tilts to the side, and if Shoes didn’t know any better, she’d say she was smiling.
Shoes takes advantage of the stunned silence, musters all the confidence she has in her body, and extends her shaking hand. “The name’s Cheshire Cat. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Well,” the woman lifts her chin, and Shoes still believes she’s smiling right now. “I was wondering who was running around Gotham with my name and mask. Now I know. Cheshire.”
“Not gonna shake my hand?”
“Poison,” Cheshire reveals casually. “You understand.”
“Right.” Shoes rocks on her heels awkwardly. “Uh, well, if you need a guide for Alleytown or just, need anything, I’ll be with Selina.”
She leaves before Cheshire can say anything. Her heart has been pounding a mile a minute. There’s a million questions she wants to ask — a million things she wants to tell her, starting with: Hey, I’m that little girl you saved and now I’m using your name and mask because I’m just that grateful. She wants to know if Cheshire has all the answers to all her questions, and something tells her she does.
They don’t see each other very often after that. Cheshire, along with others she doesn’t know the name of, has been in the heat of battle for days. The Magistrate’s assaults haven’t lessened, but Alleytown continues to fight back against the force of the corrupt police unit. Protests have erupted all across the city. Shoes has been at the forefront of some of them, but she’s been relegated to communication duty: relaying information, receiving transmissions, and sending out S.O.S messages for anyone who will listen. Occasionally, she joins up with Selina in her battles against some of the Peacekeepers, but she sticks to the shadows for the most part. Even in the chaos of civil war, Shoes still hopes to see her again. She doesn’t want to lose her chance of finding out who she is.
A night after one of the more violent interactions between Alleytown’s protectors and its assaulters, Shoes sees her again. This time, she’s cleaning her blade, wiping a thin cloth along the edge of it until the fabric is red with blood. Selina speaks to her in a hushed, rapid tone while Cheshire doesn’t appear to reciprocate the same level of urgency.
“…then Cheshire Cat can help you,” Selina urges.
“I don’t know if I’m willing to put your sidekick at risk.”
“Protégée,” Shoes interjects. “And I can do it. Whatever it is.” Cheshire studies her wordlessly, like she’s trying to see whether or not the teenager’s confidence will fade.
It doesn’t.
She huffs a gruff “five minutes” and disappears into the shadows. Even with a mask on, Shoes can’t hide her giddiness, but clearly her mentor doesn’t share the same sentiment.
Selina’s parting words are a warning. This is when Shoes discovers that the woman who saved her life also takes them for a living. Her mentor reveals this to create fear, a useful tool for the cautionary. But for some reason, Shoes doesn’t feel afraid.
They don’t take the traditional route of scaling rooftops that assassins and vigilantes prefer; there’s far too many Magistrate helicopters circling in the air. Shoes leads her through the back alleyways and narrow streets of Alleytown — the kind that only natives of the district would take. Cheshire sticks closely to the shadows but materializes occasionally to remind her that she’s still close behind. Shoes doesn’t let her amazement distract her from her task, but she intends to ask the assassin how she can bend the shadows to her will. It’s crazy. Not even Selina can do that, and she can do everything as far as Shoes is concerned.
There comes a point in their trek where Cheshire takes over and Cheshire Cat is forced to take a backseat. They’re entering the wealthier neighborhoods of Gotham, and it’s unfamiliar territory to her. Luckily, Cheshire seems to recognize the area, and leads her deeper and deeper into the less-policed streets. The wealthy have more to lose but the Magistrate doesn’t care, meanwhile Alleytown suffers from their relentless abuse everyday.
The two Cheshires slip into a thin alleyway as a patrol wanders past. The older of the two makes a shushing motion which makes Shoes roll her eyes because of course she knows to be quiet— Crack!
Shit.
She can’t pull out her escrima sticks fast enough. Cheshire has already launched into action before the patrol can radio for backup. She spins her sais, lands powerful kicks that make the teenager cringe, and renders the entire patrol unconscious. She works faster than Selina, so Shoes is in awe. But her trance of admiration is snapped in half when the assassin’s attention returns to her. The sight is terrifying, honestly — Cheshire stands over the unconscious (or, dead) Magistrate soldiers with the bright lights creating a fearsome shadow behind her. Shoes swallows, and with it goes all her confidence that the assassin won’t hurt her.
“Listen,” Shoes starts hurriedly as the woman begins to advance. “I-I didn’t even know it was there. I mean, what the hell is a branch doing in the city, am I right?” She squeezes her eyes shut when she feels Cheshire’s hand on her shoulder, and starts praying to a God that she doesn’t believe in to make sure she survives whatever it is that happens.
“You need to be more aware of your surroundings,” she scolds delicately like she’s so worried to step on her toes a little bit and let her really have it. “Their helmets amplify sound so that they can hear anyone hiding in the shadows. Also, don’t flinch when they start attacking. That’ll get you killed.”
“Oh,” she opens her eyes and feels relief enter her body. “Okay. I’ll, um, keep that in mind.”
“You’re okay?” Cheshire inquires, beginning to study her for any injuries. The gentleness in her voice should be off-putting because, well, this is only the second real interaction between them, but Shoes feels strangely comforted by her concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Shoes shrugs her off. She looks past her. “Did you kill them?”
Cheshire tilts her head. “No. I didn’t think that a child should witness that.”
“I’m not a child,” the teenager grumbles. There’s an amused glint peeking from beneath the woman’s mask. She thinks this is funny.
“Right,” she says.
“I’m not a child.” Shoes huffs, stalking after the assassin as she begins to scale the wall.
“I’m agreeing with you!” Cheshire pulls the teen up onto a balcony.
Shoes is prepared to retort but she’s rendered speechless at the extensive apartment before her. She expected a minimalist interior that suggests a homeowner that’s constantly on the move with little time to make their space their own. And yet, Cheshire’s apartment is dazzling and probably more expensive than multiple blocks of Alleytown. Green, white, and gold come together in perfect harmony. The likely stolen marble statues add an extra note of eccentricity to the assassin’s colorful abode. Shoes has never seen a place so stunning in her life.
Cheshire leads her through the halls of the full-floor space until they reach what she assumes is a laboratory. The door slides open, revealing a dimly lit, state-of-the-art lab. Everything is organized and set aside perfectly. It’s especially modern in comparison to the rest of the apartment, with no windows or art to brighten the space. There’s a couple of weapons and some unopened boxes of what could only be illegal and highly poisonous materials resting in the corner.
“Sit still and don’t touch anything,” Cheshire commands. “Everything is poisonous.”
Shoes hangs back by the door; the only thing that isn’t toxic and dangerous. An awkward silence settles between them as Cheshire begins to examine the Magistrate’s poison. She’s working fast, mixing things together without bothering to test formulas first. She eyeballs every measurement, doesn’t bother to read labels, and already has a possible neutralizing agent within a few minutes of being there. It’s amazing, actually.
She doesn’t want to distract the assassin from her work, but she’s tempted to tell her about the dreams she has — one Cheshire to another.
“I had a dream about you,” Shoes reveals. The woman doesn’t stop working, but she can tell that she’s listening. “It felt more like a memory, actually.”
Cheshire hums, Shoes continues. “It’s all super hazy now, but some things are clear. I remember you carrying me. You were running away from… ninjas? They looked like ninjas. I don’t know. You killed some of them, though. Then you left me on the steps of an orphanage in Gotham. It looks like an old church if you need some description. But yeah, and then I never saw you again. Until now.”
The laboratory goes silent save for the dripping of the poison in-progress. Cheshire turns to look at her. Shoes can see the faint outline of wide eyes, ones full of shock and, hopefully, recognition. The assassin stares for several heartbeats, lost in her own thoughts and searching her own mind for the shared memory. When she realizes that her mind had wandered, Cheshire recovers quickly with a clearing of the throat and her attention returned to her work.
“Yes, I remember that,” the assassin admits. Shoes beams underneath her mask.
“Really?” the teenager exclaims. “Listen, you’re the only thing I remember about my childhood. Do you know anything about my parents? Where I came from? My middle name?”
Cheshire doesn’t get a chance to answer because the teen’s walkie goes off with a screech, and the built-in alarm reminding the assassin of her experiment begins to wail. She removes a vial of a clear liquid from a canister and begins to work fervently.
“Wait outside,” she orders.
Shoes does as she asks, and hovers in the hallway. She radios Selina to let her know of their status. Her mentor does the same, but nothing is going smoothly back in Alleytown. The Magistrate is closing in, which means that they only have hours before the outcome of the war is decided. Shoes stares at the metal door. She imagines it’s soundproof, and there’s no way for her to access the lab without Cheshire letting her in from the inside. With a sigh, she leaves to explore, silently praying that the assassin will materialize soon.
There’s several beautiful pieces of art populating the apartment’s walls. She would have never guessed that the woman would have been such a lover of art. Some of the paintings are colorful, abstract designs with multiple meanings that anyone could find within them. Others depict stunning landscapes in what appears to be an Asian country, though Shoes can’t tell which one. She’s so distracted by the art that she rams into one of the shelves, yelping as the sharp corner strikes her hip. That’s certainly going to leave a very nasty bruise.
A picture falls to the ground but luckily, the glass casing remains intact. Shoes picks it up tentatively, dusting off the surface lightly. A gentle smile spreads across her face — she didn’t know Cheshire had a family. There’s a rugged man with the same bright hair and artistic tattoo she’s seen in her dreams holding a little girl with an infectious smile in his arms. Shoes cranes her neck forward. Is she crazy or does that little girl look a lot like—?
“We need to go.” The assassin’s sudden appearance has the young vigilante fumbling with the picture until she can get it out of her hands and back onto the shelf. Cheshire peers at her curiously.
“I, um…” Shoes gestures to the photo. “I didn’t know you had a family.”
“Had,” she repeats. “That is the word.”
“What happened to them?”
“That’s not important, now. We have bigger things to worry about than my life’s story.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
“I understand,” Cheshire’s voice is softer; apologetic. “You were just curious, that’s all. But that’s a question for another day. Come, let’s get back.”
The journey back is silent. It seems that the Magistrate patrol Cheshire took down has been discovered, and so the soldiers’ presence has doubled. They stick to the shadows, becoming one with the darkness that constantly threatens to swallow Gotham whole.
Helicopters hover over Alleytown. Shoes can hear the shouts and gunshots on the streets — can smell the acrid smoke from the bombs detonating in the already rundown neighborhoods. Metallic, cyborg-like uniforms armed with military-grade weapons litter every inch of the town. The Peacekeepers march through with their soldiers following closely behind like loyal dogs. There’s several injured protestors and fellow Strays sitting with their backs against the wall, hands and feet bound in circulation-cutting handcuffs. The urge to sneak through and release them all eats away at her like citric acid on teeth. Those are her friends — family, even.
“Through here,” she hisses, deviating from the path they were on.
“What are you doing?” Cheshire’s grip on her wrist is tight.
“Saving them!” She wrenches herself free and steps defiantly towards the assassin.
“We don’t have time,” the woman hisses.
“But they would do the same if it were me!”
Cheshire stops and looks up at the sky like she’s having a silent, private conversation with whatever spirits may be up there. She sighs and shakes her head.
“If we get this to Selina, you have a better chance of saving your friends,” she explains. A comforting hand squeezes her shoulder, but Shoes doesn’t want any comfort. She wants action — she wants to help.
“Fine.” Shoes relents, stalking away with her shoulders hunched in anger.
The tension between them is flammable now. Her anger is festering below the surface, threatening to bubble up and explode. She keeps shooting furious glares at her assassin companion but Cheshire isn’t the least bit concerned about anything other than her task.
Unfittingly, the hideout is empty and silent. It’s unsurprising that Clayface and the other redemption-seeking criminals are nowhere to be found, but usually Eddie Nigma would be clicking away on his keyboard as the guy in the chair. Something’s off.
Cheshire stops at the entrance. “Wait, don’t–” Boom!
The explosion makes her ears ring and her vision blur. Smoke curls into her nostrils instead of the familiar scents of Alleytown. Shoes rolls in pain and wonders how many bruises will accumulate on her skin by the day’s end. A stabbing sensation in her gut prompts her to cry out and curl inwards, which does very little to alleviate the pain. She can’t hear, she can’t see, and the building is burning around her. Somewhere in the back of her mind is the knowledge that she sprung a trap meant for the Catwoman, and not the Cheshire Cat.
The excruciating pain she’s experiencing renders her distracted and incapacitated. Flames grow rapidly around her, devouring the air she needs to breathe. Smoke burns her lungs and hot tears sting in her eyes. A liquid trickles down her face, and she doesn’t need a mirror to know it’s blood. Her body lifts itself from the floor but not by her own ability. Even in the haze and flames, Shoes can make out the feline mask that has populated her dreams for months. A weak smile comes to her face—
The masked woman saves her again.
When she wakes up, she’s momentarily blinded by the fluorescent lights of the local hospital. The ringing has ceased but pain flares in her chest when she tries to sit up. Unsurprisingly, no one is at her side when she wakes up. She half-expected to see the smiling, red-and-white mask or whatever could be hiding beneath it. Shoes wonders if her mentor has any idea that she’s in the hospital — if she’s even aware that their base has blown to bits. Probably not, she thinks bitterly. Too busy trying to find Poison Ivy’s other half with that crazy jester lady.
“Glad to see you’re awake, Miss Harper.” The doctor strolls in casually, reading his clipboard for a reminder of what injuries the teen faced in the explosion.
“It’s Shoes,” she snaps, voice hoarse from the fire.
He gives her a look. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, uh, Shoes.”
“So,” the doctor settles beside the bed, crossing his legs and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in such a distinguished manner. “The good news: that explosion didn’t do its worst. You’ve got fractured ribs and a mild head injury that required stitches. Luckily for you, no concussion. Bad news: no more protests. Who knows what else could happen if you’re on the wrong side of that line.”
“Let’s cut to the chase, Doc,” Shoes states. “How much is this going to cost?”
The doctor frowns at the question. “It’s all been handled. Your mother paid this morning.”
Mother? She doesn’t have one of those! The doctor’s confusion deepens as he takes in his patient’s jaw that’s been left agape by the statement. Shoes shakes herself out of her trance. Maybe he’s referring to Selina. Yeah, that’s it.
Speaking of, Selina sits in the waiting room with a covered face and a knee bouncing anxiously. Her face lights up immediately when she lays eyes on her protégée. The hug she gives is warm and tight, and Shoes can feel the relief entering her mentor’s body. She can’t imagine what Selina would have done if she lost yet another ally. Detective Hadley’s death has had a deeper impact on her than she’d like to admit. Selina would probably crumble if she lost one of the Strays.
“I’m so happy to see you,” Selina murmurs, squeezing her protégée so tightly that the only sound she can make is a whimper in greeting.
“If you keep hugging me this hard, you’ll break another rib.”
The vigilante lets her go immediately. “Right. Sorry. I’m just really glad that you’re okay.”
“Thanks for paying for everything,” the teen says.
Selina blinks. “Paying?”
“Yeah,” Shoes replies. “I think Doc thought you were my mother or something.”
“Oh.” The confusion doesn’t fade from her eyes, but she does put on a fake smile. “It’s the least I could do.”
Shoes is out of commission after that, sticking to the rooftops now that she’s back on communication duty. She watches distant explosions, listens to the cacophony of distraught voices, and ducks for cover every time a Magistrate helicopter flies a little too close to her hideout. Clayface’s team is finally starting to get their footing, successfully driving off the Peacekeepers and their squads on numerous occasions. Selina’s been fighting more enemies than Shoes can count, and it sucks that she can’t be by her side. Protégées are supposed to learn from their mentors, and yet she’s stuck translating messages and radioing updates instead of kicking some Magistrate ass. Useless doesn’t even begin to cover it.
And then one day, Selina says she’s leaving. Which means Shoes is alone—again.
You didn’t even give me a chance.
That’s the last thing she said to Selina before she left. Not a goodbye or even a see you later, just a phrase that conveys disappointment — failure. She sits on the rooftop and drinks in the sight of Alleytown after-the-fact. It’s still smoking, and the already run-down buildings have only become increasingly irreparable in the fight. The sky is a maroon with unnaturally dark clouds floating within it. Batman has taken over the Magistrate’s attention now, and so the police force is far more concerned with the happenings of central Gotham than Alleytown. Now, the people of Alleytown can rest, heal, and pray they never face a terror like this again.
Wind blows. Shoes sighs and hugs her knees to her chest, shutting her eyes tightly so as not to allow any tears to fall.
“I’m sorry about Selina.” A voice says suddenly. She sees a flash of green and gold, and listens to the familiar assassin settle down beside her.
“Why?” Shoes throws a piece of metal, probably a remnant of a bomb. “They all leave anyway.” Her parents, her friends, Selina, even Cheshire.
After several beats of silence, she asks: “What do they call you?”
“Shoes.”
“Why?”
“Those were the first things I stole.” Shoes looks down at her sneakers — dirty, old, and hanging by a thread.
“What an awful nickname,” Cheshire mutters. “Lian is such a beautiful name—I’m sure you could’ve found a way to shorten that, or picked something else.”
The world stops abruptly and then begins to tilt at a pace so rapid that every being on Earth can feel the adjustment. That name… she hasn’t been called that name in years. No one knows it; not her friends and not even Selina. So—
“How do you know my name?”
Cheshire cocks her head to the side and hesitates for a moment, then she says so quietly: “Because I gave it to you.”
Lian isn’t sure what to say, so she stares in pure disbelief. This sounded a little too much like a confession: “Luke, I am your father.”-style. She must be dreaming, right?
Cheshire reaches up to her face and removes her own mask, setting it between the two of them so that Lian can see the nicks and dents that populate its surface. Lian stares intensely at the design, studying all the ways it differs from hers. She does it because she’s scared to look up and see the person behind the mask, the one she’s been longing to meet.
She finally looks up and, God, it’s like looking into a mirror — a mirror that shows her future self twenty-odd years down the line. Except, Cheshire doesn’t look a day over twenty-five. Lian thinks back to the woman in her recurring dream and tries to compare every detail to the one before her. The jet black hair that cascades in wild waves down her back, nails the color of the most beautiful jade, a flower tattoo right over her heart—it’s her. Then she drinks in the features she never saw: the unnaturally green eyes with an unwavering intensity; the olive skin without a single flaw; and a black freckle tucked below her bottom lip, like her creator took a pen and added a dot so she wouldn’t appear too perfect.
“My name is Jade,” Jade’s voice is soft and silken, not heavy and distorted like it is with the mask. She reaches towards Lian but hesitates. “May I?”
Lian nods just barely, frozen in her shock. Jade removes the mask tentatively. The teen can see her hands shaking, and it’s comforting to know that her mother — wow, her mother — is just as nervous as she is. Her fingers are so soft when they touch her. “Look at you. You look just like me but you act just like him.”
“When did you find out?” Lian breathes.
“I’ve always had a suspicion,” her mother admits with a gentle smile. “When I heard that there was another Cheshire running around in Gotham, I figured they had to be related to me in some way. Then I saw your face after the explosion, and that’s when I knew. You still have all that baby fat.” Jade pinches her cheeks as she says this, eliciting a laugh from her daughter.
Lian says, “I meant it when I said I dreamt about you. My dad, too.” She doesn’t miss the anguish that sparkles in her mother’s eyes, adding a momentary dullness to the shining green. However, the look fades just as quickly as it appeared.
“I know you have so many questions,” Jade’s voice is barely a whisper. She runs her fingers through her daughter’s messy, blue hair, and Lian wants to laugh at the judgmental glint in her eye. “And I will do my best to answer all of them. But first, can I… can I just…”
She can’t even muster the confidence to ask, so Lian does what she’s been waiting for; she gives her a hug. Chesh— no, Jade — practically absorbs her. Lian buries her face into the surprisingly soft fabric of her mother’s costume, letting the tears she fought so hard to prevent fall into the green and gold threads. She feels wetness seep into her scalp, and realizes that Jade is crying just like she is. She holds her like she’s afraid to let her go, and she is.
The last thing she says is a promise:
“I’ll never let you go again.”