At first, she thinks the dreams are an after effect of the Black Mercy; they have that same sharp quality, more of a memory that something her subconscious dragged up. She remembers a son, in the Mercy dreams, so it makes sense that there might be a husband too, and maybe that’s who those hands belong to. They're not a boy's hands, which is what makes her think it’s a dream of the future, except for how she always feels the same age. After the first few dreams she wonders if it might be Bruce, if her subconscious is just really messed up, but the hands are too soft to be a vigilante's hands. They touch her like a lover might, like Tim or Dean never did, sometimes rough enough to leave bruises that she looks for when she wakes, tracing her own fingers over unmarked skin, because she remembers it so vividly, those hands gripping her hips as she moaned. After those dreams, she's left with an ache between her legs that makes it almost impossible not to touch herself, but there's never any satisfaction.

Other nights, worse nights, the touches are gentle, fingertips skimming over her scars with a tenderness like whoever he is thinks she's made of glass. She tells him as much, in the dream, laughter in her voice, but his reply is lost to the murky swirl of the dream.

Or maybe it's just the rain.

There's no flowers in the dreams, not like there was in the Mercy dreams, just bright colours and a glint of gold (cufflinks?) and the taste of coffee on someone else's tongue. She even looks for the flowers, and one night she dreams lucidly enough that she pulls away from him and starts tearing apart the room - his room, she knows - looking for that telltale image, because if this isn't Mercy lingering in her system, she's scared of what it might be. It isn't until the room is a mess and she's sitting on the overturned mattress, crying her eyes out, that he touches her again.

It's okay, neshomeleh.

It means sweetheart, she finds out later, in Yiddish, which gives her more to go on than anything else she's found out from the dreams so far.

Eventually she gives up and goes to Dr. Midnite for a blood test, asking him if there are any cases of the drug lingering in someone's bloodstream, or even messing with their brain to make their dreams more vivid, more repetitive. He frowns at her, worried in the way a doctor should be, but she shrugs off any more questions and just waits until the results come back. She knows she should talk to Babs about it, because she tell that she's worried even more than Dr. Midnite was, even if it's clear that Babs has no idea what exactly it is that's driving Steph to distraction.

At least, not until she falls asleep at the computer in the Batgirl bunker and wakes up to find a blanket over her shoulders and Babs sitting nearby, the worry so clear in her eyes that it almost hurts. Apparently Steph talks in her sleep, now, but when Babs asks her who Saul is, all she can do is shake her head and make an excuse to get the hell out of there, before she does something stupid like start crying.

She has a name for him, now, but there's no Black Mercy left in her body, which leaves her without any explanation for why she's being haunted by this man.

Not long after, Cass comes home from Hong Kong, and it's like something just clicks after all that time apart. When she should just grab Cass up in a hug, she ends up pulling her into a kiss, instead. It seems like the only person who isn't surprised is Cass herself; she just laughs against Steph's lips and kisses her back. For a little while, when Cass is curled up beside her in bed, the dreams stop. It's a relief, mostly, but there's a part of her that still thinks about them before falling asleep, wondering if she'll ever find her way back into those dreams where Saul is waiting.

For months, she doesn't, until one night it's raining so hard that it takes her an hour to fall asleep, even with Cass's arms around her waist. And then it's raining in the dream, too.

They're dancing, this time, his hand on the small of her back and his smile bright as he leads her through a waltz. It makes her chest ache even though she's smiling up at him, even though she kisses him, making him miss a step in the dance. But she doesn't care; he looks nice in his tuxedo, and she's in purple and yellow, because of course she is. Saul seems to find it amusing, and when she looks at his hand holding hers, she realizes the cufflinks on his dress shirt are little gold bats.

She isn't sure how long they dance, and although it's raining their clothes never get wet, and she can see so many stars whenever she looks away from Saul.

The only warning she gets that something is about to go horribly wrong is the look of concern on Saul's face, and the tap on her shoulder. There's another man, and fear curls through her chest with recognition, despite the fact she can't put a name to the face. He asks if he can cut in, and at first she thinks he's asking to dance with her, but then he grabs Saul and starts dragging him away.

She tries to stop them, but the floor is slippery with blood and there's an arm around her waist, a voice in her ear saying that he's sorry, that he doesn't want to do this, that it's just how things have to be. She lashes out, and the arm around her waist loosens except all that happens is she falls forward into the blood, and the touch of it burns her skin, the pain and panic making her cry out. The apologies continue as those arms haul her up, and she can't see Saul anymore, can't see the man who took him, but there's a pair of gold cufflinks fallen in the blood.

She picks them up despite the pain in her hands, but when she looks back up the pain is only warmth, because she's holding a hot mug of tea instead of the cufflinks and staring at Jesse. That's who was holding her. She wonders why he looks so sad. She wonders where those scars on his face came from.

He tells her it'll be alright, that she just has to drink the tea and Saul will be okay, that Mr. White promised.

So she does.

She wakes up retching, running to the bathroom and coughing up what she's sure is blood. There's a metallic taste in her mouth, but when the light turns on the sink is clear of red. She rinses out her mouth, trying to get rid of the taste and the sick feeling in her stomach, but it doesn't work, and now there are tears in her eyes to match the tang of metal on her tongue. Cass's arms circle her waist, lips pressed against Steph's shoulder as she looks up her with concern in her eyes. Steph opens her mouth to say she's okay, but Cass just shakes her head.

"You miss him."

She wants to argue it, wants to tell Cass that she’s never met this man she dreams about, and how could she miss a figment of her imagination? Except Cass is right, the hollow ache in her chest is exactly like missing someone.

What’s worse is the feeling in the pit of stomach like she’s forgotten something important.