This is my Batfam blog

You can’t get into a fistfight with Nightwing while on a stakeout

Part 10: In which Jason visits Bludhaven

Now on Ao3

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The story so far: Jason is letting a street kid named Leila stay at his apartment. His family is, unfortunately, aware. And he still has to hunt down the source of some new drugs.

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Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

--

Hood hadn’t meant to team up with Nightwing for the night. He had only tried to politely notify him that he was heading into Bludhaven on a case. Of course, that meant Nightwing had quite literally dropped in on him during a minor brawl.

“What can I say?” Nightwing said as he zip-tied a couple goons to a streetlight. “You always have the best fights.”

“Don’t you have your own cases?”

“Nothing more pressing than keeping Gotham crimes inside Gotham.”

“Maybe this is a case of Blud leaking into Gotham.”

Nightwing shot him a sardonic look. Hood couldn’t imagine how he had melodramatically suffered when he’d worn Batman’s cowl. It didn’t allow for nearly so much expression. Neither did the persona. “So what’s the story?”

“Like I said last time. Dealing with someone trying to cut into the Bowery. They were trying to establish a protection racket, but I think that was mostly for street cred. Their real funding is coming from drugs.”

“What kind?”

“A few, I think, but mostly date-rape drugs.” The strain of cuddle pollen people were calling Daddy Issues was not dying out, despite him making an example out of the two dealers he had found distributing it. Most of his nights recently had been spent hunting down people who were using it on others. It was difficult to find time to cut off the supply.

Nightwing winced. “Why are those so much worse?”

“I got a tip that Generic Thug Number Three here—” Hood kicked the still-conscious man in the stomach— “was picking up something important. Followed him here. Where he and his buddies tried to jump me.”

The thug was wheezing. “Go to… hell.”

“It spat me back out,” Hood said, crouching down to search his pockets. “Hmm. Mr. Jovanovic, is it? You going to tell me what you’re up to this fine evening?”

The thug shook his head. Hood shrugged and used the thug’s thumb to open his phone. The thug didn’t resist, probably because several bones in that hand were broken. He passed it to Nightwing, who knew the Bludhaven number for non-emergency crime reporting. “Hey, Lily,” Nightwing said into the phone. “It’s me. Yeah, got six guys on the corner of Market and Hassel. At least a couple are gang members in Gotham, so maybe check warrants.”

The thug spat at Hood, who casually clocked him. He was blinking unsteadily, looking dazed. Hopefully he was concussed enough he would have a hard time remembering what had happened tonight.

Nightwing said goodbye to the line operator and handed the thug’s phone over. Hood scanned through his texts. “Why resort to perpetually-unreliable torture when people carry around all the information I need in their extremely hackable devices?” he asked with satisfaction. “I’ve got an address.”

“Here,” Nightwing said, passing him a device. “It’ll copy all the phone’s data, so you can leave it for the cops to find.”

“Delightful.”

Hood handed it back over once he was done, but Nightwing unfortunately did not take the hint, following him back to his bike. “Where are we heading?”

“Couple streets over. Gotta move my bike, though.”

Nightwing settled himself on the bike behind Hood without asking, and he considered pushing him off just for fun. But it sounded like the cops were close, and they would want a real statement if Nightwing got caught up with them. Really, he was doing N a favor.

The phone had had way more information than he’d yet had, including a bunch of apparent messaging threads between gang members, but most pressing was this pickup. The address was a dilapidated but operating pharmacy with bars on the front windows. It was closed for the night, but the instructions said to go around back and knock on a basement door. The two of them scaled a nearby fire escape to see if anyone would start fleeing once the news of the arrests trickled in.

“So, how’s Little Night?” Nightwing asked after a few minutes, voice fake-disinterested.

“We are not calling her that.”

Nightwing smiled in a way that said he was never going to give it up now that he knew it annoyed Hood. “But how is she?”

“Finally got her in school.” It had taken some serious hacking and even more serious bribery to forge all the foster care forms to allow Leila to attend school under her own name. It would have been so much easier to come up with a fake identity for her, but that would also make it harder for her to do anything legally later. The whole point of this was to make sure her life got better, not worse.

Actually, the whole point was supposed to have been to make sure the Penguin didn’t murder her. He had maybe lost the plot a little. “She’s stuck in fight-or-flight,” Hood said. “I’m trying to get her to relax enough that she doesn’t push away a real foster family.”

“You don’t think she’ll run away the second you aren’t watching her?”

You can’t get into a fistfight with Nightwing while on a stakeout, Hood told himself. Which was, dammit, probably why he was tagging along. “Sorry, did you have any suggestions, or were you just here to poke holes in my decisions?”

“I just wanted to know your expectations.”

Yeah, he’d frankly rather get shot at than talk about this. “I’m heading in,” Hood said, climbing over the fire escape rail. “Watch the front.”

The lock on the back door was easily picked, and there was no alarm. Hood cleared the basement before letting Nightwing know he could come in. “Huh,” he said as he met Hood in the small lab. From what Hood could tell, it was a compounding pharmacy, but one that was operating completely without oversight, since it wasn’t advertised outside. “Did the texts tell you what the pickup was?”

“Could be any of this stuff,” Hood said. Most of the lab equipment was familiar to him from the Batcave, but the most important things were the racks of pills and vials lining two walls. Most were labeled with handwritten numbers rather than anything meaningful. It was going to be annoying to test all of this stuff.

“Got something.” Nightwing had found a spiral-bound notebook and was flipping through it. “It looks to me like they’re experimenting with sedatives. Maybe trying to come up with a new formula.”

Hood held out his hand, and Nightwing passed him the notebook so he could start taking pictures. “That wouldn’t be the pickup. It isn’t actually roofies the gang is selling. It’s cuddle pollen.”

Nightwing raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. And I haven’t been able to contact Ivy. O hasn’t heard from her or Harley, either.”

“Ugh. Is it bad I hope Ivy’s raising money for some plot? Because the potential that somebody has figured out how to synthesize it without her—”

“Yeah.” Ivy’s ethics were complicated, but he’d still rather have her retain a monopoly on anything she produced. “But it doesn’t look like any of the actual street drugs are here. And this place isn’t big enough to produce the quantity I’ve been seeing.”

“Maybe they’re trying to expand their operation. Get a wider selection of offerings.”

Hood cursed under his breath. “I swear, every time a corporate type gets parole, organized crime gets five percent more appalling. It’s the people who only see money, not consequences.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, Hood taking pictures, Nightwing taking samples. But quiet was too much to ask with Nightwing. “What about the Penguin issue?” he asked, crouching to examine some vials. “With Little Night, I mean.”

“Maybe his interest will die off with time?” Hood said. The idea sounded even weaker out loud. He’d had a few sources confirm that he’d put a reward out for someone matching Leila’s description, and had included some stills from security footage. Someone would collect on that, eventually. “I’m walking her to and from school for now.”

“Think that’ll work when she’s with a foster family?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe if she isn’t homeless no one will clock her.”

“And not associated with you?”

Hood didn’t answer, because he was trying not to deck Nightwing while he was holding vials of experimental sedatives. Thankfully, he didn’t keep pressing. “Kinda weird it’s only cuddle pollen, if it’s a date rape drug,” Nightwing said. “Not full sex pollen.”

Hood hadn’t even thought about that. He’d heard about Batman’s pre-Robin encounters with Ivy – decidedly not family-friendly – and it had never occurred to him that she could create more than one type of pollen. But of course she could. She’d mind-controlled the whole planet once. And yeah, sex pollen would make more sense for a date rape drug. So what—

The door burst open. Hood hit the floor hard as gunfire exploded above his head and crawled to where Nightwing was also taking cover. “Got any smoke bombs?” Hood asked.

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” Nightwing said, teeth bared in a grin. “I’ll take the left.”

Nightwing rolled the smoke bomb down an aisle while Hood crawled to the other side of the room. Two seconds later, it exploded, filling the room with thick grayness. Hood stayed in a low crouch, taking out knees while the idiots blindly fired their guns into equipment and chemicals. He felt the cold barrel of a gun on the back of his neck and spun around, grabbing it and tossing the bearer into two others.

The gun made a fabulous club.

Not that no one got a hit in. They had armor-piercing rounds, which ought to be illegal, and someone managed a glancing shot to his right tricep before Nightwing took them down. Someone kicked him in the back of the knee, which at least had the advantage of being the best direction to have a knee kicked. And there was a burning in his right thigh that spoke of an injury he hadn’t quite noticed.

When the smoke settled, there were seven more generic thugs writhing on the ground, some bones and joints visibly deformed. “You got the call?”

“Yep,” Nightwing said, shaking out some excess energy and snatching a goon’s phone to call the cops again. As he left, Hood made a mental note to have Jocelyn do another training session on proper technology use. No personal phones, no texts, and memorize numbers. Goons could be so stupid.

Out in the alley, Hood staggered, then looked down at the burning in his thigh.

A knife hilt stuck out at an angle.

“Shit.”

His leg buckled, and Nightwing was there, catching him. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Got a safe house nearby.”

Hood shook his head, panting. “No, I’ve gotta – gotta get home. Leila is there.”

He didn’t need to see Nightwing’s face to know what he was thinking. That this was exactly why he couldn’t have anyone relying on him. Because he wasn’t reliable. “You’re not going to do her any favors by coming home with a blade stuck in your leg.”

Double shit. Nightwing was right. And, even worse, the world was spinning. “I think… m’t have s’mthin’ on it.”

Nightwing swore quietly. “Okay. Okay. Need the keys to your bike.”

Hood was slightly aware of Nightwing gripping his arms around his neck in a pack-strap carry. His toes dragged on the ground. And then he was aware of nothing.

Is your life the way you wanted it to be ten years ago?

Part 9: In which Jason apologizes

Now on Ao3

2.2k

The story so far: Jason is letting a street kid named Leila stay at his apartment. Batgirl came to check in on her, and now Leila is suspicious that Jason isn't telling her everything

First | Previous

Characters: Jason Todd

--

Leila froze where she was pulling the books off the shelves when the door opened. Jason was framed in the doorway, silently taking in the wreckage of his apartment. Desperately, Leila calculated how fast she would have to move to get to the fire escape before he caught her and wished she had a grapple like Batgirl’s. Idly, as if from a distance, she noticed he had a few fingers taped together (maybe that would keep him from hurting her too badly).

But Jason didn’t move. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

Leila wasn’t going to answer that. Because it was obvious. She had emptied every cabinet and torn out every drawer, flipped all his furniture upside down and cut into them, and, in a fit of terror, pulled the fridge out from where it was attached to the wall. Gathered together on the counter was everything she had found – a clinic’s worth of medical supplies, boxes and boxes of ammunition, six handguns, two shotguns, and one long case that was locked.

He had lied. He had said he wasn’t a villain, but there was no reason – none – for all those guns. And now he was watching her, still framed in the doorway, blocking her exit. She was the stupidest kid to ever walk the streets for trusting him.

“Let me go,” she said, digging her nails into her hand so she wouldn’t cry.

“Leila—”

“Let me go!” she wailed, her voice catching traitorously.

“Okay,” he said, raising his hands. “Okay.” He edged into the kitchen, maximizing the distance between them. Leila didn’t move until he’d reached the bed, the furthest from the door he could be, and then she grabbed her backpack and phone and charger and fled.

It was still very early in the morning, barely light outside, and few people were on the streets. It took her a few streets before she was anywhere she recognized. East of Robinson Park. There were a few early-morning joggers in the distance, so Leila took that to mean it was safe – last gossip she’d heard was that Poison Ivy lived there full-time but had promised not to attack people, and it seemed quiet. Good enough for now (and what was the difference, really, since she’d spent weeks getting shelter from someone who could easily be another rogue).

It was chillier there than she had expected. Ivy’s presence usually made the park warmer than the rest of the city, but that didn’t seem to be the case right now. But it was mostly deserted, so she found a park bench and snuggled down into her cart. She let herself wallow for the duration of a protein bar and then started walking again. The bus would be faster but she wasn’t going to spend the money she had when she didn’t know when she would need it.

Paulie had barely seen her when he gestured quickly that she needed to get away. He followed her to the little alcove between some crates and a busted dumpster a few minutes later. “You have to get out of here,” he said, giving her a hug and holding her tightly. He smelled bad, after Leila had gotten used to showering regularly. “I thought maybe you were dead already.”

“What have you heard?” she asked, stomach sinking.

“Just that something happened down at the Iceberg. You said you were working down there so when you disappeared and people started asking about someone who looked like you I got worried.”

Leila huddled down and put her face on her knees. She could do this (keep living like this). She had to (maybe she didn’t want to). She was the only one she could rely on (and she was never enough). “Are they still looking?”

“I don’t know,” he said (but he knew as well as she did that the mafias and syndicates never forgot an offense and had the mangled fingers to prove it).

--

She couldn’t stay here. Paulie was in danger if Penguin’s people realized he was hiding her. Same for anyone she searched out.

She needed a plan. She had five hundred dollars and some clothes and some food, and she was going up against Penguin’s entire network (and Jason because Jason could find her and he would be angry and what had she been thinking). She could maybe buy a train ticket somewhere but then she would be in a city whose contours she didn’t already know (the bodegas where they set old bread outside under a box for hungry kids, which brokers would fence her stolen goods and which would turn her over to the cops and which would take more than she wanted to offer, the good cops and the bad cops and the vigilantes).

(The stranger in the leather jacket who everyone had whispered had been one of them, once).

--

Her phone buzzed. It was Jason.

<I owe you an explanation. Can I buy you dinner? Somewhere public.>

--

Jason was already at the diner when she walked up, wearing his same leather jacket over cargo pants and drinking a coffee. He didn’t smile when she slid into the booth opposite him, but flagged down the waitress and ordered two burgers and onion rings for himself before raising his eyebrow at Leila. She ordered a chicken sandwich.

He watched the waitress leave. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he said quietly. “I… was trying not to.”

Leila glanced around and realized he’d positioned them in the most isolated booth in the restaurant. No one was listening. “Yeah. I was scared.”

He nodded, his face tired. “I know.” A beat. “Want to tell me what happened?”

As in, why she had torn his apartment apart. “Why do you have all of those guns?”

Jason closed his eyes, sipping his coffee. “You know how I didn’t know Robin knew where I lived?” he finally asked. “That’s why. Not because of Robin, but because you don’t always know who’s watching you. I told you I have a history with Penguin. He’d probably kill me if he got the chance. So I keep guns, just in case.”

That explained approximately none of what she had really asked. “Why does Penguin want to kill you?”

Jason blinked, and she got the feeling he had not expected the question. “I, uh, stole something from him.”

“Oh.” That did not bode well for Leila, the attempted pickpocket. If Jason had to keep a thousand guns at his apartment to feel safe—

The waitress returned then with their plates. “Can I get you anything else?”

“I’d take some pie in a little bit,” Jason said. “Leila?”

She shook her head. The waitress marked it down and left, and Jason started eating. Leila was still too numb to do more than nibble. “Why aren’t you telling me the truth?” she asked. “You haven’t given me any straight answers.”

“That’s because I don’t have any,” he said with his mouth full, and then swallowed. “Basically, I don’t have legal status. It’s a long story. But yeah. I’m not officially on any books.”

Okay, that might explain a little bit, but not all of it. “You said you weren’t a villain.”

Jason made a weird face. “I honestly had no idea what to say when you asked that. But if a villain is someone who doesn’t want what’s best for you, on your terms, then no, I am not a villain.”

Leila rolled her eyes. He was talking like a social worker again, not like someone who had an arsenal hidden in his apartment. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “So, Scarecrow. Obvious villain. Likes to watch people hurt themselves and others. Falcone, obvious villain. Ivy, less obvious. Unless you’re a CEO of a company dumping chemicals in the river or something, she probably doesn’t care what you do. Any given non-corrupt cop? Most people would say they’re not villains, right? But you don’t want to end up with them because they’ll send you to foster care.”

“Or juvie.”

Jason nodded. “Or juvie. And you don’t want to go there. Those are your terms.” He quieted, looking down. “I’m sorry. I really do want what’s best for you. I just don’t know what that is.”

Leila was feeling a little better, so she finally took a big bite of her sandwich, and they ate quietly for a while. She had no idea what was best for her, either (it had been so long since she had dreamt beyond a good meal and a full night of sleep). All of her realistic options were bad. Foster care was out. She was too young to get an above-board job. School had always been impossible, and if she tried going back it’d be juvie. It wasn’t about what was best – it was about what was least bad.

She was so, so tired.

When Jason was done, the waitress brought out a huge slice of lemon meringue pie which he dug into with gusto. “Let me ask you something,” he said. There was a little meringue caught on the stubble on his lip. “What do you want your life to be like in ten years? When you’re twenty-two.”

The future stretched out before her, and it was blank. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to be homeless?” he asked. “Do you want to be pickpocketing to keep yourself afloat?”

Her eyes started stinging unexpectedly. “It isn’t like I have any other choices!”

He made a frustrated face. “I’m not – I’m trying to help you think of a different future.”

She didn’t answer, and he focused on his pie. Sometimes he ate like he didn’t know where he was going to eat his next meal. “Is your life the way you wanted it to be ten years ago?” she asked.

He scraped his fork along the plate to gather up the spare crumbs. “No. But it is still better than I imagined it could be when I was jacking tires when I was twelve.”

Oh.

She didn’t know what to say to that.

Jason stood up and threw a bunch of twenties on the table. Leila followed him, since she’d finished her sandwich. He held the door open for her. The air outside was damp and cold. She didn’t move once she was outside. She had nowhere to go.

“Will you come back?” Jason asked, leaning against the diner wall. “We can try again. This time with expectations set.”

Leila exhaled. As always – any offer of help came with stipulations. “What expectations?”

“Yours. What you want.”

Leila blinked. “What?”

“It’s hard to think about the future when you’re barely holding on day to day,” he said, looking across the street. “Let’s give you the time to think about what you want, and then figure out how to get you there. Okay?”

She didn’t know what to do. Part of her said that Jason was probably not as bad as the Penguin. Part of her – the part she hated – the part that had kept her alive – screamed that any offer of help was a threat she hadn’t interpreted yet. And so, so much of her just wanted to give up (sit in the middle of the sidewalk and just wait for whoever found her first, the cops or the social workers or the goons, it was all the same).

Jason had let her crash at his place for weeks, and he was offering to let her do it again. He’d bought her clothes and made her brownies and made sure she had a stash of food.

It didn’t change the fact that he had had a million guns hidden in his apartment the entire time she had been there. He’d given her a weapon the very first night they’d spoken. And he’d done something else, then, too. “Can I ask you one thing, first?”

Jason shrugged. “Yeah.”

“That guy,” she said slowly. “The one from – from that first night. When you gave me the taser. You said he wouldn’t come back.”

“What about him?”

“What did you do to him?”

Jason didn’t answer at first. “He’s alive. I didn’t kill him.”

Something inside Leila snapped, and her next words came out as a shriek. “Would you give me a real answer?”

“Fine,” he hissed, grimacing and ducking. Other people on the sidewalk were glancing at them. “Honestly? I beat the shit out of him. That’s what I did.”

“Why?” Leila hissed back. Her chest felt tight and she didn’t know why. “What did you want?”

“What did I want?” He was snarling now. “He wanted to hurt you. I wanted to put him in the ground, and I wanted him to hurt every second of it, and I wanted him to be terrified.”

The tightness in Leila’s chest burst into a tiny spark of warmth. She took a deep, shuddering breath, like she had started breathing for the first time in her life. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

She couldn’t go anywhere else in the city. She’d be putting anyone at risk who didn’t simply turn her in. But Jason could protect her. And she was starting to think he wanted to.

Traditional time for bat-ice cream

Part 8: In which Jason is discussed

Now on Ao3

1.5k

The story so far: Jason is letting a street kid named Leila stay at his apartment

First | Previous

Characters: Stephanie Brown

--

Leila woke up at the sound of a rap on the window. It was still dark, and there was someone on the fire escape. Had Jason locked himself out while smoking? She pushed herself off the couch and padded over to the window.

It wasn’t Jason. It was too dark to see out, but a person decidedly smaller than Jason was peering inside, clad in black. She waved. “Hi Leila. Can you let me in?”

Her voice was muffled. “No,” Leila said loudly.

“Please?” the woman shouted back, and lifted up a shopping bag. “I brought ice cream. It’s melting.”

What? If this was Penguin’s attempt to kidnap her, it was a weird one. But what if this was one of Jason’s friends, and he got mad at her for not letting them in? Leila held onto the taser in her sweatshirt pocket and unlatched the window, pushing it open a hair. The woman lifted up the heavy window with one arm and ducked inside. Leila kept her distance, keeping one hand on her taser and turning on the light as the woman put the shopping bag in the freezer. She was quite blond, and when she turned Leila saw a mask, form-fitting body armor in black with purple accents, and a bat symbol across her chest. “Batgirl?” Leila asked.

“Hey,” she said, lifting her chin in acknowledgment. “Can’t even say the one and only. Or that I’m the coolest one. Anyway. Heard you tried to tase Robin when he came in without asking so I thought I’d knock.”

“You mean when he broke in?”

“Well, duh. Yeah. He didn’t mention that part. Do you want ice cream?”

Leila glanced at the oven clock. “It’s like, four in the morning.”

“Traditional time for bat-ice cream.” She was going through Jason’s cabinets and drawers for bowls and spoons. “I’ve got moose tracks, rainbow sherbet, cookie dough, Neapolitan.”

“Neapolitan? Really?”

“Jason likes it, don’t ask me why.” She reopened the freezer and pulled out the quart of cookie dough. “You having some?”

“Sure.” Leila sat at the counter and accepted the bowl Batgirl handed her. Batgirl herself leaned against the counter with her ice cream, just like Jason did.

Batgirl covered her mouth while she spoke. “This is a nice place. Way nicer than the places Jason usually picks.”

“How do you know Jason?” Leila asked.

“We’ve worked together a few times.”

So he had told the truth about working with Robin, probably. It would make sense that Batgirl knew him too. “Is he really a bouncer?”

Batgirl made a face like she was eating lemon sorbet instead of cookie dough ice cream. “Uh, basically.”

“I knew he was a stripper,” Leila muttered.

Batgirl burst out laughing. “You’ve met Dick and you think Jason is the stripper?”

She knew Dick too? “Then what’s his real job?”

Batgirl’s face moved like she was talking to herself. “I don’t know his actual job title. But he, y’know, handles violent people. Makes sure kids are safe. Bouncer stuff.”

She hadn’t mentioned anything about a club, though. It didn’t make sense. If he was a criminal, Batgirl and Robin wouldn’t work with him. Unless he was in a gang and he was one of their informants. She knew a few people who sold information until they got caught (and then nobody knew them because selling a mask’s information was the third leading cause of death in Gotham). But she didn’t want to believe Jason was in a gang. He’d told Leila he wasn’t a villain, and she wanted to believe him (and she wanted to ignore forever the part of her that told her she couldn’t trust anyone, that she should take what she could and run).

Batgirl chatted easily about everything, asking her lots of questions. Jason hadn’t managed to sign her up for school yet, but he checked how much Khan Academy she’d done every night, and he was helping her through Jane Eyre. Jane had been excited to go to school and get away from her foster family, and then the school had turned out to be shit, of course. It was good to know that things hadn’t changed a bit since the dawn of time. People had always thought poor kids were a burden.

“Heard you’re pretty good with a taser,” Batgirl said as she finished up her ice cream and put her bowl in the sink.

Leila scowled. She wouldn’t have expected Robin to gossip (and how dare he mention her to others; how dare he tell others her weakness). Batgirl misunderstood her expression and raised her hands. “That isn’t a threat or anything. Taser’s a good weapon for you. People can learn to work through getting pepper sprayed, but it’s harder to shrug off a good tase.”

“Jason’s been showing me a couple things,” Leila muttered.

Batgirl cocked her head. “Yeah? Let’s see.”

Leila felt stupid standing in her socks with her taser in front of Batgirl. This was the Batgirl, or one of them. This was one of the vigilantes homeless kids felt lucky to catch sight of grappling in the distance and traded stories about (because most of the time, most of the time no one came when they cried, but if they didn’t believe there was a chance then there was no point in going on). She ran through the drills Jason had taught her, jabbing and spinning at different angles. Batgirl didn’t acknowledge any awkwardness, though, watching her like she was important (not the helpless charity case Robin had spun her out to be).

“I can tell you’ve been practicing,” she said when Leila stopped, breathing hard. “But you’re practicing like you’re throwing a punch, and a lot of the time someone might already have a grip on you. Can I show you some escapes?”

After double-checking the taser safety was on, Batgirl ran through a few scenarios with her – someone grabbing her wrist, wrapping their arms around her, twisting her arm behind her back. Her costume was hard but surprisingly flexible, just like Batgirl herself – powerful, confident, but kind. “If you really want to feel safe, you’ll want to practice these, but this should give you an idea.”

“Why do you care?” Leila asked.

Batgirl shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“No one cared about me while I was sleeping in alleys. Why should you care now that I’m crashing on Jason’s couch?”

That seemed to take Batgirl by surprise, because she looked away. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “That’s fair.”

She didn’t say anything more, which was annoying (it was a cop-out, an acknowledgement followed by a memory wipe, a politician’s pre-election empty promises). Instead, Batgirl dug through Jason’s weirdly organized drawers and came up with a pen and a sticky note. “Here’s my number. If you need anything – if Jason ever….” She made a face. “Call me.”

“If Jason ever what?” Leila asked.

“Jason has his own problems,” she said. “He, uh, he has a temper. He can be violent. He has hurt people before, physically hurt them. I don’t think he would mean to, but he could hurt you.”

There was that tiger in his skin, that tenseness. But she didn’t like the way Batgirl said it. “Jason treats me like a porcelain doll,” Leila sneered. “Why does everyone think I’m so fragile?”

Batgirl grinned and headed for the window. “Trust me,” she said. “No one thinks you’re fragile. I call for backup all the time. Does that make me fragile?”

It wasn’t the same. She was wearing full body armor and fought gangsters and terrorists in her spare time. Leila couldn’t keep herself safe. She could barely keep herself fed. Bargirl didn’t have to prove she was allowed to exist.

“Anyway,” Batgirl continued, “it was nice to meet you. I’ll see you around.” She saluted and tipped backward off the fire escape. Leila leaned out into the cold night to watch her controlled fall to the ground. That looked like the scariest thing in the world. Down below she got into was a vehicle, kind of like a motorcycle, and sped off through the city.

Leila went back inside and sat on the floor with her back to the couch, thinking. She’d exercised too much to fall back asleep. Why had Batgirl come here? Had she hoped to run into Jason? That didn’t make sense. If she’d worked with him, she knew he worked nights. Had she come to scare Leila off, tell her that Jason was dangerous? It hadn’t worked.

How did she know Jason’s ice cream order?

There was something weird going on here. Jason wasn’t telling her the truth. Everything he'd said was an evasion. Same with Batgirl. Leila looked around the apartment. Jason was hiding something from her, but she was going to find out what it was anyway.

--