Disclaimer: This is based on a true story. (Seriously. Guard your children, people.) But I don't own the DC 'verse. I could pretend I did, but that would be wrong.

This is a CATfic (www. freewebs. com/ catverse) taking place during the third ("pulling an Elvis") arc, in late May, after BiteMeTechie's "Bury Me Deep."

Spring Training

Al looked damn good in a uniform. She wasn't a vain woman, or prone to caring much at all what other people thought of her appearance, but there was something about all that blue, the hat, the tie, the badge. She would have liked to be able to carry a gun, but under the circumstances, the nightstick did well enough. It was almost like being paid to wield her old trusty lead pipe.

One of the few advantages to being dead was that any prospective employers' background checks wouldn't turn up the truth of the girls' checkered pasts. Yes, they had to go to some trouble to create new identities every time they screwed up, which was a frequent occurrence. But they could handle it. Between the Captain's forgery skills and Techie's hacking, they had been able to recreate themselves well enough to catch any job they really needed, right up until the moment they remembered how much better suited they were to a life of crime.

And this job had been no different. So much for Gotham. No wonder all their museums kept getting robbed. The girls were good at covering their tracks, but the people in charge didn't even seem to be on the lookout for trouble. Just look at the way they had arranged the shifts. Two of the three new guards were on the night shift, with no seasoned backup. And the third had the first hour and a half of the morning shift all to herself, only joined by her partner after he got his kids off to school. The museum was severely understaffed. Did that mean they had to be stupid, too?

Al went through her morning rounds, not at all surprised to find that her partners in crime had left the place in perfect condition for her, as they had every night before, and would every night in the future until they were finally ready to clean the place out completely. She never had to straighten anything up when she came in after them. After a week of getting to know their ways, even the janitor wasn't bothering to show up on time.

This was not one of Gotham's major museums. It was tiny, understocked and understaffed, with very few exhibits worth visiting, and even fewer worth stealing. They wouldn't have been able to pay their electric bill without the generosity of the Wayne Foundation. But the place was close to one of the city schools, and it had its educational factor, along with a certain quiet charm that allowed it to meet with Wayne's approval, so it limped on, year after year. And while the take from robbing the place would be modest at best, it would be an easy job, and an entertaining diversion. Besides, there was some ancient Egyptian jewelry that had given Al an unaccountable feeling of purely feminine desire.

She finished her circuit, waved hello to the tour guide and the man at the front desk, and went to the vending machine for a drink. (It was a tough job. She deserved a break.) On the way, she automatically noted the position of the video cameras—two real ones, and three dummies. She could slip past them in her sleep now, if she wanted to.

Al leaned against the wall, sipping her coke slowly. No point getting back to work any sooner than she had to. There was no one around, anyway.

Except for one little girl, maybe six years old, tiny and cute, who appeared before her so suddenly, Al nearly dropped her drink.

"Excuse me, Miss Tetley?" the kid said shyly, fidgeting. "Can you help me go to the bathroom?"

Al glanced down at her nametag, unconsciously checking to make sure the little girl had read it right. Then the words sank in, and she felt her jaw drop.

Help her go to the bathroom? What?

"Aren't you here with your family?" she asked. There were no school trips scheduled, and this kid was too young to have come by herself.

"My grandpa's here, but he can't go in the girls' room. He said to ask you."

Oh, sure. Teach the runt to trust strangers. That shouldn't get her killed in Gotham City, not at all. Al looked around for the old man foolish enough to trust her with his grandchild. He was nowhere in sight.

Was he not even watching? Oh, nice parenting! She could have been some kind of pervert, hungry for the tender flesh of young virgins! She could have been a kidnapper—wait a minute, she was a kidnapper! Not of little children, but the girl and her grandfather couldn't know that! Did she really look at trustworthy and responsible, just because she had let her hair fade out to its natural color, and put on some lip gloss and an official-looking hat?

"I have to go really bad," the girl whined. Al sighed.

"Okay, I'll make sure you don't fall in."

The little girl shot off like an arrow. Al followed.

The bathroom was one of those tiny, dingy affairs with no separate stalls. Al locked them in and parked herself by the sink, keeping her eyes on her own shoes as the little girl clambered up onto the toilet. She felt like such a dirty old man, in spite of the fact that she was neither a man, nor old, nor in any way excited by the situation.

Wow, this was uncomfortable. And people wondered why she didn't like children.

"You're pretty."

Startled, Al looked up.

Pretty? Since when was she pretty?

But one good thing about children was that she had never known one to lie without a reason. Since the squirt had nothing to gain by the flattery…

She must obviously be a very intelligent and perceptive young lady.

"Thank you," Al said awkwardly. "I think you're pretty, too. I like your Hello Kitty skirt." And her underwear, too. She had star-spangled panties, just like Wonder Woman's.

The little girl was beaming, swinging her legs back and forth. Al smiled back. What a cute kid.

No! No, she was not thinking that! Kids were not cute!

She turned on the water while the girl was pulling up her underwear. The kid had to stand on her tiptoes to wash her hands. Al helped her with the soap, and tried to feel a little more annoyed about it.

There was a bang and a scream from outside. Al winced. They weren't getting robbed, were they? She didn't need that kind of attention, not when she was supposed to be dead.

"Stay here and stay quiet," Al whispered. Stealthily, she unlocked the door and opened it just a crack.

She could see a man with a hammer…and someone in a Furry suit.

A walrus and a carpenter.

Jervis! She felt the most compelling urge to run out, hug him, and offer him another cup of tea. That would be a very bad idea, of course. He was sure to remember that she was supposed to be a corpse, fuzzy-headed though he might be.

And where the Mad Hatter struck, Batman was sure to follow. Damn it. She was going to be in trouble either way, interviewed by Batman, the cops, and the evening news.

Okay. She was going to have to take some action here.

She smiled at the little girl.

"Sweetie, do you know who the Mad Hatter is?" The kid nodded hesitantly. "Well, he's here to rob the museum, and I'm going to have to stop him. I want you to stay in here until it's all over, okay?"

"But…what if he kills you?"

Aw. Seriously. Aw.

"Don't you worry about me, kiddo. I just want to make sure you stay safe."

"Wow, you're really brave."

Unable to think of a response, Al just winked. Then she slipped out into the hall, unobserved by the Mad Hatter and his minions. Well, that wouldn't do. She squeaked her shoe on the tile as she crept up behind him.

He turned around just in time for her to tackle him and knock him to the floor. And, yeah, it was more hug than attack.

"You?"

"I hardly know, sir," she replied automatically, forgetting that a real security guard wouldn't stop for a chat. "I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then." He smiled as if he understood perfectly.

"I wish you wouldn't keep appearing and vanishing so suddenly; you make one quite giddy."

Oh, Jervums, I missed you, too. Oh right, but this wasn't the time for a warm reunion.

"Chip me," she whispered. He blinked.

"What for?"

"For crying out loud, Jervis, you have to take me with you."

He shrugged.

"Why not?"