My first fanfiction :) Please read and review!

This is about a girl (OC) living in the Gotham of Frank Miller's Dark Knight Returns. Without meaning or wanting to, she soon becomes involved in the lives of Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson...

My feet paced the grimy sidewalk softly, my footsteps barely audible in the dozens of alleyways I passed by. I side-stepped the spot of light a streetlamp illuminated on the pavement. I had nothing to hide, but it was best to just stay in the shadows, away from the eyes that I knew were peering out from the darkened corners of doorstops and alleyways.

There was just enough light left in the sky to make shadows from the buildings that loomed above me. My eyes stayed in a continuous shifting motion, surveying each shadow in turn as I walked along. There was no way to count how many delinquents I was sure were lurking in the various garbage-filled niches they called their territory.

The dead and rotting body of a dog lay on the sidewalk against the wall of a building, one of its hind legs torn off by some other animal, its putrid smell unidentifiable mixed with all the other odors reeking from the darkness. A cop car rolled slowly down the intersecting street, its used-to-be-white paint illuminated slightly by the orange haze of a streetlamp farther down the road. As it passed, I ducked into the shadow of a building before continuing my stroll down the empty road. It was unlikely, with the way I was dressed, that the cop would even look twice at me, but I wasn't going to bet my ten dollars' pocket money on it.

Sometimes, after he'd had so many beers that his voluminous stash was nearly depleted, Dad would talk about the good old days, telling stories about his patrol in Robinson Park and the City Hall District. He had been a cop back then, before I was even born. Though I'd never seen them, I'd heard those times were great – money in the banks, books in the libraries, buses and people and fresh food all over the place. When the police maintained order in the city, and the sidewalks were not just dirty homes to about half its population.

I'd heard other guys talk about these days, too. These were the guys that spent 24 hours a day in a bar because they didn't have anywhere else to go. They sat and told each other stories from these days, stories about Commissioner Gordon, when he was young, and his Blue Boys. Stories they'd told everyone a dozen times before. But the stories that were told the most were the ones that no one ever tired of hearing. The stories about Batman.

Personally, I believe he existed. I've spent enough time in these bars to know that someone who can amass this much fame and respect is more than just a myth. However, I'm one of the very few in my class at school who don't think he was just a spurious legend. I'm starting my third year of high school this fall, and by now most kids my age have given up on believing in the masked hero that stalked the night and protected people from the bad guys. By now, his era must have been almost 20 years ago.

That was when Gotham was alive and kicking, a thriving cultural center of the United States. The Golden Age, Dad calls it. It was a long time ago. Before the Depression hit, the massive economic collapse that plunged the city into poverty and left the people and the businesses reeling. Some of the companies got up and running again, but most just couldn't recover from the loss. The shops closed up, the factories shut down, and a lot of people just couldn't deal – including Batman and Gordon.

The people that could afford to move out abandoned Gotham, leaving behind their barren houses, offices, and businesses. The Golden Age was gone in less than two years, leaving the city to squat in its own wretched filth, like the homeless that do just that in its streets.

I was abruptly snapped out of my musings by a faint groan coming from across the street.

I froze on the spot and then zipped into the nearest doorway, peering into the gloom and listening intently. I stared into the dark for a moment before realizing it was just an alleyway vagrant grunting in his sleep. After a cursory glance around the area I left my hiding spot and continued on. The sun was completely gone now, leaving each doorway embedded in darkness. A few minutes later I passed a brick wall adorned with lurid green spray paint across the top and red across the bottom. I studied the red in passing, trying to decipher the figures.

My face turned to a grimace as I realized the red liquid wasn't paint, but blood. My grimace abruptly changed to wide-eyed fear.

It was wet blood. Shit. This couldn't have been here more that a few minutes. I froze, breathing quietly and straining to hear all around me.

After a few seconds I heard them. Maybe two guys, in an alleyway to my right. I slowly took a few steps forward and saw them, three guys taunting an old man. One had a gun, and in another's hand I saw the sharp glint of a knife. Shit. That guy would be dead within minutes and I had no inclination to follow suit. I looked around and saw a fire escape leading up to a roof nearby. I moved silently toward it, keeping my eyes on the scene in front of me. The old man wasn't saying anything, just standing in the middle of the alley while the thugs taunted him. He was stooped over with age and I couldn't see his face. I stopped. The poor bastard was shaking with fear – or maybe he was crying.

I looked at the three guys again and scanned the area around them. I didn't see any others, taking this to mean that they were on their own, and weren't gangbangers. I could take three guys.

After another moment's hesitation, I picked a piece of broken brick off the ground and tip-toed towards the man nearest me, keeping to the wall. Careful to have all three goons in view, I took careful aim at the one with the gun. Over the years, various games, dares, and bets had endowed me with something of a skill with throwing things, which certainly paid off now as my arm snapped out and launched the brick towards gun-wielder's head. It hit, sharp corner first, square on the side of his temple with a sharp, satisfying crack of rock against bone. He crumpled onto the cement as the other two turned towards me.

Immediately, they advanced towards where I had been when I threw the rock. I darted around behind them while they were still focused on that area, coming up to the side of the man with a knife. Focusing my energy, I snapped my leg out sideways and hit him square in the crotch. He took half a shuddering gasp, his knees buckled. By now his eyes should be going out of focus and I could turn my attention to the third one, who at the moment was rushing towards me with his hand out stretched.

I darted to the left and grabbed his middle finger in my right hand, snapping it straight back towards him. His torso bent backward automatically to ease the pressure on his joints and I took advantage of his instability to punch him in the face with all the force my left arm could muster. I felt his nose crush beneath my fist.

He let out a scream, muffled by the blood that was already flowing freely from his face. I kneed him straight in the abdomen, effectively cutting out his breath. He fell to the ground, taking short gasps and moaning. I looked around. The man I kicked between the legs seemed to have fainted dead away and was now lying on the floor with his hands grabbing his crotch. I repressed a self-satisfied smirk that threatened to creep up on my face at the thought of my more than adequate ability to kick where the sun don't shine. The first one was still out cold and the third definitely wasn't going to attack me anytime soon. The self-satisfied smile broke out as I turned to look back at the old man. To my surprise, he didn't seem to have moved at all since I showed up. With mild surprise, I realized that the fight couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds.

"Are you okay?" I asked him in what I hoped was a soft, soothing voice. He stared at me a moment before answering.

"I could have handled it myself." was the gruff answer I received. I looked at him in surprise – I hadn't expected this. Upon closer inspection, he really wasn't that old at all – short, well-cut jet black hair covered his head thickly, and his body was surprisingly athletic-looking. But that still didn't mean he could take on three muggers by himself.

"Oh," I faltered, unsure of how to proceed. 'Some thanks,' I thought. 'If I hadn't helped out he would be dead by now.'

"Well, I guess I'd better go…" was my audible response.

He looked at the three men lying in various throes of pain on the ground.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" he asked me.

"I didn't really learn anywhere…" I answered in my typical vague way. I had always had a natural disinclination to give any information about myself to strangers.

He was still looking at the muggers. I waited a few seconds for him to say something, and when he didn't, I decided I had wasted enough of my time on this crazy old bat.

"Well, if you're okay then…" I muttered, moving towards the street.

"What's your name?" he interrupted.

"…Sam," I replied, deciding it would be best to tell him the truth, just in case there was a reward coming.

"I'm Bruce." He held out his hand and I took it.

"Nice to meet you, Bruce." I said in a cheerful voice. I was thinking about the best route to take home, but he interrupted my thoughts.

"Where do you live?"

"Upper East Side," I lied. That was the richest part of Gotham I knew of, unless you counted Bruce Wayne's manor. I always tell people I live in Upper East Side for two reasons. One, if people think you're rich, you're treated with a lot more respect; and two, because it's pretty much the opposite of where I do live.

He looked at me for another moment. "No, you don't," he said impassively.

As I was about to respond, I realized something. I stared at him for a second. Holy shit. He's a cop. No wonder he could have handled that himself. Shit shit shit. Anywhere near a cop was nowhere I wanted to be. I surveyed the alley through the corners of my eyes. If I kept him talking, I could probably scramble up that fire escape and get to the roof. There was no way he could follow me across the rooftops.

"Yes, I do," I replied petulantly to keep him from noticing how I shifted my weight in order to be ready to spring toward the fire escape.

"No, I'm--" I turned and fled toward the ladder just as he started talking. I leapt up on top of a trash can and grabbed the rail, swinging my legs onto it and knocking the trash can over as I did so. I certainly didn't expect him to try follow me, but you could never be too careful. I scrambled up the ladder and pulled it back up out of his reach. I sprinted up the four flights of metal stairs, taking them two or three at a time and not looking back. I sprang onto the roof and ran across the building to the other side. As I ran I could see there was only a narrow alleyway between this and the next building.

Not stopping to utter a prayer, I sprinted at full speed and hurled myself over the gap, landing with a painful thump on the next rooftop. I fell over and scraped up my knees and hands as I tried to stop my momentum. Picking myself up off the cement, I glanced back for the first time. Then I received the biggest shock I had had in a long time. Not only had the man followed me to the top of the roof, it looked like he was actually giving chase. He was running after me and I realized that he was actually planning to jump just as I did.

"Holy fuck!" burst out of my mouth as I spun on the spot and ran in the opposite direction. I reached a door on the roof, yanked it open, and flung myself inside. It turned out to be the opening to a flight of stairs and I nearly took a header down an entire flight, but managed the grab the railing after tumbling down only a few steps. I pulled myself up, gasping for breath. I was badly bruised in several places and my right pant leg was torn. Trying to ignore the pain, I stumbled down to a landing and went through a door, where I found myself in an old hallway of what must have been an office building years ago.

As the shock of the fall faded away, I could feel many more pains in my arms, head, neck, and torso where I seemingly had banged each against a roof, stair, railing, wall, or other hard object. Just find somewhere to hide, I thought. You need to lose—

I felt a hand grab the back of my neck and another on my arm. I was up against a wall with my wrist between my shoulder blades before I knew what hit me.

"What…the… fuck?" I choked out in a screeching pant. He didn't answer, but looked at my torn pant leg, now stained with blood ('where did that come from?' I wondered vaguely). I tried to control my heavy and ragged breathing.

"You're hurt," he informed me.

"So? You better back the fuck off, or soon you're gonna find out what hurt really means!" I wasn't surprised that he was unfazed by my lame bluffing, and he still efficiently kept me pinned against the wall.

He released me from the wall, and I immediately brought my wrist around to front to hold it like an injured bird. He looked at me the same way he had done in the alley less than five minutes ago.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," he said. "My name is Bruce Wayne."

I don't think I those words even penetrated my brain for a few seconds. When they did, I stared at him in complete shock. I'm not sure, but my mouth was probably hanging open. Bruce Wayne? The billionaire? Regretfully, I remembered our conversation earlier. Nice to meet you, Bruce. I stared at him in shock. I could hardly believe I had met Bruce Wayne, let alone saved his life—

Wait. I saved Bruce Wayne's life.

HELL YES!! My penny-pinching days were over. I stood there, waiting for him to show me his thanks in the form of a check with my name on it.

But no checkbook came into view. We stood together in the dank, dirty hall, looking at each other for what seemed like more than a few seconds. I decided I had better bring his attention back to the fact I had saved him.

"Um…hi…Mr. Wayne. So are you sure you're okay? You didn't get hurt in that alley?"

"Yes, Sam, I'm fine." I ignored the little part of me that was flattered he remembered my name, and the other little part that was worried.

"Okay, so…um…." as I continued to look at him the happiness that had erupted inside me moments ago deflated like a big, dream-deflating balloon. The cheap SOB wasn't going to pay me. I didn't know what to say. Grudgingly, I remembered that when I fought the three muggers I hadn't done it for money. Maybe he wasn't going to pay me, but I didn't need his money, the stingy bastard. I suppressed a sigh and turned to go.

"Well…it was nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne. If you'll excuse me, I really do have to go…it's getting late and all…"

"Yes, of course. Thank you for your help back there, Sam. Have a good night."

"…Yeah. See you."

I walked back out the door and onto the landing, my anger returning. All I had gotten out of this stupid escapade was a torn leg and a hell of a lot of bruises. I made my way down the stairwell, limping slightly from the cut leg. Once out on the sidewalk, I looked up and down the street. A block to my right was the alley where I fought off the three guys, and two blocks past that the hobo I had heard earlier still slept on his doorstep, snoring peacefully.

Again, please read and review! I'd really appreciate any comments.