"Everybody here is out of sight, they don't bark and they don't fig—"

She could have sworn she put new batteries in that damn thing yesterday, there was no way she listened to this piece of junk so often that it could die just like that.

Stephanie sighed as she dug in her backpack again, mumbling to herself that she should have put another set of double D batteries in her bag.

If she had to admit to herself today that carrying around an old hand radio from the late eighties to early nineties was a bad idea then that would just be the topper on the, "You're not a superhero, Stephanie Brown" train. Even if the radio was gifted by her father, it was technically hers after this long and the only thing that she would keep despite possible illegality.

She sighed and ran her finger over the name Stephanie engraved on the side of the radio before smacking it on the rooftop of her suburban house.

Still no luck.

Stephanie groaned and pulled her knees into her sweatshirt.

Another night without music.

"And what are you doing at this time of night, Miss Stephanie Brown?"

Oh great, Alvin Draper.

"I'm looking at the sky, boy blunder."

"Why?"

"I like clouds."

"It's night."

"Clouds exist at night."

He strolled over to her, his hands behind his back as he leaned over her shoulder to look at what she had. "What's that?"

"Nothing."

"It looks like a radio, retro."

Who on god's green earth unironically says retro? Dear god, Mr. Nineties kid and his goddamn retro.

"I was listening to it, it's dead."

"On your roof? You should listen somewhere safer, your dad's not exactly popular and this isn't a safe neighborhood."

"This is the only place I can get a signal for my station, the unbelievably early seventies to late eighties rock isn't exactly the most popular station in the world. Shame too, quality of it is amazing."

"Your station?"

He finally sat next to her instead of looming over her.

She couldn't help but notice the way that his thigh pressed against hers, his shoulder a mere inch away but his face far closer than it had been before.

"More my dad's but, it's the radio station he would play when I was younger." She paused, clearing her throat, "You know when things were better."

Robin shifted against her, his shoulder finally contacting hers.

"You know, things aren't always shitty," She replied to his uncomfort. "People who are bad weren't always bad, they used to be good at some point."

The air fell heavy with silence.

'Alvin Draper', or Robin, or whatever his name was this week; seemed concerned.

She made eye contact with him.

She dropped the radio on the roof and forced it to manage another line before quitting again.

'It's such a fine and natural sight—'

She sighed.

"What batteries does it take? I can pick some up on my way around the neighborhood."

"It's fine."

"Looks like double Ds, I can grab those."

"Look," She began. "It's fine, it's just a battery eater anyway." She sighed, wrapping her arms around the legs still trapped in her sweatshirt and resting her chin upon the worn material.

She closed her eyes, wished to be anywhere less embarrassing—

Buzz

Radio static filled the air, she opened her eyes and turned to the source.

Alvin was fiddling with his responder attached to his chest.

He shoots her an earnest smile before he finally reaches the station, the air filling with music once more. She watched him with curiosity as he slowly attempted to lip the words to her.

"Blinded by the light, lit up like a"

"Douche." Stephanie's corrected her friend.

Carrie simply responded to the statement with a laugh, stirring her coffee.

The two women sat across from each other, as was typical of their normal mid-break Wednesday brunch. Stephanie Brown, a tall blonde in a rather ratty gray sweatshirt with beaten up jeans, dug into her waffles like it was her last meal when it was instead just endless pancake day at the IHOP. Carrie, her shorter friend with a red pixie cut who was much better dressed in less ragged shorts and a tank top, sat across from her eating the cereal that she had regulated herself to eat so that she could 'be in shape' after being winded taking the stairs to the second-floor last week. Somehow despite their rather unprofessional appearance, they managed to sit in contrast to the IHOP, which had many health code violations and types of mold.

"No, I'm telling you, he's an absolute douchebag." She took a bite out of her plate of waffles like a lioness tearing meat from the bone. "Tim Drake is an absolute, one hundred percent, FDA certified; douchebag."

"And you're an expert on the Wayne's? I don't think you've ever written a single article about them for the Daily Gab." Carrie countered.

"I'm from Gotham, I'm an expert on all things Gotham." Another feral bite from the blonde as her redheaded friend laughed at her response. "Just because you had one interview with Tim Drake, does not mean that you know him better than a true Gotham native."

"A true Gotham native? Steph, you kill me. Brenda says you're not even from the same side of town as the Waynes, the chances of you knowing what they look like is slim."

"The suburbs of Gotham are the real side of Gotham, they were a hotbed of villainous activity in the eighties!"

"And you were born in the nineties. What does any of this have to do with the Waynes?"

"All I'm saying is you see the bad side of town and you get the idea of the bad side of Waynes. They're just philanthropists for public's sake, and Tim? Not a good bone in his body, a complete douchebag, you could say he kicks women in the abdomen in his free time."

"And yet the Daily Gab named him the hottie of the week for 13 weeks, most eligible bachelor, and now his marriage is going to be our front page. Amazing, Steph." Carrie snorted into her chocolate milk.

"I'm telling you, the devil in disguise. I pity the girl stuck with that nerd with a noose."

"Tam Fox."

Stephanie swallowed her waffle in a manner that allowed it to scrape the side of her throat, causing her to choke slightly.

Carrie watched bemused and kicked the other woman under the table.

"Tam Fox?" Stephanie somehow managed to gasp out.

"Yeah, like super lawyer Tam Fox? Children lover? Superhero supporter who just so happens to be involved in inheritance law?" Carrie rolled her eyes. "Come on, you must know her, aside from all that she's practically a model."

Steph sunk in her chair, "I do know her."

"She's a catch."

"Yeah," Her chair suddenly felt a bit too tall and she sank slightly to the floor. "She is."

Carrie managed to not notice this, continuing their conversation as the blonde contemplated drowning in syrup.

"You know, you should throw your application in to the Gotham coverage with me, being a native and all. Then you can have an actual opinion on Tim Drake."

"I'd rather be eaten by rats." She snarled.

Carrie rolled her eyes, splashing a little of her cereal milk at Stephanie. The blonde retaliated by dipping her syrup covered fork in Carrie's milk.

"Hey!" Carrie whined.

"Honestly, though, there is absolutely nothing that could possibly be worse than returning to Gotham. I'm talking decapitation, being hung by my toenails, cleaning out Deborah's overcrowded cubicle with my bare hands. I would rather drink sparkling water as a hangover cure than going back to 'Crime City, Population: Batman.'"

"Oh." Carrie had become rather downtrodden during Stephanie's rant, much to the neglect of her companion. "That's really unfortunate."

"Not really?" Steph laughed, putting down her fork atop her half-eaten pancake. "Hey, you okay?"

"You're gonna kill me."

"Why?" She asked.

"You are absolute, one hundred percent, gonna kill me." Carrie groaned.

Now Steph was concerned.

"Why?" She yelled slightly, "What did you do?

"I can't tell you."

"Carrie, you will tell me if you value your life." Stephanie threatened, half-jokingly.

"I may have told our boss something about you being from Gotham, really knowing the area… Being able to get more stories out of it than me or anyone else."