Gotham U.

Assistant Professor Barbara Gordon's Office

Not technically her office hours

Scene: Our intrepid heroine, Batgirl, after a long night of battling evildoers, is detailing her harrowing adventures to her friend and confidant, Barbara.

Barbara, knowing our intrepid heroine has been on some truly harrowing adventures of late, gives her undivided attention.

"…and Jason was Red Hood, but this time he wasn't crazy. Homicidal, yes, but in a 'Patrick Swayze in Road House, I killed a guy and regret it every day of my life, whoops I ripped this guy's throat out, you killed my mentor, now a polar bear is going to get you' way. But he wasn't around much, since he was off being a space cowboy with Arsenal and Starfire, which was as hilarity filled as you can imagine…actually, scratch that, it didn't make a bit of sense…"

"Steph…"

"…oh, and after Jason 'died,' Bruce recruited Tim, who was both an Olympic-level gymnast and a you-level computer genius, except he was stupid enough to steal money from Penguin, get caught, and force his family to go into witness protection, thus changing his last name to Drake when Bruce 'adopted' him as the third Robin in, like, two years, though I couldn't seem to make up my mind, apparently, whether or not he was actually a Robin or jumped straight to Red Robin out of respect for Jason's 'death'…"

"I really need to grade these assignments…"

"…of course he, also, didn't have much to do with the Bat-fam, since he was off playing Teen Titan in the worst costume from the nineties, and that's coming from a girl who wears a thigh belt, and making weirdly inept passes at Wonder Girl, which, by the way, ew…I should really tell Kara about that part, she'll get a kick out of it…"

"Hey, look, the Bat-signal…"

"…and then the Titans were attacked by Superboy on orders from a Definitely-Not-Cadmus Labs and were forced to dress like they were in Tron…"

"Wait," Barbara interrupted with enough force that I seriously thought Calculator was attacking. Again. "Are you even old enough to know Tron?"

I waved her off. "There was a new sequel out just a few months ago. Inspired me to watch the old one. Holds up surprisingly well. Where was I?"

"The Titans were stuck in Tron," Barbara Gordon, the Yoda to my Skywalker, said, doing that adorable thing where she pinches the bridge of her nose under her glasses. "You know you don't have to be lying down on my only couch for this, right? I'm a computer professor, not a psychiatrist."

I lifted my arm just enough to look at her out of the corner of my eye. "Sometimes you just have to obey the stereotype, Bones."

"Don't call me Bones," Barbara shot back.

"I don't know," I said, tapping a finger to my chin. "You do need a new handle. You 'killed' Oracle…"

"You're doing the air quote thing again."

"Calling you Not-Oracle defeats the purpose," I continued on as if she hadn't spoken. "So, Bob's your uncle, Bones."

"Bob's your…" Barbara sighed. "Video chatting with Beryl again?"

I gave a thumbs up to the ceiling and did my best Ringo. "Too right."

You would think, with the snark, that we didn't really get along, but that's how we operate. Truth be told, I worry a little bit when Babs does get sentimental on me, because that usually leads to her getting kidnapped by crazed arch-foes who sic a horde of nanite-controlled zombies on her. Or I've nearly died after inhaling the weaponized spores of an alien plant. You know, normal Friday afternoon stuff. At least for me, anyway.

I'm Stephanie Brown, college student thirsty for knowledge by day, vigilante thirsty for justice at night.

And I had the weirdest dream.

The Bat-family was the same, yet different, except for that lovable little psycho Damian, who was exactly the same. But there was one thing that was completely missing from everything. Me. Don't get me wrong, there was a Batgirl, but it was a magically healed Barbara in a mecha-suit fighting some mirror guy. Not Mirror Master, because that would have made sense, except for the fact that he's a Flash rogue, but an actual guy made out of mirrors. There was nary a plucky former Spoiler to be found.

Or a Cassandra Cain, now that I think about it.

"What does that mean?" I wondered.

"What does what mean?" Barbara asked.

Whoops. Inner monologue glitch. Again. "The dream," I said. "Neither Cass or myself were in it. Like, not even a sly mention on the side that we exist. So, oh wise one, what does that mean?"

She seemed to give that a long moment of consideration before answering, "That you shouldn't watch Tron and The Butterfly Effect before bed?"

I blinked at that. Huh. "Good point."

"Steph," Barbara said carefully. "While I normally enjoy your sparkling commentary on…well, everything, I really do need to finish grading these assignments."

I perked up the exasperation in her voice. "Why the rush? Hot date? Perhaps with a certain dreamy, yet somewhat emotionally unavailable Gotham City Police detective?"

Barbara shot me a glare worthy of Bruce. "No, I do not have a date with Nick."

Nick would be "St." Nick Gage, though I don't really know why the cops call him St. Nick, other than the obvious. Personally, I refer to him as Detective McHandsome, thanks to my…friend, I guess, Wendy. He really is dreamy. He's got these haunted eyes, amazing hair, and has managed to master that permastubble look that millions of guys have tried, but few actually pull off. When we dated, it took Tim probably four days to get that look. And even then it was spotty at best.

Granted, he was sixteen and not late twenties or early thirties, but I digress.

Detective Gage and myself had developed something of a working relationship over the last few months. It was a unique relationship, in that he trusted me to do my job as Batgirl and I would squee almost always silently. There was also plenty of unresolved sexual tension in our witty banter. At least, that's what I told myself prior to diving out of a plane and into the midst of a pack of super-armored psychos causing a riot at Blackgate Penitentiary. Right before doing what was, possibly, the stupidest thing I could think of, I made a huge, personal sacrifice to my own happiness and told the good detective to give Babs a call.

It had been four months, now, and he still hadn't followed my advice.

I hadn't seen him professionally, either, for a few weeks. Weird. Should probably check that out.

"If you must know…"

"I do."

She did that nose pinch thing again. "I'm meeting with the Birds. Well, Dinah and Helena. Apparently, I need to, and I quote, 'find the fun, B.' So, I'm being dragged to a club."

I sat up at that. "Because you just scream 'raver.'"

"I know, right?" she said. I mentally cringed at the phrase, thoughts of my deadbeat of a father springing into my mind unbidden. I shivered slightly and reaffirmed my vow to never use those three words ever again. "There's a poetry reading tonight at the student union that should be pretty interesting."

Poetry reading. Of course. "Babs, and I say this with much love, but go to the club."

"Don't you have a final to study for?" she shot back. As dense as I can be, even I noticed her annoyance level taking a sharp jump.

"Had my last one this morning," I said brightly. Her annoyance didn't stop me, but I noticed it. Progress, thy name is Stephanie.

"Ping pong match?"

I shook my head sadly. "Pad's already blown town. Headed back to the Motherland for the summer."

"India?"

"Central City."

The wince was totally worth it. Barbara shook it off and soldiered on in her attempt to rid herself of me. "What about Jor…"

"You are not really going to finish the word I think you are, right?" I cut in with my best impression of Bruce scaring a mugger into wetting himself.

"Apparently not," Barbara sighed. "You could always train."

"Well, yeah," I said, rolling my eyes. "But that just makes sense."

Babs leveled me with a much better impression of Bruce's 'Make muggers pee themselves' glare. "Out."

"Okay, okay," I said, gathering up my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. "I know when I'm not wanted. You don't have to tell me twice."

"Steph…" Barbara bit out, but, visibly, let out a breath for a ten count. I actually saw the vein on her temple throb twice, like one of those anime cartoons. Wendy would have been proud, had she been here and not off finding Buddha or whatever it is she's looking for. "I will talk to you tomorrow. Unless it is a Crisis-level emergency. And I mean the Anti-Monitor, himself, has to be bearing down on us and a Flash has died."

I saluted with one hand while the other twisted the doorknob to her office. "Got it, Bones."

Whatever she said in response was lost as I pulled a Bugs and slid out the door and out of the Rossum Computer Sciences building. It was a warm day, with the kind of sun we don't see in Gotham very often. Not a cloud in the sky, somewhat low pollution content, a bird or two singing. It almost inspired me to start spinning as I walked across the Quad towards the bus stop by the student union. I curbed the impulse, if for no other reason than I really didn't want people seeing my Maria from The Sound of Music impression. Again.

Normally, I'm not in this Pollyanna of a mood, but it had been fairly dead around Gotham for the last few months. Ever since the incident with the Order of the Scythe at Blackgate, which left your friendly, neighborhood Batgirl in a Black Mercy-induced coma for a few days, the seedy underbelly of Gotham has been quiet. Muggings, murders, drug dealings were all down to merely above the national average from Gotham's usual output of "War torn, third world countries look more appealing." Not even the Arkham sect had broken out lately.

Predictably, because some higher power hates Stephanie Brown, the second that thought crossed my mind was the exact moment when a building near the union decided to explode.

The Quad at Gotham University was surrounded on all sides by buildings. The library was the main one, as it took up the entirety of the northern 'wall' of the space, complete with really neat archways lining the main walk up to the doors. Really, all of the six buildings that formed the perimeter of the Quad were probably an architecture nerd's fantasy, though, ironically, the architecture building was a dumpy-looking thing on the far, south end of the campus. And props to me for using 'ironically' correct. It truly is a lost art. I blame that song.

The explosion seemed to come from the walkway out of the Quad on the west end, opposite the computer sciences building that I had just emerged from torturing Barbara in. The buildings create something of an alley before opening up into a courtyard between the student union and the Language Arts building. The administration had dubbed the area 'the Hamilton Hill Free Speech Zone' and students liberally took advantage of it by voicing their opinions.

Granted, the opinions are voiced by graffiti, but they still were being vocal about their political beliefs. Have to take it in baby steps. First is the graffiti denouncing the corrupt Gotham City government. After that come the protests in Robinson Park about the lack of support for the police department in their fight against the "freaks," which is followed closely by Poison Ivy's plants eating the protestors because they were stupid and held a rally in Robinson Park.

Really, I've seen it a million times in the nine months since I started college. But I digress.

From what I could see from across the Quad, the building that had blown was in that alleyway, about two buildings deep. It was a narrow, three-story thing, though that didn't mean it didn't have at least one basement level. This is Gotham City, we're talking about. Odds are good Bruce has at least one satellite Batcave somewhere on campus. Smoke was pouring out of the windows on the first two levels, along with a steady stream of students fleeing the blast.

I rushed forward without thinking, fighting my way upstream of a swell of students stampeding away from the sudden chaos. A second, smaller explosion rocked the quad, forcing everyone to drop their bellies. I used the opportunity to find a way around the milling students before they became even more panicked and swept me off with them. I hopped up on to a nearby statue of someone I'm sure was important to the development of the school, trying to get a better look at the scene.

I was high enough to see numerous bodies lying around the ground, some moving, most not. Smoke billowed out of the white, brick building from all three floors, assaulting my nose even from this distance. A group of people burst out of the doors even as I watched, a few actually on fire and screaming over the roar of panicked voices. I started to jump towards them, but remembered that I, firstly, didn't have a grappling hook, and, secondly, that I wasn't wearing the purple-black-and-yellow.

Thankfully, someone tackled one of the burning people, the started rolling them on the ground forcefully to get the flames out. I could see him point at some other people, obviously instructing them to do the same to the others. It took a couple of shouts, but his buddies finally reacted, knocking down each of the burn victims and dousing the flames. Looking down, I grabbed at the collar of a passing student, who yelped when I stopped her in her incredibly cute sneakers.

Seriously, they were purple, canvass and had little yellow bats all over them. They were screaming, "Stephanie, buy these."

"Hey, what building is that?" I shouted at her to be heard over the stampede.

She blinked at me twice before stumbling out, "The Hightower Agriculture Library."

"Thank…" I frowned. "We have an agriculture library? No, better question. We have an agriculture program?"

The girl shrugged out of my grip and ran off, her black hair flying behind her and a jean skirt swishing inappropriately. The crowd around me found their sense of self-preservation and started running off again. Wisely, I stayed put at the foot of Kenneth Wayne, who looked about as pleasant as Bruce, so I assumed they were related, until they dispersed. I dropped down from the statue only to find Barbara right beside me. How a paraplegic can do a "ninja appear," I'll never know.

"What blew up?" she asked.

"Ag library."

She blinked and looked up at me suddenly. "We have an ag library? Gotham U. has an ag program?"

"I know, right?" I replied automatically and suppressed a shiver. "Though it does explain why we have a Harvest Festival."

"Finally," she rolled her eyes. "That mystery is solved. Now I can move on with my life. The authorities are on the way. Probably five or so minutes out."

I narrowed my eyes and tightened my grip on my bag's strap, which drew a sigh from beside me.

"It's daytime," Barbara said, apparently having developed mind-reading powers in addition to Keyboard-Fu. And actual Kung-Fu.

"Like that's ever stopped me before," I replied, dropping my bag on the ground and kneeling to dig into it.

She glared and then sighed in resignation. "At least take a rebreather."

I flashed said rebreather, one of the mini versions with the two small tanks jutting from a central mouthpiece. The fancy, longer-lasting, fits over my full lower face version was still in the utility belt. Don't ask why I keep one in my school bag. It's a traumatizing story involving a sewer, a midget, and a stripper.

With the rebreather in one hand, I took off towards the fire with several batarangs in the other. Specifically, these were of the fire-suppressant variety, with a couple of the freezing ones thrown in for posterity. Several were even my own inventions, thanks to the handy batarang quesadilla press in my secret lair below Barbara's former apartment.

Heh. I have a secret lair. Never get tired of saying that.

I dashed across the Quad, ignoring the moans of the wounded. Thankfully some students and faculty seemed to be trying to do some first aid, because I don't know if I could deal with bodies just lying around on the ground, waiting to die. I would stop and help and condemn anyone in the library to death. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. With others pitching in, though, I was able to rush towards the inferno guilt free.

Well. Guilt free-ish.

The flames were intense, much more so than I expected. The smoke was thick, making it almost impossible to both breathe and see into the library. Okay, I can deal with that. I'm good at improvising; it's kind of my thing. I stepped into the smoke plume, letting it conceal me from anyone watching. Shifting all but three of the batarangs to my left hand, I let fly with what I had invented down in Firewall: Fire suppressant, freezing goop-a-rangs. Don't ask me how I did it, considering the batarang press is really only meant to combine two different cartridges, but I have batarangs that are awesome in fiery situations.

Granted, they are really more meant for small fires and/or fire-based supervillans, but, right now, I takes what I can gets.

My little pretties flew through the blown out doors to the library. I, honestly, couldn't really tell what I was aiming at, considering the insane amounts of smoke, but I figured fire was everywhere, so anywhere would be a good target. Sirens in the distance let me know that the fire department was on the way, amazingly enough in a timely manner. Though, it shouldn't be that surprising, I guess. Even corrupt government agencies don't want to see burning kids on a TV screen.

Steam and a few screams came billowing out of the windows and doors of the library. I shoved the rebreather into my mouth and ducked low to avoid the, still, large amounts of smoke that hung black in the bright, spring sky. A smoldering husk of a welcoming desk greeted me as I hurried into the library. It was coated in a large amount of icy, dripping foam courtesy of my Freeze-fire Goop-a-rangs (trademark pending). I tried not to wretch at the sight of a pair of black-and-red cracked legs sticking out from the wreckage, the knowledge I was already too late for one person weighing me down.

Beyond the welcome desk and lobby of the library hung what was left of a pair of large, wooden doors that had been, likewise, hit by probably only one of Goop-a-rangs. From where I was standing, crouched low to the ground, I could see the main body of the library, a number of shelves lined up on either side of a central walkway, had been lit up. Most worrisome was the ceiling, which I could tell, even through the smoke rolling like a black wave across it, was of the structurally unsound variety. I decided it would last only about five more minutes.

A creak and a loud crash towards the back of the library made me readjust my assessment down to 'not enough time.'

I charged in, regardless, as a few more screams came to me over the roar of the fire. I noticed a pocket of people pinched in by some fallen, burning debris in the corner to my right, so I flicked a batarang that direction, not really knowing if it was a fire suppressant or freezing variety.

The explosion of white foam and steam told me it was fire-suppressant. An older man using his tweed jacket as a way to mask his face was struggling to help some students over the wreck as I ran up, remembering at the last moment to take the rebreather out of my mouth. Which was just as well, since I had just about exhausted the pathetically small canisters already. My breath was immediately taken away by the heat, though I pushed past it and started helping the older guy get the fifteen students in his charge over the wreckage.

"Hurry," I shouted, which devolved into coughing. "We're gonna find out what's on the second floor any moment."

The professor, for what else could he be with a tweed sport coat, nodded once. "Did you see what it was that put out this particular hotspot?"

"Fairy Bat-mother," I quipped as I tried to pry a particularly hysterical girl decked out in sorority paraphernalia from my waist after I eased her down.

That earned a raised eyebrow and a shake of the head. Batman had been exposed as more than an urban myth to the public during my…complete lapse of judgment a couple of years back, but there were still a healthy amount of people who stubbornly clung to the 'he's not real' camp. Which, honestly, was just stupid, considering the Knight Bus tours. And the visible batsignal from the GCPD headquarters. I could cite more examples, but loud pops and the ominous sounds of more ceiling about to give reminded me that THE BUILDING WAS BURNING DOWN AND NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR TANGENTS, STEPHANIE BROWN!

I reached a hand out to the professor, as he was the last one now behind the debris, and yanked with all the force I could muster. He started to fall, but I steadied him and, once he had his footing, pushed in the direction of the door. I hesitated before I followed, the rest of my payload of batarangs in my hand, and decided to let fly with them in the hopes of buying both us and anyone else I couldn't see some more time. It would be precious little, seeing as this thing was at a point the fire department was probably just going to let it burn down rather than risk sending anyone inside.

My feet were already moving back out the lobby before any of my 'rangs activated, though I did hear a number of pops and whooshes that signified they were doing something. I happened to glance to my right as I was running towards daylight and noticed a portion of the stairs leading to the second and third floors had fallen in front of what looked like a computer lab. And blocked in by a mass of wood was Jordanna Spence.

Sigh.

Karma? Yeah, we're square now for the whole Scarab thing.

Jordanna, the Regina George of Gotham University, was pounding on the door, screaming loudly to get my attention. Though I seriously doubted she knew it was me she was calling to. I hurried over, keeping low to stay out of the smoke, and assessed the situation. Thankfully, the detritus wasn't on fire, though it was blackened like it had been. Unfortunately, it was too heavy to move out of the way without calling on Supergirl or, in a pinch, Miss Martian. Neither of whom would get here before the library's sudden, but inevitable, discovery that combustible materials, plus fire, equals no more library.

So, I did the only logical thing and threw a heavy piece of debris through the window looking into the lab.

Unfortunately, it just thudded off the glass.

"Oh, come on," I muttered, even as Jordanna gave stared blankly for a moment before she started screaming and gesturing wildly at me. Thankfully, I couldn't hear a word she was saying, which made ignoring her relatively easy.

Okay, so, bulletproof glass. Bit overkill for a college computer lab, but, then, this was Gotham City, after all. Heat would melt the plastic layers, but, seeing as how we were currently surrounded by said heat and there wasn't even warping yet, this glass must have come from S.T.A.R. Labs or something. Super-glass. The Glass of Steel. That's a terrifying thought.

Jordanna jumping up and down drew me out of my reverie. When she was satisfied she had my attention, she frantically started pointing back towards the fiery library of doom, screaming one word over and over. As much as I wanted to ignore her and figure out something to cut the glass with, like a diamond, I couldn't. I may not be really great at charades, but I am able to read lips really well.

She was screaming, "Axe."

My eyes trailed along the wall until I found one of those 'Break Glass in Emergency' boxes. Someone had already busted it out and removed the fire extinguisher, but still resting on its hooks was a bright, red fire axe. I leave it to less engaged minds to question why the library had bulletproof glass, yet still allowed ready access to an axe.

The axe was warm, but not scalding hot as I gripped it and hurried back to the computer lab. The smoke was getting thicker again, telling me my batarang barrage had only done so much. That and the constant creaking and groaning of the building let me know I didn't have much time left on my own estimate. That meant I had to make this swing count, because I wasn't likely to get a second chance.

No pressure.

Clambering over the debris, I spun the axe head so the pick would be striking the glass, looking to cause as much structural damage over a tiny area as possible and praying there was heat warping I couldn't see. I hauled back and swung with as much force as I could muster, which was actually quite a bit, considering the bat-training program. The pick busted through the glass, which caused a shattering effect and I was suddenly showered in shards. A scream of either joy or fear reached my ears as the five students trapped in the lab with Jordanna began trying to scramble out at the same time.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Did you people learn nothing during fire drills in elementary school?"

They all stared blankly back at me and I sighed. Kids. "Single file, no panicking, and we get out of this just fine."

Blissfully, they did what I told them to, even Jordanna, though it was with a huff. I was helping the last of the students out when the creaking and popping in the library proper began turning more into a cascade of noise. I yanked the poor girl's arm hard as I pulled her behind me, diving towards the door only a few feet away. I probably shouted something; I would like to believe it was an inspirational call to her that we were, indeed going to live, but, in reality, it was probably either a wordless battle cry or, more likely, a four-letter word repeated over and over.

I reached the door and swung the girl, who had short, orangish-red hair, adorable nerd glasses, and a glinting eyebrow piercing, through the door ahead of me, even as a wall of smoke and dust started enveloping us from the collapsing building. She flew through the open doorway and tumbled down the steps, where firefighters gallantly waited to scoop her up and carry her to safety. I could feel the impact of the building behind me as I put as much push in my leap as I could, letting my momentum and the shockwave throw me clear of the front steps and to the ground below, where I rolled several times to make sure I was both clear of the building and not on fire.

Tragically, there were no gallant firefighters for Stephanie.

Exhaustion washed over me as my adrenaline started waning. I forced myself to my feet, coughing all the way, and scrambled even farther back from the library as it folded in on itself, flames jumping high into the sky. Satisfied that the emergency personnel on scene could handle the situation, I decided to make my way back to Babs. Instead of cutting back across the Quad, which would have drawn all sorts of unwanted attention, I snuck in between buildings and made my way into the crowd of shocked rubberneckers in the courtyard, doing that urban camo thing that us Bat-people are taught to do so well.

"Hey! Steph!"

Forehead slap.

I looked up to see Francisco Gracia making his way towards me through crowd. Francisco was…gorgeous in that hard-bodied, square-jawed, perfectly gelled, Latino heart-throb kind of way. Y'know, if you're into that kind of thing. Which, it seemed, most of the campus was, as he had no lack of admirers, amongst both the students and staff.

Sigh. Yes, I was one of them also.

At least, at first, anyway. You see, unfortunately for roughly seventy-five percent of the female population of Gotham University, Francisco Gracia had no interest in them. Fortunately for thirty-five percent of the male population, he was in to them. Bear in mind, of course, my numbers may be skewed. My polling of the LGBT community of GU consisted of me making up those percentages just now.

I stopped and waited for him to shoulder his way through the crowd, clad in jeans and a T-shirt that was just awesomely tight. He may bat for the other team, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the man's beauty. He was even adorable in his Gotham Knights baseball cap. His faced was flushed with fear and his right hand was clasped in that of what I assumed was his boyfriend, a handsome, blonde, All-American boy type. If they weren't together, then Francisco was going to owe that poor boy dinner for dragging him around like that.

"Are you okay? Were you in there when…" he trailed off, gesturing aimlessly at the now-smoldering pile of rubble that was being doused by multiple hoses of the GCFD.

I gave a non-committal shrug and quipped, "I'd just found out GU had an agriculture program. Who knew?"

Francisco released his grip on All-American's hand and grasped me, almost desperately, by the shoulders. "But you're okay? You're bleeding Steph. Let me get an EMT…"

"Whoa," I shook my head. "Slow down. Yeah, I've got some hellacious smoke inhalation and probably enough splinters to build an end table, but I'm fine. See?" I moved my arms in a manner that I belatedly realized was the Robot. "Funky dance moves are still a go. Let the medics handle the people who really need it."

"At least sit down," he insisted, guiding me to a stretch of wall in the courtyard that wasn't occupied. Francisco practically shoved me down into a sitting position as he muttered, "You look dead on your feet. Are you sure you don't need an EMT? I can…"

"Stephanie will be fine, Mr. Gracia," Barbara's voice cut in from somewhere on my left. I lolled my head that direction, suddenly finding the effort to move muscles monumental. She was wheeling up to us from the crowd with looks of concern and annoyance warring behind her tinted glasses. "I'll keep watch over her. Why don't you and your companion see if any others need some assistance?"

Francisco looked like he really wanted to press the issue, but Babs must have had her death glare working, because All-American grabbed Francisco's hand, muttered something I didn't catch, and led him away, with Francisco yelling, "Call me later."

I waved slightly and leaned against the wall. One of Barbara's wheels came into my peripheral vision and I moaned out, "I'd like to not be blown up again for a very long time."

"I'll see what I can do," she said dryly. "Do you need Leslie?"

"Please and thank you," I responded. "I wasn't kidding about the splinters in my back. Next time I go racing into a burning building, make sure I'm wearing more than a T-shirt."

"Sure," she said, though from the tone of her voice, she was stopping herself from saying anything more. The reason why revealed itself a second later as a shadow rolled over me.

I looked up, again more of a lolling of the head, to see Jordanna standing above me. Her dark brown, really almost black hair, was a mess, with glass and wood shards still liberally sprinkled throughout. Soot was everywhere on her face, though she still looked gorgeous, which I reminded myself to be annoyed at later, when I had more energy. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before huffing.

"Thanks for not being completely worthless," she said rapidly, then spun on her heels and marched off towards an EMT with a waiting oxygen mask.

"Huh," Barabara grunted after a moment. "That was…"

I waved her off and began pushing myself up off the ground, sputtering a few times in the process. "That was Future Stephanie's awkward situation to deal with. Please tell me you're parked close by."

"Thankfully, yes. Just on the other side of the union."

"I love you, Babs."

"You love my handicap sticker."

"I plead the fifth on the grounds that I don't want to respond to that."

Thankfully, I did not embarrass myself in stumbling to her car. I at least waited until I was buckled in before passing out. It's the little things in life.

A/N: Welcome to what happens when I binge read Bryan Q. Miller's excellent Batgirl series. I want more. Unfortunately, there isn't really all that much that I've been able to find, other than a few awesome, and one awesomely weird, AUs. So, Ta da! Continuation fic. I actually have plans for three volumes. Which is more than I have for the Community: Season 6ish fic I've got going on. Unlike that one, there probably won't be too many author's notes here. Also, will update this one whenever I feel like it. I've got a few chapters in the can, but, as I just discovered, I ran out of oomph with 6ish. So, I'm not guaranteeing a weekly schedule or anything. You will see a lot of familiar faces throughout, some unexpected faces, and Superman wears underwear, dammit.