So, here I go, with the first four drabbles of my series! I hope you guys enjoy! Onward ho!

One: Introduction

Zatanna Zatara was different, right down from her unique name to her bewitching personality; at the very least, this Bruce knew.

The other girls or boys that his mother and father ushered him off with while they talked with their parents in smoky libraries and draped windows of politics and business were usually petty, shallow, and vapid. Bruce made it a point to call them out on these less-endearing traits, making him the bane of play dates and the derision of Gotham's High Society regarding its special subset of Young Adolescents. Fortunately for them, but less fortunately for him, it made him spend a few years in playmate-less and in general isolation, spending many an afternoon spent in the grass, searching for grasshoppers and beetles that would accompany him on his adventures.

However, Zatanna Zatara was no stuck-up, shallow child. She was interesting, down to her very core. She gave Bruce cause to be wary, with her disarming, cheerful smile and pretty face. As he silently observed from behind the shield of his mother's arm her perfect, polite ettiquette and her smooth, silky black curls that cascaded down her back, Bruce couldn't help but find his guard lowered in just the slightest.

But for him, that was all it took. It had started when the two of them had been shooed off to the library. Bruce had glowered at her from the corner while she promptly ignored his attitude and admired the vast library. The towering shelves of books, the ornate, decadent walls, and the bright windows that allowed soft, suffused light in were admirable, and she was not one to shy away from appreciating it.

Eventually, when the silence had grown long past awkward and more comfortable to the two of them, Zatanna finally stopped looking about the room and to Bruce. The boy looked ready to sink into the shell that he had formed for himself, with his glare his primary defense against her bright demeanor.

With all the courtesy she could muster, Zatanna disrupted that silence and asked gently, "Are you going to keep glaring at me all day, Bruce?"

Bruce blinked in surprise. Whenever he glared, the girls prattled about their hobbies and then proceeded to obnoxiously expect him to actually reciprocate in conversation, while the boys usually attempted to drag him around the house so that they could 'explore' or whatever other stupid things they thought would win him over.

But he had never been asked something as simple as that. He honestly didn't know how to answer. He was seized by a surge of audacity, and followed suit on it.

"Yes." He answered boldly, and his expression was adamantly irritable as she regarded him.

"Okay then." she said, and then she got up from her seat, walked to the shelves of books, and promptly ignored him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, curiosity piqued and some sense of offense awakened. The glare left his face for the slightest of moments as he craned his neck to see what she was doing; she was scanning the cracked, faded spines of the books with rapt interest.

"I'm looking for a good book. You could help me with it." She offered, and her bright brown eyes continued to scan the shelves, tiny fingers running over the threaded letters, embellished simply yet prettily. She continued down the polished, waxed tile until he could no longer crane his neck to look.

"Why would I help you look for a book? They're all boring." Bruce called, and he dared to step out of his chair to look at her from around the corner of the bookshelf with a small, soft hand palming the wall cautiously. She was kneeling over a thick volume of mythology, something he never cared for in all nine years of his life (not that he knew what it was in the first place).

"Well, have you ever read any of the ones here?" she asked, and of course it was a simple question that pierced his armor the easiest. There was a moment as he floundered for an answer.

"…No." he replied in a small, guilty voice.

"Not even once?" at this, she looked up right at him, as if she expected him to be right there the whole time instead of huddled in his shell upon the corner of the room. She caught him off-guard, so that he couldn't dare pull back,and he froze like a deer in headlights.

"No," he answered again, voice a tad more guilt, although it was quickly replaced by a defensive anger as his brow furrowed. "Why, does it matter?"

"No, I guess not. But I thought you might enjoy reading a book with some good company over sitting in the corner by yourself," she offered with the simple honesty a child could give.

He blinked, and his brow set deeper once more, cold blue eyes regarding her vacantly. "I'm not alone."

"If you stay there, you are. Come and sit if you feel like it," she smiled that sweet, pretty smile and patted the tile besides her, and then looked away from the pouting, pondering face to the book with yellowed, well-used and well-read pages, and soon found herself lost within them.

It was a few minutes later that she the soft padding of leather shoes advance towards her and then a quiet voice inquire, hesitant and unsure, "What's the book about, anyways?"

Two: Complicated

Oh, it had never been easy having Bruce Wayne as a friend, Zatanna had been sure of that. Ever since the moment that she had convinced him, begrudging and sullen, to sit with her, she knew that it was going to being a trial to make him open up to her. He was the kind who was easily scared into himself, afraid to divulge and even less willing to listen, almost as if he was afraid that everyone around him had the worst intentions at heart.

Yet at the same time, she saw over the course of months that they grew to know each other that he could be sweet, good-natured, and reliable. The tight fists that he used curl up and stuff into his pockets began to open, to reveal a chocolate he had stolen from the pantry for her, a flower from the garden, a butterfly he had been careful not to harm that flew off on bright blue wings, off and away, spiraling to the heavens.

It was complicated. She knew that. She liked it.

It followed him into adolescence, when it grew so difficult, after that fateful night in the alley. The shell consumed him and once genuine smiles grew forced, becoming scars carved into his cheeks to be a crude facsimile of joy. Bruce didn't want to see her anymore, as if her attempts to be natural and to try to let his grief run the course of time were as painful as asking him to forget. She grew distant in reciprocation, learning the arts with her father, but made sure that if there was ever a moment she could spare, that she would return once more to the manor.

Sometimes she did, if she was lucky and Alfred had drawn the windows to let in the sun, she would see a smile that reminded her of their childhood, a smile that was genuine, and it was as she could see the real him, the real one that she wished would return.

It was complicated. She knew that. She would get used to it.

Years passed. After the years of training from both sides, of resilience, of vows unspoken yet always present, they were reintroduced to each other at a gala, rife with vicious gossip and rumors tempered with malpractice. She found it so difficult to wonder if this was the sullen, grieving teen that she had grown so used to seeing instead of the tall, strapping man with a smile that still seemed too strained, too forced for her liking.

And then he leaned down and pulled her close like he had years and years ago.

"Hey, Zee," he whispered as he hugged her, and the embrace was awkward, as if he hadn't been held or held anyone for a long time, but she relaxed into it with a soft smile and spoke as quietly as he did.

"Hey, Bruce." She grinned, and closed her eyes and sighed.

It wasn't an apology. It wasn't a promise. But it was a reminder. And she guessed she could live with that.

It was complicated.

Three: Goosebumps

They slid up and down her arms like a wave, prickling her skin and causing her to shudder involuntarily in the chill of the night. The two of them stood by the gargoyles that were open-mouthed and scowling on cracked stone rooftops, and looked down to the world below.

"Are you cold?" Bruce asked, a low timbre that intruded upon the silence, and she felt the unexpected presence of eyes watching her, which caused them to return with a vengeance. She allowed another shiver to slide up her spine.

"No," she grinned with what she hoped was a disarming smile, giving him a thumbs-up and hoping that her fingers hadn't fused together, "I'm perfect. I'm just, y'know, going to slowly die of hypothermia when I get home."

She mumbled the last part, hoping he would be deaf to it, and settled for rubbing her hands together; after all, she had to conserve her magic for any possible crimes, certainly not for protecting herself from the ungodly temperatures that oh-so-dearly enjoyed torturing magicians in fishnets and tuxedos.

Perhaps she was asking for it, especially when it was on the crisp cusp of autumn and the leaves, as she admired the leaves that had begun to descend down to earth and be scattered away to the winds when they decide to whisper through the streets. Goosebumps rolled up her arms and she fought the urge to shudder again, settling for biting the inside of her cheek.

A hand, firm and strong, found its way to her shoulder, and remained there, and it was probably due to the fact that it probably had its own personal radiator that it felt so warm, almost as if it was thawing out her shoulder from the ice that was most certainly plotting a way to freeze her in her heels to the rooftop. She looked, dark curls bouncing, to see Bruce staring down below, refusing to give her his gaze.

"We'll be done patrolling here soon. We can move somewhere closer to ground if you'd like then." He said, almost as if he was reassuring her, and it had to take someone who knew Bruce Wayne for practically all his life to know that this was the closest that he would ever come to a straight-up apology.

Zatanna looked from him, to the hand that continued to remain thawing her shoulder, back up to him again.

"Thanks." she smiled.

The goose bumps rolled up her spine again, but this time for a different reason.

Four: Rivalry

"So," she asked him a different night, as they sparred in the privacy of the cave, "Selina Kyle, huh?"

"What about her?" he asked, his cowl dangling from behind so that she could admire that handsome face of his (not that she told him that she thought it was handsome) and dodged the punch that snapped towards his jaw.

"Oh, nothing, nothing. Just curious." She said, offhandedly and as casually as she could maintain while restraining the venom in her voice. She spun around in a flurry of motion to aim a kick at his ribs that he managed to evade, "But while we're on the subject…"

"She's a friend. A respected companion." He replied as she stepped back to avoid a chop that most likely would have had her down for the count. She managed to crack a few knuckles on the armor that so conveniently protected his shoulder. "She's saved my life a few times."

"Oh. Well, I, on the other hand, have managed to save your life countless times. A fact that I pride myself on." She retorted with unsubtle pride, and exhaled sharply through her nose with the effort of having a pressure-point applied on her arm. She quickly backtracked, retreating to her defense.

"Is she beautiful?" Zatanna asked while the two of them circled each other, daring the other to strike first.

"Focus," he commanded imperiously and devoured the distance between the two; he jabbedd towards her stomach as she jabbed at his.

"If you insist," she graciously replied, and kicked out at his chest, causing him to stagger back, taken off-guard for a moment before regaining his bearings. He reciprocated by kicking out at her neck, which she thankfully managed to duck, and stood, replying with a curled fist to his jaw.

"How long have you known her?" she asked, curiously, as he stooped down to knock out the footing from underneath her. Breath knocked from her lungs, she found herself in a rather unruly heap on the floor. After a lot of pain that she knew would make sitting an unwelcome task, she managed to open her eyes to see Bruce glaring down at her, effectively communicating his displeasure.

"A lot less than I've known you," he said, and then, as any gentleman would (although Bruce Wayne was a far cry from one), he extended a hand to help her up. She gratefully took it, and hoisted herself to her feet, rubbing the sore side of her back.

"Why do you care, anyways?" he asked, and his irritation was replaced by the milder side of bemusement as he cocked an eyebrow and stared at her with those wary blue eyes.

She shrugged, wincing as she did so.

"I'm curious. I hope you don't send me to Arkham over it," and she sent him a grin returned with a glare.

"Not funny," he said, and walked back to his side to restart the match. She couldn't help but snort at his reply, and then she, too, returned to her end.

Besides, she thought, I hate losing.

If you guys would like, I would really appreciate some one-word prompts for my next few drabbles. Feel free to drop by a few words and say what you liked or didn't like about the stories. Thanks!