Kim Possible and all related characters and indicia are owned by the Disney Corporation. Supergirl and all related characters and indicia are owned by DC Comics/Warner Bros. This work of fan fiction is written for pleasure, not profit.

Gotham City

It was after midnight when a van with Conundrum Electrical Contractors painted on its sides parked on a street in the heart of the downtown. Six men clad in coveralls climbed out, five of them carrying toolboxes or other equipment. The sixth man, the leader, paused and glanced up and down the street. In one direction he could see a man leaning against a parked car. As the leader watched, the man lit a cigarette. The leader smiled. All clear that way. In the opposite direction the leader saw a couple sitting on the front stoop of an apartment building. One of them, the woman, got up and went into the building. All clear that way too.

"Lets go," the leader commanded in a hushed voice. With equally quiet acknowledgments the others followed him into a nearby alley. Said alley ran the length of this particular block and was cluttered with the detritus common to such places: overflowing dumpsters, stacked bags of garbage, scraps of paper and other debris, and a couple of semi-comatose winos. The men moved quietly, not wanting to draw attention to themselves, but made no effort to keep to the shadows. That, the leader had decided, would look too suspicious. Instead they would rely on the cover he had devised to allay the misgivings of anyone that happened to see them.

Presently they arrived at their destination: the loading dock at the back of the Gotham City Museum of Art. The six men stopped just short of it. The loading dock area was watched by a pair of surveillance cameras that gave complete coverage, at least in theory. A few well placed bribes, along with a little blackmail, had however gleaned the very useful fact that one of the cameras had a small dead zone along the wall of an adjacent building. Said dead zone lead to another blind spot, from which in turn a person could slither on their belly into an alcove set into the museum's back wall, all without being seen. Once inside that alcove a person would be out of the cameras' view, and have access to a locked security door.

One by one the six men made their way to the door, careful not to show themselves. Once there, one of them set to work on the door's locking mechanism while the others kept a nervous eye out for unwanted visitors. After ten anxious minutes the leader leaned over the shoulder of the man working on the lock and hissed, "What's taking so long, Coombe?"

The man named Coombe looked over his shoulder and hissed back. "This ain't the kinda lock you can pick with a bent paperclip, Riddler. It's got anti-tampers wired right into the building's alarm system. You want I should set it off by rushing?" The last came out rather sarcastically. Edward Nygma scowled but said nothing. Coombe had a point, after all. Nygma straightened up and turned away. "I knew I had too much coffee before we got started. It's got my nerves on edge," he muttered. Nygma forced himself to remain still and quiet as the seconds ticked by. An interminable time later Coombe whispered, "Got it." He didn't try to open the door though. Nygma turned to another of his men and said, "Get the Faker ready." The man in question opened the tool box he'd been carrying . In the faint light filtering into the alcove the box was revealed to be a shell that concealed a purpose built computer. He slid the box to Coombe, who drew out a ribbon cable with a credit card shaped probe on the end with one hand, while the other flipped the switch that brought the Faker to life. After a short pause to let it warm up, Coombe opened the security door. Just inside, chest high on the wall, was an alarm panel. Coombe slid the probe into the reader slot on the panel and pressed the Faker's start button. This was the moment of truth. There was a thirty second delay built into the alarm system to allow a person entering the building to input the code that would disarm the system. Coombe swallowed. They'd know soon if the code they'd acquired was good. If it was they were golden. If not...well, they'd have to run for it.

Nygma watched the control panel. A red light had been gleaming on it when the door opened, indicating that the alarm had been tripped. A few moments after Coombe started the Faker the red light turned green. Nygma wasn't the only one in his little party to sigh with relief. Their wait wasn't over, though. Inputting the access code had only been a small first step toward the Faker's real job: taking over the museum's alarm system and making sure that it reported that all was well inside, no matter what the internal sensors said to the contrary. More anxious minutes passed, but in less time than it had taken to gain entry in the first place, the Faker's telltale lights showed it had done its work. They were clear.

"Everyone inside," Nygma commanded, "But don't go too far." Once his men were inside and the door was shut Nygma peeled off his coveralls to reveal his trademark green suit with the purple question mark sewn on to the left breast pocket.

"Mask or bowler, boss?" one of his men asked politely. Nygma pondered the matter.

"This feels like a formal affair," Nygma proclaimed solemnly. "Give me the bowler." Nygma took the proffered hat and settled it on his head. He held out his hand again. The same henchman pressed Nygma's cane against his open palm. Nygma spun the cane in a wide circle and giggled. Now that they were safe inside he felt a lot more at ease. Tipping his hat at a jaunty angle Nygma set off down the corridor. "Come along, boys," he commanded gaily, "We've got work to do."

The galley housing the museum's Southeast Asia collection was dimly lit by moonlight shining through windows set high up on one of the chamber's walls. Nygma strode purposefully into the room. There were an abundance of valuable items on display, but he had only five on his 'shopping list' as it were. Disguising his appearance he'd scouted the gallery in advance, carefully committing to memory the location of each of the items he wanted to steal. Now he approached the glass case that held the first item, a thousand year old necklace of jade beads.

"Hello, gorgeous," Nygma breathed as he raised his cane over his head.

"That's far enough, Riddler," a cold voice declared from the shadows overhead. Nygma looked up to see a dark, caped figure drop from the rafters to the floor a short distance away. As the figure straightened Nygma doffed his hat and bowed with a flourish. "Batgirl. What an unpleasant surprise."

The lithe redhead sometimes derisively referred to as the Cute Crusader by Gotham's tabloids assumed a fighting stance.

"You have two choices, Nygma. You and your goons can come quietly, or I can beat the snot of you and then drag you to jail."

Nygma chuckled. "Actually I have three options, Batgirl. The two you presented, of course, and the one wherein my men kill you and leave your battered corpse as a reminder to all that I'm not a man to be trifled with."

Batgirl smirked. "And just where in Gotham did you find hired muscle that could manage that?"

Nygma sighed theatrically. "You're right of course, my dear. Gotham's pool of talent is admittedly shallow these days. As a result, I was forced to look elsewhere." Nygma twitched his cane. One of his men stepped forward. He was a big fellow, easily six and a half feet tall, and bulky enough to weigh three hundred pounds or more.

"Muscle-bound thugs are a dime a dozen, Riddler," Batgirl sneered.

"True," Nygma agreed affably. "Muscle-bound metahuman thugs are a bit rarer, though." The big man stepped into the light. He too was a redhead, with a broad, flat face that Batgirl recognized instantly, even though she'd only seen the man's mug shot before.

Nygma turned his head slightly. "Mammoth, do me a favor and tear Batgirl in half, would you?" Mammoth's lips split apart in a cold but toothy smile.

"It'll be a pleasure, mate," Mammoth said, his Australian accent confirming what Batgirl already knew. "Say yer prayers, luv." He lunged at her, his arms spread wide to crush her in a lethal bear hug. They closed on empty air. Mammoth looked around in bewilderment, then craned his thick neck to look up. Batgirl hadn't detached herself from the line she'd originally used to drop to the floor. Reversing the line's small but powerful winch had pulled her out of his reach just in time.

Dangling from the ceiling Batgirl looked down to see Mammoth smile up at her. "So you want to give old Mammoth a bit of sport before he kills you, eh? Right thoughtful of ya, luv." He snatched up a concrete bench and hurtled it at her. A quickly deployed second line allowed Batgirl to dodge, just. As she swung she plucked a batarang from her utility belt and sent it sailing toward her foe. He didn't even try to evade it. The hammer-forged, tempered steel missile struck him square in the chest, bounced off and fell to the floor with a metallic clatter.

"Do that again, luv, it tickles," Mammoth invited mockingly, before sending a bronze Buddha flying at her. As she evaded the statue Batgirl admitted to herself that she was outclassed. Batman might have been able to defeat Mammoth, but Batgirl couldn't even begin to guess how he might accomplish the task. She would have to retreat. Her only other option was to call for help, and hope that she could keep Mammoth busy long enough for it to arrive, if she managed to survive that long. Batgirl made her decision, and pressed a button on her utility belt.

"This is Batgirl, in the Gotham Museum of Art. I'm up against Mammoth, repeat, Mammoth. I need help. Anyone you can send. Hurry!"

For eighty-nine seconds Batgirl managed to evade Mammoth's attacks. Then, as she swung out of the way of yet another thrown object, she ran out of line for her grapple guns. She'd been using two at once, swinging from one even as she launched another. She'd been more worried about running out of hooks but now, as she launched a new line and cut herself loose from the old one, Batgirl watched in horror as the new grapple flew a whole six feet and stopped dead. She fell.

A trained tumbler, Batgirl managed to roll with the impact when she hit the floor. Nothing broke, but she had the wind partly knocked out of her, and was slightly stunned. As she struggled to get up Batgirl watched Mammoth stomp across the floor towards her, his right hand drawn back in a massive fist.

"Game over, luv," he jeered as the fist started down. Batgirl tensed to try and dodge, when a red, white and blue blur slammed into Mammoth from the side. He went flying, crashing into and through the museum's exterior wall. Batgirl looked up at the new arrival and smiled gratefully. "Supergirl, are you a sight for sore eyes!"

Kara grinned at her friend. "Tell you what," she suggested as a roar of rage echoed through the gaping hole in the wall. "I'll handle big, dumb and ugly while you finish whatever it is you came here for."

"Deal!" Batgirl exclaimed, rising to her feet. As Kara turned to face an enraged Mammoth, Batgirl sprinted after the fleeing Edward Nygma. He and his gang were retreating back the way they had come. They were out of the building by the time Batgirl caught up with them. A batarang took one of Nygma's goons down as he ran. One of the fleeing henchman turned and opened fire with a submachine gun, forcing Batgirl to dive for cover. Another batarang told for the gunner, but by the time Batgirl had dealt with him and gained the street Nygma and his gang had made their escape, the sound of squealing tires and the odor of burnt rubber the only things marking their passage.

Batgirl watched as Kara held Mammoth still while a Gotham Police officer placed a restraining collar around the metahuman's neck. It was a bit strange to see such a powerful man held fast, unable to move, by a girl less than half his weight and almost a foot shorter. Still, Batgirl thought wryly, when said girl was Supergirl... Batgirl hoped the restraining collar would be enough. Gotham was unused to dealing with metahumans, and had no manacles or shackles that could cope with Mammoth's immense strength. The collar would induce a state of artificial sleep, allowing the GCPD to move Mammoth to a facility that capable of holding him. The officer who had placed the collar stepped back and activated it. Since it was doubtful Mammoth had any idea what the collar was supposed to do to him, it was unlikely he was faking when he sagged in Kara's arms and began to snore.

While a half dozen officers carried Mammoth's limp form to a waiting paddy wagon Kara approached Batgirl. "The Riddler got away?"

Batgirl nodded glumly. "I'm afraid so."

Kara smiled encouragingly. "You'll catch him. You seem to make a habit of it."

Batgirl actually chuckled. "It's not that that worries me. It's the lecture I'm going to get for letting him get away in the first place that I'm not looking forward to."

A new voice cut in. "Batgirl." Batgirl turned to look at the Commissioner of the GCPD, James Gordon. Her father, though as far as Kara knew, he was unaware of that fact. If he knew otherwise he made no sign of it, just held out a three and a half inch floppy disk.

"This is a list of everything the Riddler stole, Batgirl, along with some background information on each item. Hopefully you'll find it useful."

Batgirl took the list with a nod. "Thank you, Commissioner."

Batgirl slipped the floppy into a drive on the console of the Batcave's powerful Crime Computer. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she downloaded the disk's contents and used them to set her search parameters. "I've set the Computer to search for every scrap of information it can find on the things Riddler stole, and compile a list of anything and everything they have in common. That should give us some idea of who Riddler might try and sell them to, and why he wanted to steal them in the first place."

"How long will that take?" Kara asked from where she stood leaning against a railing. Batgirl reached up and pulled back her cowl. "Long enough for us to have some tea and cookies I think," Barbara Gordon said with a grin.

Kara sighed as Alfred Pennyworth refilled her teacup. She picked up another cookie and took a bite. "These are wonderful, Alfred." The elderly butler smiled politely. "One is always pleased to learn that one's work is appreciated, Miss Kent," he said formally. Behind him Barbara grinned widely, then sat up straight as a chime sounded from the Crime Computer. She went to the display and scanned it. Kara moved up behind her and drew in a sharp breath. The items had three things in common. All of them had been found in Cambodia. All of them were on loan to Gotham from the British Museum. And all of them had once been part of the private collection of Lord Monte Fiske.