Okay, I moved this story into the comics section, hoping ofr a wider reading. True, it's not really Batman, but Batman plays a promeniate (sp?) role, so I'l take the loop hole. Fair warning: I have no idea how to write a Batman fic. My information comes from online friends, the new graphic novels, and the movies. I take all that and bled it together so that you might night get everything and some of it might be plain wrong. Oops. So, if I'm wrong about somwthing, tell not flame.
Nightshade0020: congrats on being my only review. That's right, your my only reviewer. thanks for the info on the R-cycle, I didn't know, obviously. And I'll explain how he walked into her mind later. Oooo, mystery!

Oh, please note that towards the end I never say Ross because Dick doesn't know her name. I did that on purpose, morons.

Brain Teaser

He felt like he had a hangover. He probably did, he didn't remember what he did last night. He rolled over and could almost feel his brain slide to the other side of his skull. Dear lord, everywhere hurt. He would have groaned, but his lungs felt like pulp.

"I told you not to go into the Narrows." Bruce was reading a book at the end of his bed.

Dick groaned. "Don't shout."

Bruce whispered, "I wasn't shouting. Did you get drunk last night or just beaten bad?"

Dick dry heaved as an answer.

Bruce put down the book. "What did you do last night?"

Dick shook his head, and regretted it immediately. It would have felt better to have his head put in a drying machine. "Was in the Narrows, had some sort of weird hallucination… crossed the bridge and must have blacked out."

Bruce looked pensive. "Hallucination? I thought all the traces of that gas were gone by now."

Dick dry heaved again. When he was done he muttered, "Wasn't that type, it was… real."

Bruce shook his head. "They all seem real at the time, but they never are. They're just imaginary images."

Dick covered his head with the sheet; he was too tired to argue right now.

"Ross, wake up, we have to go to school."

She flashed him a spiteful image with the thought, It's Saturday, you son of a hooker.

"That was uncalled-for." He beat her over the head with a pillow. He stopped as soon as he heard her mental scream. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"

No, not that, I feel like I have a hangover. Why were you beating me with a wooden board?

Jake sat down next to her on the couch and slowly rubbed her back. Is that what you were out doing last night? You were getting drunk? You hate alcohol, passionately last time I checked.

She flashed him an image of a mountain of aspirin He handed her the pills and she engulfed them with her gaping mouth eagerly. Wasn't getting drunk. I had a little… meltdown in the Narrows and someone walked in.

Jake whistled, causing Ross to cringe violently. Don't do that.

Did the guy survive?

She pulled a blanket over her head. Yeah, but he probably feels as good as I do, if not better.

Jake knew she meant worse when he watched her vomit up her meager breakfast onto his carpet.

Next Monday Ross still felt under the weather, but going to school was better than rotting in Jake's rancid two room apartment. He was technically a minor, but "a mysterious benefactor" was the owner of the small pad. Really, Ross had just tweaked the landlord's mind to make Jake look fifty. The good thing about staying with Jake was not having to ride a bus and instead riding in a car he'd restored himself. It was proof that his future didn't lie in car mechanics.

"Miss King?" The principal intercepted Ross's pass to her wide receiver – the back of Bean's head. "There's someone in the office for you."

Jake, Nac, and Bean made "ooh, you're in troouble" noises as she followed the principal, mentally giving them rude gestures.

In the office stood her parole officer, a cop, and a social worker. What is this, a joke?

Her parole officer, Wilma, stepped forward. With a name like Wilma, parole officer and cartoon character were your only career options. "Ross, I'd like you to meet Nora and Commissioner Gordon."

Ross groaned. Loudly. "What'd I do?"

Gordon's eyebrows went up behind his thick glasses. "Actually, this list goes on. But recently? You broke your parole by driving, which was also breaking the law because you have no license to speak off, and you're living with a parentless minor with a permanent record slightly more impressive than yours."

Ross sat down backwards on a chair. Gordon did likewise, staring her down. "Alright. So?"

Wilma cracked her knuckles. Ross knew that meant plug up that yapper of yours or I'll plug it for you. Ross knew she would, too. "So, another two months of parole for that little stunt. Only two months because we realize what a rush you were in."

Ross nodded. "And what does that have to do with me staying at Jake's place?"

Nora stepped forward but Gordon cut her off. "You're a minor. You can't live with another minor, especially one like him. So, until next October you need someone to have custody of you. That's what Nora's here for."

Ross looked the woman up and down. To her, the woman was a whirl of indecisiveness and unconfident personified. "Yeah, right."

Gordon thought, not knowing she could hear, I know, you'll probably walk all over her. Why do you think I came?

Ross leaned forward. "Do I get to pick who I live with?"

Gordon cut off Nora again. "No, I do."

Ross laughed. "I can guarantee that I'll have myself kicked out of any house in Gotham by the end of the week."

Wilma flicked the back of her head as a warning.

Gordon examined her face. She was defiant, for sure, but she was smart too. I bet you could. "Weren't you living with foster parents before their murder?"

Ross's grin disappeared. "That was different."

Gordon nodded, mysteriously understanding. "Alright, I bet I can find someone with a will as stubborn as yours."

"I dare you."

Gordon smiled as if he'd won. "How about Bruce Wayne?"

"Bruce Wayne." He picked up his office phone, almost filled with dread. It was Gordon. What had Dick done?

"Mr. Wayne? This is Gordon."

Bruce balanced the phone on his shoulder and began writing out people he could cash in favors with to get Dick out of jail. "Hello, Commissioner. How can I help you?"

"You can help me win a bet."

"Well, I'm not much of a gambling man myself…" Had Dick been gambling at the police office?

"You, all you have to do is be more stubborn than a teenager for a week."

Bruce sighed. "What did Dick do this time?"

"Dick? He didn't do anything, he's been a model citizen as far as I've heard, which you should be glad isn't much. No, this is a kid named Ross King."

"Well, Gordon, one teen boy is enough for me to handle…"

"Oh, Ross is girl. She's a good kid when she's properly motivated, and will spend most of her time sulking in her room. You'll hardly notice her."

Bruce was digging for a way to get himself out of this. "Dick sulks enough for me, thank you, I don't need another moody teen in my house."

"She's not moody, her parents were killed brutally in front of her last Friday."

Bruce knew how that one felt, and Gordon knew he's sympathize. Bruce sighed. "Alright, she's welcome here."

The doorbell rang. The doorbell rang again. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

Dick slid down the banister shouting, "I'm coming! Stupid Girl Scouts, don't get your skirts in a bunch!"

He opened the door and felt like he'd hit a wall. First, the girl standing in front of Commissioner Gordon was really pretty. Second, the look on her face made her not so pretty, it made her look like Freddy Kruger. Third, he recognized her from that weird hallucination he'd had. She looked almost the same, except the cataracts had disappeared.

"I'm not wearing a skirt." The Freddy Kruger face was replaced by one of mild bemusement.

Gordon spoke. "Dick, is Mr. Wayne here?"

"Bruce? Oh yeah, Bruce." Dick blushed at his sudden loss of suavity. Not that he'd been very suave to begin with. "He's not here, something about a board meeting. You need him for something?"

Gordon look reluctantly at the girl and then at Bruce. "I suppose not, all the papers have been signed. I've got somewhere to be, I trust you can make your new guest at home? Good." And left. She was standing there, with a box at her feet looking very lonely all of the sudden, and he left. He left both of them together. There was no one else there, because he left.

He wasn't aware that he'd been staring blankly until she said, "Dude, you look like you're going to start drooling."

He snapped out of his thoughts and picked up her box. "Umm, let me help you with this." He picked it up and set it on the staircase. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Dick."

She looked at his out stretched hand and then back up at him. "You are Dick or you are a dick?" She picked up her box and headed up the stairs.

He followed her up the steps. "I hate to be the one to tell you, but that was a lame try at an insult."

In a squeaky voice she mimicked, "I hate to be the one to tell you, but that was a lame try at an insult."

"That was mature."

"Excuse me if my sarcasm and dry wit are sparse today. In the past week I've had my family massacred in front of me, had to transfer from my high school to some prep school, had to move out of two homes, and got landed into the same house as you. I'm not really in the mood to be clever. Try again when Hell freezes over."

Dick whistled. "You too?" He unceremoniously tramped up the stairs in front of her.

The Freddy Kruger face was back. "What the hell would you know about it?"

He led her down a hall while speaking. "Before Bruce took me in I lived with my parents and brother. Close as a mom, a dad, and a kid could get. Well, things happened and before I knew it I was orphaned."

She snarled. "Were they shot in the head while you watched?"

He walked into a room she could use. It had the smallest closet of all, but it was right across from his, conveniently. "No, they fell during their act and hit the cement before I could do anything."

She looked sympathetically after him. "Act?"

"We were the Flying Graysons." He flipped on the light. It didn't seem to make a difference to her, even though he squinted in the new brightness. "You can use this room as long as you're here. Bathroom is through that door."

She put her box down on the bed and opened the walk in closet. "Is there a room with a smaller closet?"

Dick had been afraid she'd complain about how small it was. "Uh, no that's the smallest one. Why? Don't girls have mountains of clothes?"

She looked at him like he'd suggested all girls liked Justin Timberlake. "No, not this girl."

As to prove her point she pulled a pair of jeans, three t-shirts, two sweaters, and pair of socks, and one change of underwear out and put them away. The closet looked humongous, now that Dick thought about it. Out of the box she also pulled a cell phone, various computer disks, a mountain of bills, and a suit.

Dick asked in a quiet voice, "Is this all?"

She nodded. Then the cell phone rang. He noticed the caller ID said, "Hot stuff."

She picked up and motioned for him to leave. He did, but he also sat at the door, feeling guilty for listening.

"Hey. Yeah, I'm there. It's gigantic. No, I'm not kidding, we could put all of the school in this place. Yeah, I had to transfer. Some preppy school. I even have to wear a uniform. Oh, of course there's loop holes. No, I don't get my license back for another two months. So, how was your day?"

There was a long silence.

"Sorry. Listen, I'll see you later, there's a dick listening to me talk outside my door. Oh, are we still playing at the Halloween dance? Good, I bet we could hold practices here, it's big enough. Alright, bye."

Dick scrambled away from the door and was halfway down the hall when she stuck her head out. "Listening weren't you?"

He nodded.

"No hard feelings." After all, I'll listen in on your thoughts all the time. "Hey, Dick, was it? Can I borrow your bike?"

How'd she know what I drive? "I thought you didn't have your license?"

"Since when have you needed a license to ride a bicycle?"

I feel like a moron. "Oh, that type of bike. Well, um… I don't have one."

She looked at him like he'd admitted to not owning a TV. "Why?"

"Because I can drive."

She looked him up and down, making Dick very uncomfortable. She look like she was appraising livestock. "Then how'd you get calves that look like you're smuggling beer kegs?"

He wondered how she could know that, he was wearing loose enough pants that you couldn't really see his girlish figure. The comment made him want to cross his legs in modesty. "Listen, wherever you need to go I'll give you a ride."

Her gaze snapped up to his face. "I don't think you'd want to."

"Why not? Where are you going?"

She licked her lips and went back into her room she muttered something, but Dick heard her well enough.

"Why on earth do you want to go to Arkham?" He leaned against her door frame.

She slammed the door in his face, suit in hand. When she opened it back up she'd exchanged her t-shirt that read "bite me" under a pair of vampire fangs and jeans that looked like they were made to fit someone taller for the well cut-if-threadbare suit. "I work there."

Well, that explains a lot. She frowned as if she'd heard him.

She walked past him and began playing with her cell. "It pays well, I get medical, and I only have to work four days a week. I don't complain." Which is a bold faced lie.

He scurried after her. "It's not a problem, in fact it's kinda cool. I've never been inside Arkham."

She shut the cell as he opened the garage for her. "Trust me, it's no place you want to go to soon."

He flipped on the lights and watched as her jaw dropped reverently. "Pick one." He motioned to the collection of motorbike and cars. To his astonishment she chose a sleek motorcycle instead of a car. "Are you sure, it's not exactly passenger friendly."

"I know, Nac has one." She scooped up a helmet and sat down. "Keys?" She held out her hand expectantly.

He jangled them, but didn't place them in her outstretched palm. "I thought you didn't have a license."

"Technically."

"So you can't drive."

"Why not?"

"Because that's a little thing we like to call illegal in this house."

She crossed her arms and slid back. "Boy Scout." She watched wistfully as he started the ignition. He glanced back at her depressed face. Just one more thing that hadn't gone her way, but Dick knew how many little things led up to the breaking point.

He sighed. "You can drive as soon as we're off Bruce's property." She grinned and squeezed his middle tight, sending butterflies coursing through his stomach.

So, what say you? Why don't I have reviewers::sobs in corner: