Before I start the chapter, I just want you all to know how many hours I have spent trying to straighten out not only the overarching timeline of this story, but of the entire Arkham franchise (including the games, the comics, the books, and the canon movies)- IT HAS BEEN INSANE. There are conflicts within the stories, and the Arkham Wikipedia is a sad attempt that doesn't add up with dialogue and scripted facts… woof, this has been difficult, and I'm not quite done yet! If anyone has a very clear understanding of the timeline and wants to fill a girl in, holler at me. Otherwise, you just get my highly researched best attempt. Hope you're enjoying the read!

"You're not worried about him seeing these, right?" I asked as I turned the bat-shaped beacon over in my hands. It was sleek, black, something that would blend seamlessly into Batman's suit; but would stick out like a sore thumb in a sewer tunnel.

"He's not smart enough to look for them, so he won't see them," Bruce answered, punching a combination into his tool chest. It unlocked with a mechanical whir and two shelves unfolded to the sides with tools, and a middle compartment rose up with even more. There was no way he could bring all the tools with him; I realized he must decide which tools he'll need every night before he ventures out. I stepped to his side and handed him the beacon. He took it delicately from my hand and folded it closed, reducing it to about a third of its original (already petite) size. He placed it directly in front of him in a small area with approximately ten others like it, then examined the remaining options.

"There are certain tools I always keep with me," he said, reaching for the Bat hook and placing it in front of him, then doing the same with what looked like high-tech a glue gun.

"Is that the explosive gel gun?" I asked, and he answered by grabbing a cartridge of said gel from a side shelf of the chest. "Anything else you expect you'll need tonight?"

"Well… the batarangs double as beacons, so that simplifies that issue," he explained. "But setting these up runs the risk that I may encounter him in the tunnels. I need to be prepared, should we run up against each other." With that, he grabbed a gun that clearly shot something other than bullets and placed it on the felt in front of him.

"A pulse gun?" I guessed.

"A remote electrical charge gun," he explained as he stepped back from the felt. "Has enough charge to kickstart a generator large enough to power the mansion."

"Or to put down a crocodile," I nodded. He stepped away from the gadgetry and towards the Batmobile, ensuring it was ready for action. "Are you sure you don't want help tonight? I'm sure I can sneak into the sewers another way and place some beacons…"

"Not without your armor, and not on your own," he decisively said, not even looking up from his car. He then slowly turned to look up at me as I disappointedly turned away. "I know you're eager, but…"

"I know, I… I understand," I said, nodding. "I want to be smart about it too. I'm just… you get it."

"I do," he said, smiling at me. He came back up the ramp to me and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Soon. Once the suit is finished and we've run some simulations." I nodded, though something in me felt he'd never feel totally comfortable giving me permission to work on my own. I needed to work on that. Maybe Dick would have some input there.

"Will Dick be meeting up with you tonight?" I asked. Bruce turned over his shoulder to me with a curious grimace. "He mentioned he was hoping for an assist on his Riddler case tonight… I figured I couldn't help, but thought he might have asked you." Bruce turned away momentarily, thinking, then looked back to his suit where he fiddled with his tool belt.

"No," he answered plainly. "Dick left to work in Bludhaven. As worthy as that work is, my focus is Gotham. If I start helping him in Bludhaven, then I'll be helping Superman in Metropolis and Aquaman in Atlantis… there'll be no end to it."

"Makes sense," I nodded, looking down at the tools he had laid out for himself on the felt.

"And we've got enough to keep us busy," he said, turning away from his suit and approaching me. I unconsciously straightened my posture and widened my eyes. He squinted down at me. "If you're going to help me, I need to know you're here for Gotham," he said. "I know there are worthy causes elsewhere, but we're here to serve this city. There can't be any distractions." I nodded dutifully.

"Of course. I am," I answered, but he didn't seem satisfied. He nodded to himself as he began to walk away, but turned back to me again.

"Any distractions," he said again, and this time I could feel the weight of his implications. He meant anything I had with Dick. I nodded, trying to cover how flustered I felt, and he nodded slowly at me, ensuring I absorbed what he was saying, before continuing back to his computers.

It shouldn't have flustered me so much. I didn't have anything with Dick, and if either of us was obsessed with us becoming something it had to be Dick; he was the one constantly flirting and teasing and baiting me. But I did enjoy that, and I did like entertaining the idea that maybe… someday…

But those were just silly ideas, and there was work to be done. Bruce says Dick is a distraction I need to eliminate; it would be considered done. No more flirting with Dick, even for playful purposes; no more sparring just to get our hands on each other and have an excuse to be close; no more playful, flirty banter. Only serious, colleague level behavior. Surely, Dick would understand that.

"Alright," Bruce said, grabbing his sport coat from the back of his chair as he stood, "I need to head upstairs and get some food and rest before heading out tonight. You staying?"

"Figured I'd log a little more time in the AR chamber before I head home," I nodded. He nodded back in return and headed towards the mansion.

"Have a good night, Barbara," he called.

"Be safe out there," I called back in response.

"I always am," he answered before I heard the elevator switch on. I let out a heavy sigh.

"Miss Gordon?" Alfred called me; he must have gotten off the elevator as Bruce had gotten on.

"Alfred… hey," I said, brushing the hair away from my face and walking to greet him.

"Master Bruce said you are planning to spend some time training this evening?" he said, his hands behind his back.

"Yeah, I was just about to head in," I said.

"Might I borrow you for a moment before?" he asked.

"Sure, what's up?" I said as I reached him. He led me past the elevator to a large room in the back, where materials that went into creating all of Bruce's gadgets and costumery were strewn about. "Geez, Alfred, this room is kinda messy."

"It is my job to keep Mr. Wayne's space tidy. This is primarily my workspace, so it can be as messy as I damn well please," he answered with a friendly smile. I stifled a giggle in return.

"Fair enough," I answered, and he grabbed a box from the worktable in the center of the room. He turned and handed it to me.

"It should all be in there," he said.

"What should?" I asked.

"Try it on," he insisted. I looked down at the box excitedly; it was my costume. My suit. I excitedly looked around for a changing room. "Over there," he pointed to a curtained off area, "and when you're ready, come to the AR chamber and we'll run some diagnostics." With that, he left the room and I scurried quickly behind the curtain. I couldn't have thrown my clothes off any faster. The material was light and breathable, but hard and thick. It didn't weigh much, but I could tell it could resist substantial force. The pants took some shimmying into, and I realized the back of the top would be difficult to zip myself into if I were ever in a hurry. I clicked the belt in place, slid into the slightly heeled boots, and pulled out the mask. It slid down over my hair easily, and my long ringlets spun away from my face as the mask held my hair back. I grabbed the cape from the box and headed towards the door, but caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

"Damn," I thought aloud as I scanned over my thin figure, how the bat symbol lay across my chest, and how the mask made me look so intimidating and formidable. I hurried to meet Alfred in the AR chamber. "It looks amazing, Alfred," I smiled as I clipped the cape around my neck with the Bat pendant.

"Anything feeling too tight or too loose?" he asked from the control room, his voice audible through the speakers.

"Not really… the zipper on the suit is a bit finicky…"

"We've got a solution for that, don't worry… there'll be a pull string that easily detaches once it's zipped all the way up," he explained. "You don't really think Master Bruce is flexible enough to pull that zipper up on his own, do you?" I laughed to myself as I strolled around the room. "Right… let's run some diagnostic testing, shall we? You'll learn that fighting in the suit is quite different than out of it."

Alfred was right. The suit allowed me to move faster with more power and more force, but small things about the suit, like the weight of the cape and corners of the mask, limited me in unexpected ways. I was glad the suit was ready because I would need to retrain myself to fight in the suit. After four hours of training in the suit, Alfred insisted I take a break for the evening so some minor alterations could be made and it could be cleaned. I relented, but mostly because it was midnight and dad was expecting me back home. I changed back into my civilian gear and checked my phone to see four missed calls from dad, one missed call from work, and two texts from Dick. I shook my head as I opened the messages.

Want to take me out tonight?

You're spending too much time in AR. Come out with me.

I looked down at the phone, knowing fully well he would now get a notification saying I'd read the messages, and closed the messages without responding. I grabbed my things and hurried out of the Batcave to the mansion. Batman hadn't returned home yet, but all the lights were on to indicate that Bruce Wayne was home. I quietly slipped out a back door and got into my car, waiting until I'd gotten onto the main roads to call dad back. He didn't answer. I furrowed my brow. That was odd. I kept my phone between my legs as I drove so that I would feel the phone vibrate if he called.

By the time I made it back into the city and managed to find street parking for my beat-up car, it was 1:15. I hoped dad was asleep, or he was going to be fuming. As I got out of the car, I remembered how badly I needed to get a place of my own. I retreated up the stairs and into our apartment as quietly as I could, closing the door softly behind me. As the latch turned and the lock clicked into place, I heard a floorboard creak behind me. Crap. I turned around breathlessly to see my dad in his bathrobe, arms crossed over his chest.

"It's one in the morning, Barbara," he lectured me.

"I'm sorry I woke you," I said, dropping my things more carelessly by the door and trying to head into the kitchen.

"You think I was sleeping? How could I sleep when my daughter who was supposed to be home by nine wouldn't answer her phone, was nowhere to be seen?" he grumbled at me.

"Dad, I'm fine! I went to the gym, got a little carried away, that's all…"

"Your gym closes at ten, Barbara. What were you doing for the past three hours?" he said, the concern in his voice more prevalent than anger.

"I… the guy left it open late for me. Really, I was just working out, that's all."

"For three hours?"

"Yes, dad, for three hours," I answered as I stepped into the kitchen, grabbing leftover chicken out of the fridge. He was quiet as I put the chicken into the microwave. "What?" I insisted he say whatever he was thinking.

"It's him, isn't it?" he asked quietly. I looked to him, confused.

"Him-who?"

"That new guy you're dating," he said again. I turned away and failed to stifle a laugh.

"No, dad. It is not a guy," I said, grabbing a fork from the drawer.

"Ever since you went on that date, you've been staying out later. You won't talk to me. You've been leaving work early…"

"How do you…"

"They called me," he said. "You've been skipping out on work so much that the library called me to ask if you're okay." I shook my head. Geez, maybe I was spending too much time in AR... "Barbara, what is going on with you? This guy is a terrible influence…"

"Dad, I'm fine. Okay?" I said, pulling the chicken out of the microwave. "Look… I'm sorry I kept you up, that was not my intention. I'm just… I… found this new workout I really like and I want to see where it takes me. It has nothing to do with a guy, it's just… what I want to do." I held his gaze, hoping to convince him it was true. It sucked to lie to him; after all he'd done for me. I wanted to be honest but I knew I couldn't. "I promise, you don't have to worry about that guy," I reassured him, knowing that between his concerns and Bruce's, Dick wouldn't be any kind of influence anymore. He nodded.

"You should get to bed," he said in a low tone. "Any good workout requires a lot of rest to recuperate." I nodded back as I stuck my fork in the chicken.

"I'll be in bed in ten minutes," I said, shoving a huge bite into my mouth.

"Barbara," dad called to me again in a worried voice. I stopped chewing and stared as he looked at me carefully. "Send me that workout." He forced a smile and I laughed back with a smile and nod.

"Will do, dad," I promised. He looked down and slowly shuffled back to his room. I choked down as much chicken as I could, then cleaned the dish and hurried to bed. As stressful as training and my relationship was with Dick, I realized that I needed to do something about my work situation; I couldn't have them calling my dad like I was a kid late to school. Something was going to have to change.