Dad was sitting in his usual booth at Willie's. I tried my best to sneak up on him but that man has sonar like a bat—no pun intended. Once I saw him turn and smile, I gave up on the whole sneaking thing.

"Hi, daddy. I brought you something."

"Hey, honey." He tried to stand but I placed a hand on his shoulder indicating for him to remain seated.

"This is for you," I said placing a nondescript plastic bag in front of him and kissing him on the cheek.

"Oh, what did I do to deserve this?"

I batted my eyelashes. "You're the number one man in my life."

"What do you want?"

"Seriously, daddy?"

"You know, honey, you're not the first woman in my life…"

"I'm injured," I said placing my hand over my heart. "I don't want anything."

"Fine. What's his name?"

"His name?" I played innocent and he knew I was. "What makes you think there's a his?"

"Barbara, I'm a detective…and I'm your father. I know you pretty well."

He was right, though—on both accounts. One: There was a his. And, two: He was a detective with uncanny instincts especially regarding his daughter. He often knew things about me before I did so the only way I could keep things from him was by not saying anything at all. I supposed knowing me better than I knew myself was a necessary attribute for single father raising a daughter.

What was I supposed to say, though? Yeah, dad—his name is Robin. He's absolutely gorgeous with fluffy, black hair and mesmerizing green eyes. He's daring, charming, wise beyond his years, and is a chip off of his old block. Most of all, he's all the rage in his work clothes. Honestly, he's a bit of a bad-boy and really popular among the Who's Who of Gotham. I hope that you're not disappointed with me because he's one of the most-wanted outlaws in the city.

"Well, I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Detective. Now, open your gift."

"Okay—you don't have to talk to me about anything you're not ready to talk about." He looked in the bag first and his mustache stretched out across face above his smile as he reached in. "Barbara, you shouldn't have."

"Of course I should have, silly."

My dad pulled out a snow globe, which I had specially ordered for him, depicting a Colonial Soldier teaching his daughter to shoot a musket. I thought the design expressed our relationship so perfectly. My dad was a pioneer struggling to forge a new world for his daughter and at the same time had to teach his daughter to live in the current world as well as defend the new one.

That was my dad, the pioneer, the soldier, the public servant, the father.

I was the luckiest girl on earth. My life hadn't been perfect but my dad surely was as close to perfect as one man could get. I felt I owed him so much, so much so that I needed him to answer a question that I had been eating at me.

"Barbara, this is amazing," he said looking over the top of his glasses.

"You like it?"

"Are you kidding? I love it. High-Five," he said putting his hand the air.

I smiled big and reciprocated. "Okay—do you want some more coffee?"

"Sure."

"Claire, can we get some more coffee at your earliest convenience?"

"Coming right up, darling," she replied from behind the counter.

"Daddy, can ask you something?"

"Sure, honey. What's on your mind?"

"Do you think I'm a good cop?"

"Of course I do. Why would you ask that?"

"I just wonder what you think sometimes."

"Where are you going with this?"

My expression flattened, "Why do I have to be going somewhere with this?"

"Barbara..."

"Fine—you win." I inhaled deeply, "I know the GCPD's stance on the vigilantes but I...I kind of support them. Does that make me a bad cop?"

He leaded back in his chair and stared into me. "What do you mean by support them?"

"Well, like I told one the guys in my office a while back, the Bat doesn't attack elderly ladies coming home from the grocery store in the middle of the night. Instead, he fills ERs with dangerous criminal. I guess what I'm saying is...if he's going to do what the GCPD can't—or won't—I'm okay with that."

"Vigilantism is a crime, Barbara."

"Let's not play, dad." I inclined my head in his direction, "Rumors circulate that the Commissioner consorts with the vigilante and his posse."

"Sure, honey. There are also rumors that the Commissioner is consorting with every prostitute and drug-dealer on the eastside. Rumors are what criminals use to validate their questionable actions."

"So, what would you say to the Bat after you just witnessed him rescuing a bunch of kids from a burning building?"

"I'd thank him for his selfless action and then I'd tell him that he's under arrest for taking the law into his own hand."

"Saving people from a burning building isn't taking the law into your own hands."

"No. But being a vigilante is." My dad pulled off his glasses and started cleaning them with his napkin, "And, rescuing people doesn't absolve you of your crimes."

"So that's it?"

"No. I'd see to it that the Bat was charged for operating a continuing criminal enterprise."

"Wow. Why? He's more effective than the police."

"You know the answer to that, Barbara. And, if the Bat's really as serious about returning the Rule of Law to Gotham, then he'd be prepared to accept the consequences of his actions.

Dad replaced his glasses. "My job isn't to do what makes me happy. My job is to organize and to command the GCPD to execute the laws in the best interest of the people."

I heard Robin's voice in my head, 'Do you swear to accept your judgment when our mission is complete?' Now, I truly understood what he meant when he said that. There was no way out and he and Batman knew it. They intended to fight this to end and if they didn't die in-the-line-of-duty, then they intended to submit themselves to the law—a legitimate law.

"Are you thankful for what the Bat does, dad?"

"Off-the-record—yes. But that doesn't change my duty."

Duty.

That's what all this was about.

A sense of duty.

My sense of duty—Officer Barbara Gordon's sense of duty—was no different than my dad's, or Batman's, or Robin's, or Batgirl's. We all were different. We had different motivations, different perspectives, and even different make-up. But at its core we were all created equal under duty.

Our means may have been different but our ends weren't. It was the means that determined our consequences and we all had a duty to be prepared to deal with them. And, a strong sense of duty made dealing with those consequences okay as long as you reached the proper end.

As Batgirl, I intended to bring about that end and I was prepared to deal with the consequences when time came.

Hopefully, I'd make my Dad proud come what may.