A/N: Greetings. I'm sorry this took longer than "shortly" but stuff happened. The average between chapter should be 3-5 days. So I think the next chapter will be up by Sunday, hopefully.

Thank you guys so much for reviews!

Oh and I wanted to point out that I realize the beginning is a wee bit similar to quipquipquip's no dawn, no day and I wanted to inform everybody that my story will not be going the same direction as hers because no story could ever come close to the absolute perfection that is NDND (go read it now). Also, yes, I changed the title of the fic. Why? Just cause. Anywho, enjoy (or you know, don't. it's totally up to you):

CHAPTER 1

Superheroing was really fucking exhausting.

Sometimes Steph wondered whether they were all mad, the whole superhero community. They risked their lives on a daily basis and enjoyed it, thrived on defeating psycho villains and on top of it all they had dual identities. Then she'd realize that there was no need to wonder about anything, she knew for sure they all belonged in a nuthouse.

But then, there were nights, where she was kicking bad guys in the face one after the other and saving people and feeling the adrenaline course through her body and feeling so alive that Steph knew that this was the sanest choice anyone could ever make.

Tonight was definitely reaffirming the former opinion.

Tonight, she'd stopped a small truck from leaving with a shipment of ecstasy. She'd arrived outside the abandoned warehouse just in time, proud of her detectiving skills, and she'd proceeded to beat the crap out of the assholes. At first she'd been doing well but as the fight wore on, she began tiring. The adrenaline could only last her so long and the henchmen just would not stop coming at her from every direction. Her supply of batarangs were running low and every round house or punch she threw, a little more energy drained out of her. But what was really starting to bug her was that once she got home she couldn't just collapse on the couch and relax, she still had paperwork to sort out for her boss.

'Come now, boys,' Steph huffed as she pulled off a butterfly kick, sending one of Falcone's guys slamming to the ground, face first. 'I'm sure we all have places we need to be, things we need to do, people we need to screw. Your boss won't mind if we settle this later, would he?'

Another punch to her gut. A punch or kick each to theirs. Punch. Hit Kick. Slam. Avoid getting stabbed. Punch. Hit. She was so fucking done.

And then: 'Bitch we're going to settle this now.'

It was one of the henchmen from behind her, the voice accompanied by a knife to her throat as she was pulled against the large man, her hands held back in a death grip. God Damnit.

If this had been a year ago, there would have been at least two people patrolling with her, ensuring she wouldn't get in this mess. Hell, even up till six months ago there would have been someone. Since the original mighty bat had died though, she was left by herself a lot of times. Sure, Dick was there but the Justice League often required his assistance and just then, he'd gone off to do the assisting. Tim had moved away, Cass was busy with her own missions in far off lands, Nell had taken a night off for her accumulated homework and Barbara couldn't very well come into the field. And the littlest amongst them had been gone for ages.

So when she felt the cool silver of the blade against her throat, she almost laughed. What a lame way to go; killed by a low life. At least the first time around her death could have been considered tragic. This one would just be pathetic. Story of her life.

As she was preparing to execute a difficult maneuver to escape with minimum damage to her throat, she heard a scream of agony escape the henchman and he let her go. She whirled around but for a minute all she saw was a blur as someone slammed the man down against the ground over and over again. Just as she was sure the man's head was about to crack open, her rescuer stopped and let the henchman fall to the ground limply.

Her savior looked up at her then. Most of his face was hidden by a black cloth tied around the bottom half of his face but his eyes were visible and they met hers, intense and so very blue. Recognition tugged at her but she couldn't for the life of her make the connection. She had no more time to put a name to those eyes though because the rest of Falcone's men were still there, trying to kill them, and one of them had pulled out a very big gun.

The man didn't hesitate. He headed straight towards the two men handling the gun as they started shooting. Stephanie supposed she'd let him take them as she moved out of the bullets' general trajectory and started dealing with the rest of the goons. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see the man had reached the gun wielding idiots and with a few swift and brutal moves, knocked them out. Or at least she hoped he had knocked them out but she with how hard he had hit, she wasn't sure.

In a few more seconds he joined her to finish off the rest of them. She noticed he went straight for the spots it would her them most. It occurred to her that perhaps she should be afraid of him but she wasn't. Not the first time she was working with an outlaw, after all. It wasn't long before they were tying up the men together and Stephanie placed a 911 call.

'Phew,' Stephanie breathed, pushing the last two men together. The small pile of unconscious bodies was impressive. Half of them looked like they'd been beaten half to death. With a scowl on her face, she turned to face her savior. 'Thanks for your help, mystery man. You know, you didn't have to beat the living shit out of them though. If that's how you work, I'd prefer it if you didn't come rescuing this damsel next time.'

The man eyed her, crossing his arms across his chest. Then he pulled down his mask just a little and all the air proceeded to leave Stephanie's lungs.

'Gladly. Perhaps next time you'll really get your throat slit and I won't have to watch you fight in that abominable style of yours anymore.'

For a minute she just stood there, contemplating the person, the almost stranger, before her. Then she socked him as hard as she could on his shoulder.

'Ow, you wench!'

She strode past him, heading towards her bike as police sirens sounded in the distance. He fell beside her easily, keeping up with her, wisely keeping silent.

'Do you know how long you were gone, you prick?'

'One year, one month and twelve days,' he replied coolly.

'That's right,' she said. 'How hard would it have been, tell me, to send a postcard?' She deepened her voice mockingly. 'Hey. I'm alive and in Tahiti to get away from you all because I fucking hate you all. Don't reply. Have a terrible fucking life.'

Her voice returned to normal as she said, only a little softer, 'Do you know how many of us thought you were dead?'

He didn't reply to that. Instead he got on his own bike and started the engine. For a moment Stephanie thought he was going to leave without saying anything more, and maybe she wouldn't see him for another year. But then he turned back to her. 'Maybe that was the plan.'

Stephanie didn't know how to respond to that, so she said, as she got on her bike, 'I think a shower's in order. You coming?'

Again, there was no response from him, but as she started towards the Manor and he followed, she let a little sigh of relief escape.

xxx

Once they'd reached the batcave, Stephanie started stripping.

That was Alfred's rule: No dirty clothes beyond the cave. She'd started wearing a tank top and tights underneath her suit so that she could leave the suit behind downstairs and head up to shower properly.

Damian frowned. 'Do you have no decency, woman?'

But he started to take off the outer layers of his clothing too. He'd been clad all in black; mask, shirt, jacket and cargos. He shed the mask, dirt covered jacket, protective vest and the utility belt, leaving just a black t-shirt and his pants on.

Stephanie paused in the middle of removing her left leg from her suit. Then, she stared.

Well. He had certainly grown. His shoulders had broadened significantly and though he wasn't as built as his father had been, he was certainly getting there. His muscles were all… defined. And Stephanie wondered if she'd ever properly looked at him before. Surely she hadn't because she'd never noticed that his skin was such a nice honey shade. And she'd never even noticed his cheekbones or his jaw or his… Stephanie wanted to slap herself a little bit for staring so long. He'd noticed.

'What, Brown?' he demanded, arms crossed across his chest a little defensively. Even his voice was deeper, more timber to it.

Jesus, Steph, he's only barely legal.

'Oh nothing,' she responded, finally pulling off her suit fully and tossing it towards the side. She swept up her hair in a ponytail. 'Just thinking how you haven't changed much. Still as rude and condescending as I remember.'

For just a moment he looked at her oddly. Then he turned towards the computer console and started moving some files around. 'And you're still as asinine.'

'Glad to hear you proving my point. Something's never change. Guess you'll always be socially inept.'

'And I guess the title fatgirl will stick around for a while seeing as how it's still a very fitting one.'

Ok. Rude.

But she had something else to argue about right now. 'What the fuck was up with you back there, Damian? Why were you being so… violent? I thought you'd left your psycho baby assassin days behind?'

His expression soured, anger visibly seeping into him. 'I did what was necessary.'

'Bullshit. You did it because you wanted to. There's a reason your father had rules as to how far was too far.'

'Don't bring him into this,' Damian replied, his icy gaze turning on her. 'His rules died with him.'

Stephanie laughed. 'Of course I'm going to bring him into this. Everything you've ever done, maybe everything you ever will do is based on how much you wanted his acceptance or at least his attention. And now that he's dead, you're pissed and you're-'

'Enough,' he growled in a low voice. It sounded eerily like Bruce. 'You of all people don't get to tell me how I do things.'

The venom in the way he'd said you of all people stung. As though her opinion was worth the absolute least amongst the scum whose opinions were worthless. She clenched her fists at her side. But of course, the punch she so badly wanted to land him with never did reach him. That would just mean that his comment had affected her and he of all people didn't get to decide her worth.

Damian seemed to sense that he'd gone a little far because his furious expression simmered down to a scowl, which was practically smiling, for him. He opened his mouth to say something but then seemed to think better of it. Of course.

Stephanie unclenched her fists. 'Whatever, little demon. I'm going up to shower. You gonna stick around tonight?'

He didn't answer, his eyes back on the screen. Stephanie wondered if it was always going to be like this with him; biting, distant and unpredictable. She supposed it wasn't his fault. He'd been bred that way. It made her a little sad though, because they'd cracked him before, almost reached his soft gooey center. But it'd closed up some again. He had returned to his old, jackass, more violent self.

She sighed and turned away, heading for the stairs. It was only as she was halfway up, one painful step after another, that she heard him call after her. His voice lacked the bite from earlier.

'For tonight, yes, Fatgirl.'

And for some reason, she was incredibly glad he was back, if even for a little while.

A/N: Reviews please?